The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(6)

“I am disappointed with your lack of living.”

His lack of living? A rather powerful lecture, on this day of all days. “I’m content with my life,” he said simply. And he was. The hopes he’d once carried, of love and family, had been unrealistic hopes not afforded one of his station. It was the death of a dream he’d made peace with.

The duke waggled his eyebrows. “Ah, but content is not happy.”

Robert paused. Was there truth to that charge? He’d not given it much thought—until now. He moved through life, his company sought after by nearly all, the recipient of attention granted for the future title that would come to him. His life was . . . safe.

“It is time you find purpose.”

Robert kicked back the legs of his chair and flashed another half grin. “And here I believed my whole purpose was to make a respectable match and provide the necessary heir and a spare.”

“Ah, but you’ve not even done that.”

The accusation rung loudly off the walls. Just as it had with the blasted summer party not even three months ago, all matters inevitably came round to mention of a proper bride. Settling the legs of his chair on all fours, he leaned forward, matching his father’s pose. “Is this about me doing my requisite duty? Or is this about me being a man of greater worth and value?”

“It is about both,” his father softly returned.

Robert’s neck went hot. It was not every day that a gentleman’s honor was called into question—by his father, no less. Should he expect anything different from a man sired by the late duke? “I learned every lesson you taught about the estates and properties. I visited properties with you and have made myself current with the profits and the state of affairs for our tenants.” Even with that, it wasn’t enough. Mayhap his father was more like the late duke than he’d ever believed.

In an uncharacteristic break in composure, his father dragged a hand over his face. “This is not about me questioning your capability as the future duke.”

“Then, what is it about?” he shot back. Because somewhere along the way his sire’s words had all become muddled.

For a long while, the duke said nothing. Just passed his piercing, solemn eyes over his son. Robert sat frozen through that silent scrutiny, prepared for another moral diatribe. Then his sire gave another sad shake of his head. “If you do not know or understand, I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Robert. It is for you to find out who you are.”

Weary of lectures and lies at all the Dukes of Somerset’s hands, Robert finished his coffee and then set his cup down. “If you’ll excuse me? I have an appointment I must see to.” Which included attending that scandalous club, as he did every year at this time. On the heel of that was a niggling of guilt. You only prove your father correct, in going. Shoving back his chair, Robert climbed to his feet. “I am pleased to see your health restored.” He turned to go.

“Our pockets are nearly to let, Robert.” Those quietly spoken words managed to thunder around the breakfast room, and brought him slowly around.

“What?” Surely he’d misheard.

In another remarkable break in composure, his father scrubbed a hand down one side of his suddenly haggard face. “We are in quite deep,” he said, confirming that Robert’s ears were not in fact faulty.

He scoffed. “Impossible.” They’d one of the oldest, most landed titles. Then, what would you truly know of it? You’ve been living a roguish, carefree existence for more than ten years, now.

“Oh, I assure you,” his father said, and then in a maddeningly calm manner, sipped his coffee. “Quite possible.”

A knot formed in his chest, and he waited until the pressure eased. Given the Somerset dukes’ longstanding history of manipulating their children, Robert wouldn’t be so much as a fool to fall victim to another scheme. “I do not have time for any more of your games,” he said tightly, and started for the door.

“Why do you think I, who has touted a love match above all else, should arrange a summer party to try and make advantageous matches for my children?”

The words cut Robert in his tracks, words that echoed of truth. He balled his hands reflexively, and when he trusted himself to speak, turned back, and tried once more. “If this is merely to see me married, then—”

“It is not that, Robert,” his father neatly interrupted. A flash of something lit his eyes, but was quickly gone so Robert didn’t know if it was merely a turn of the sun’s rays penetrating the floor-length windowpanes.

On wooden legs, he stalked over and reclaimed his vacant chair. “What happened?”

His father cradled his glass of coffee in his hands. “You knew your grandfather.” All too well. “His wealth, power. It was never enough. At the end of . . .” He stared into the contents of his cup. “At the end, he was not lucid. He cut me off of all financial discussions and allowed his man-of-affairs to make large investments.”

Robert dragged his chair closer to the table. “In what?” His mind spun, as with every revelation, his father confirmed the state of their finances.

“Steam.”

“Steam?” he repeated. His always-proper grandfather had dabbled in trade?

“Borrowed against the estates.” He grimaced. “A lot. Too much. As such I’ve been seeing the tenants do not pay for the crimes of my father.”