The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(91)

Michael might not love her, but she loved him and she loved her family. Her love had to be strong enough for all of them. She was utterly ruined. Yet, Michael would preserve her family’s reputation and protect them from the taint of her illegitimacy and her embezzlement of her family’s money. He would ensure that none of her filth soiled her siblings. She had to believe that simple truth. Otherwise, there was nothing.

In that singular moment, she only had one choice. She had to release him from his promise to marry her. She had to preserve the integrity of her family, while protecting her sisters’ chances for finding a suitable match for marriage. As important, she had to protect Michael’s chance for happiness.

She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin. She had to let him go. Otherwise, society would mock him if they believed she’d used him. His greatest fear he’d disappoint his father would come to fruition.

With what little armor of self-preservation she possessed, she captured the duke’s gaze. His blue eyes had darkened to the color of the sky during a pounding thunderstorm.

“The solicitor and bookkeeper have evidence that I’m the guilty party,” she announced. Surprisingly, she didn’t tremble when she uttered the words, even though it was as if she’d announced her own death sentence.

“And are you?” the duke asked.

Michael’s gaze flew to hers. The poignant flash of betrayal in the depth of his lovely blue eyes nearly leveled her. Soon, it blazed into a fire of hatred. She locked her knees so she wouldn’t fall into a pile of ashes.

To escape the inferno that threatened, she turned her attention to the duke.

“Tell me. Are you the one who stole those monies?” The duke’s eerily quiet voice permeated the room. The soft words hit her with the force of a cannon, and she immediately started to shake.

Michael straightened his shoulders and walked to the side of his father’s desk. Together, side by side, the power emanating from both could have blown London Tower into a rock rubble. If she had any chance to withstand such a force, she could focus only on the duke. One glance at Michael would render her heart and her very soul in two.

“I’m guilty of many things, Your Grace.” For one, loving your son. Two, stealing money from an account I believed was mine. Three, for being a bastard. “But I didn’t steal anything from Lord McCalpin or the duchy.”

“How did you even know where the records were?” The duke fired the question to her.

“I went through them last night at McCalpin Manor.” Her voice didn’t waiver at the admission. They all knew last night that she’d stayed with Michael at his estate without a suitable chaperone.

“I thought to do a little work while at McCalpin Manor. I brought them from London when I went to Chelmsford to retrieve March,” Michael answered, his voice distant. “She’s also been to McCalpin House with me. Alone,” he added.

It was another stab to her heart. Like Cesar, she was suffering through her own ides of March. How appropriate.

The look of astonishment on the duke’s face pierced her confidence.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not now. She would collapse into nothing later.

The duke furrowed his brow in disbelief. For a moment, she wanted to cry out and deny everything again. She finally found the courage to chance a glance at Michael, but thankfully, he had bowed his head.

The duke exhaled. “March, do you know where the monies are?

“There’s eight hundred and fifty-eight pounds in my account at E. Cavensham Commerce. I’ll have the amount sent to Lord McCalpin immediately.”

“And the rest?” the duke asked.

“I have no idea, Your Grace.” It was the only truth she possessed. She wasn’t the one stealing from McCalpin, nor did she know where the missing money was.

A grim silence took possession of the room, broken only by the intermittent crumple of logs under the blazing flames. Fitting, since her life had just collapsed into the fires of Hell.

“March, with what was discovered in Chelmsford and at Lawson Court, your cousin’s claims have standing.” The duke’s voice softened. “Is there anything else you can share that will help clear up this matter?”

The duke thumbed through Michael’s household account book. She held her breath. Inside, her love note contained the promise she’d never hurt or divulge Michael’s secret.

In a subtle movement, Michael stiffened as if preparing for an onslaught of questions. Thankfully, the duke pushed the journal away from his reach.

The duke cleared his throat. “McCalpin, you make the decision as to what shall happen next.”

She couldn’t breathe or swallow as she waited for Michael to refute her denial.

The silence stretched into years as she waited for his next words.

*

“Under the circumstances, I think it best for all if Miss Lawson returns to Lawson Court until we have more information.” The ice in McCalpin’s veins melted enough that he could return his gaze to March. The sharpness of his words seemed to have impaled her. She stumbled backward with her eyes wide.

There was little else he could do. His father had his household account book in front of him. At this point, he couldn’t think or barely breathe with her so close. It would be so easy to accept her word, but he had to find the truth for himself. He was responsible for the marquessate, and one day he’d be responsible for the duchy and all the people who worked for the Duke of Langham.