Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(37)

A servant rushed over to pull out his seat. The marquess slid into it. “Leave us,” he ordered the servant.

With downcast eyes, the young man bowed, and rushed from the room. The door closed behind him with an ominous click.

His father picked up his stark white linen napkin and snapped it open. “When you were younger, Christopher, I believed your struggle to read stemmed from laziness. In time, it became very clear to me that there was…is…something very wrong with you.” He looked across the table at Christopher, and arched a brow. “What, nothing to say, now?”

The muscles in Christopher’s body went taut. “Say what it is you mean to say and be done with it.”

Father spread his hand out in front of him. “What other explanation could there be for your difficulties—other than madness.”

His father’s words came as if down a long hall. His fingers found the edge of the table as he sought to steady himself. “You would consign me to a life in Bedlam to right the wrongs you’ve done?”

Father continued. “If you will not do what needs to be done, well then I’m sure Marcus will be more amicable to the plans I’ve set out.”

Marcus. As in Christopher’s cousin, and after him and father, the next in line to the marquisate.

“How?” Christopher squeezed out past dry lips. “I’m your heir.”

“Yes. Yes. But it would be nothing to have you carted off for Bedlam. Polite Society would be none the wiser. The doctors would look the other way. And your cousin, Marcus, well, I imagine he would quite gladly marry Miss Winters in order to preserve the family holdings.”

Bile built in Christopher’s throat and it was all he could do to keep from casting up the contents of his stomach at his gloating father’s feet. Ultimately, the old bastard was correct. Christopher did care. He’d maintained a carefully crafted image for Society. His lies had sustained him all these years. The truth would destroy him.

Christopher’s mouth went dry, and he lied. “You’re wrong. I’ve not involved Mallen in anything.”

Father’s brows dipped. “But he’s courting the chit?”

Christopher’s gaze fell to the forgotten newspaper. “I…”

His father jabbed a finger at him. “The important thing is that you win the lady over. Charm her. Woo her. Ruin her. I don’t care what you do. But wed her.”

A chill snaked through Christopher. God help him. Could he sacrifice his honor to avoid the fate his father threatened him with? “You are making the assumption that Miss Winters would choose my suit over Mallen’s.”

A frown formed on his father’s lips. “Regardless of what I know to be the truth about you, Christopher, Society does not. You are quite favored by the ladies. If you use your charm, I’m sure even you can woo her away from the duke.”

His father was wrong. Unbidden an image struck Christopher; Mallen on bent knee, reading a poem to a wide-eyed Sophie. The duke would never stumble through the written word. His eyes would never fail to make sense of letters that shifted in and out of focus.

By nature of Christopher’s flaws, he would never be able to elicit such a reaction from a young lady. As Sophie had pointed out, Mallen knew how to properly court a lady. Not like Christopher, who’d bumbled through his courtship of Lady Emmaline.

“I can’t do it.,” Christopher said at last.

“Oh, you’ll do it, Christopher. And do you know why I’m confident of that?” When Christopher failed to rise to the bait, the marquess raised a brow. “Very well, then. I’ll tell you. Because at the end of the day, you are not unlike me.”

A protestation sprung to Christopher’s lips. “The devil I am.” He’d spent the better part of his life trying to be different than the cruel, calculated marquess. Christopher tugged at the lapels of his jacket and made to leave.

“Where are you going?” His father shouted after him.

Christopher paused at the doorway. “I’m not like you.”

“You might protest, but ultimately you know I’m correct. Just like I know your survival means more to you than anything else. And that is how I know you’ll do your duty and wed the girl.”

His father’s malevolent laugh followed him as he left. Christopher paused outside the dining room, and breathed deep. The chill inside him had nothing to do with the dark, unlit hall and everything to do with his father’s evil.

Suddenly, he was filled with a desire to drive back this cold, to see Sophie. It was irrational. Defied logic. But he needed to see her. Mayhap he needed to punish himself with the reality of what his father intended for the young lady. Or mayhap it was to remind himself of the pain she’d caused him during his youth. Sophie hadn’t been unlike his father in that regard.

He rang for the butler.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I’d like my mount readied.”

The gray-haired servant nodded and rushed off. As Christopher made his way to the foyer, he considered his father’s latest threat.

“My lord, your horse is ready.” The butler’s monotone voice cut into his ponderings.

Christopher accepted his hat and fled his father’s lair. As he set out on horseback, he went over his exchange with the marquess. Initially, he’d wanted to avoid marriage to Sophie because she was…hell, she was Sophie, the bane of his existence. She was no mystery Athena in Lord Thomas’s library who’d made him feel a lightness and desire for whimsy that had never before plagued him. Yet at some point, that had shifted. Changed. His desire to avoid marriage now stemmed from a need to protect her from his father’s machinations.