The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(77)

Broderick stared on, the exchange like a volley match with his head swinging back and forth between the participants.

The duke pressed a hand to his chest and stared back at Broderick with stricken eyes. “I pledged my heart to her, my troth, and in the end, she sold herself to my closest friend for a bag of coins and a fancy pendant. And now”—he spun, lashing out at Reggie—“you would put yourself between a possible arrangement between . . .”

“Liar,” she cried.

A thick tension fell over the room. The duke seethed. “You would question my honor?”

“I would and I am.”

“Do you deny that you were my lover?” the duke demanded.

Reggie recoiled as silence met that charge.

Jealousy—violent, blinding jealousy—stabbed at Broderick. Making a mockery of the illusion of friendship he’d upheld with this woman who’d been a friend and confidante . . .

She peeked over at him, like a naughty child seeking absolution. Some of the fight went out of her. It was a confirmation. And it gutted Broderick.

His Grace adjusted the diamond stickpin in his cravat. “And what of my purse, Miss Marlow?”

Reggie shook her head. “Those monies were mine,” she whispered. “I earned them.”

“You are a thief.”

An unfamiliar sentiment held Broderick in its grip—fear. “Enough,” he said quietly, that order coming in part from a need to silence any other admission from this man’s lips. “Miss Spark,” Broderick said evenly. “If you’ll excuse us?”

Reggie’s stricken eyes met his. “I . . . of course.” She released the death grip she had on her skirts and spoke calmly. “I would have you know he is a liar.” Breathtaking in her boldness, she withered the duke with a hard stare. “And you can be assured if you allowed him to marry Gertrude, he would make her life misery.” With that, head held high, she marched around the duke and quietly took her leave.

As soon as the door had closed, Broderick made for the sideboard. “My apologies,” he said evenly, fetching two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Carrying them back to his desk, he poured two snifters full and held one over to the duke. Broderick made no move to sit but rather settled his hip on the edge of the desk. “Miss Spark is . . . spirited.”

The duke accepted the proffered drink. “No apologies necessary,” he assured, waving his other hand dismissively. “The young woman was always more spirited than is prudent for a lady to be. Particularly a young governess.”

Broderick sipped at his brandy. “So you were quite familiar with my sister’s companion?”

His Grace leaned forward, the leather folds of his chair groaning under that slight shift in his weight. “As a rule, I do not speak about my relationships with lovers.”

All the muscles in Broderick’s face went to stone. “Indulge me.”

“Our affair took place ten years ago,” the duke was swift to reassure. This was Reggie’s past. This was the story of ten years ago. And he despised that the telling now came from this man. “I was young.” The duke paused. “And I was in love with the idea of being in love with someone wholly unsuitable.”

Wholly unsuitable.

Broderick offered the other man a steely half grin. “I trust no less suitable than a bastard raised on the streets who’s lived more years than not in a gaming hell.”

The other man must have heard something layered there in Broderick’s speech. He blinked slowly and then sat upright. “You misunderstand.”

Broderick arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“It was not the young woman’s station that made her unsuitable but rather her actions. I was in love with her, and she was in love with the baubles and gifts to be had.”

He stared over the top of the other man’s head.

I don’t need more than two dresses. I’m a companion, Broderick. Dull colors, drab garments, are suitable attire for a servant . . . Not cheerful, extravagant garments . . .

“Never tell me. She seduced you?”

“Indeed. Against all better judgment and my family’s warnings.” The duke spread a hand wide. “I was young. Just out of university. I believed myself in love with her.”

Broderick’s palm tensed around the snifter in his hand, his fingers straining the crystal stem. He forced himself to lighten his grip and then swirled the contents of his glass. “And you made the woman hired as your family’s governess your lover.”

The duke’s ears turned red. “Yes . . . but”—he dropped his voice to a hushed whisper—“I did so fully intending to marry her. My family would never have approved, and as such, we eloped.” That admission speared Broderick for the unexpectedness of it . . . and more.

She’d given herself to this man. Had, by this lord’s accounts, very nearly married him. Broderick raised his glass to his mouth. “And yet you did not wed the lady.” He paused. “Or I trust you do not intend to court my sister while being wedded to her companion?” He flashed another grin, taking the steely edge off that question. All the while, a slow-building hatred swirled in his gut, poisoning him against a duke who sought permission to court his sister.

A chuckle rumbled from the other man’s chest, shaking his frame. “No.” His laughter instantly died. “I was spared that fate by a friend.” Glancing beyond his shoulder, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Suspecting her of duplicity, he offered Miss Marlow a small fortune in return for her . . . favors.” Broderick’s body turned to stone. “The young woman accepted, and because of my friend’s intervention, I was”—he glanced down briefly at his drink, a spasm contorting his features—“spared.”