The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(7)

And the Denningtons were in dun territory for it.

He peered at his father. Mayhap this was as false as that goddamn summer party?

“It is true, Robert,” his father said, unerringly following his thoughts. “It is one of the reasons I wished to see you both married.”

Robert sank back in his chair, flummoxed. “One of the reasons?” A cynical laugh escaped him. “Never tell me, love being the most important?”

His father frowned. “Yes. I had so very much hoped that you and your sister could make respective matches that brought you love and improved our finances.” He coughed into his hand. “Now you know.”

Now I know. A black curse burst from his lips. Guilt . . . at his own self-absorption, at his failing to take an active role in the estate, all of it, assailed him. And annoyance . . . that his father believed the only way Robert could improve their circumstances was through landing a wealthy bride.

The duke’s gaze strayed to the doorway. “Your sister cannot know.”

“No,” he agreed. For the fury at being deceived by his father, they were of like regard where Bea was concerned. Suddenly, the discussion of the past, the revelations of today, was too much. He needed away from this townhouse. Robert abruptly shoved back his chair. “If you’ll excuse me? I intend to take rooms at my club.” At least for the evening he could seek escape from his ugly reality. Robert braced for a fight. Welcomed it.

Instead, as he should expect, his father was as convivial as always. “Good afternoon, Robert.” Good afternoon? There was nothing remotely good, or even fair, about it.

With the duke’s powerful stare boring into his back, Robert hastily beat a retreat. He made his way through the corridors, the very same halls he’d avoided as a child, and then hated as a young man who’d had his heart broken. He gritted his teeth, the irony not lost on him. Twelve years ago, on this day, his life had fallen apart. And now, it had been ripped asunder once more.

His father would turn him into a goddamn fortune hunter. Then, given his carefree existence these years, why should he expect Robert capable of righting the mess of their finances?

Robert reached the foyer.

His sister, Beatrice, stood with her hands propped on her hips, blocking the entrance—or in this case, the exit—of the Somerset home. She knitted her blonde eyebrows into a line. “Robert,” she said, with the regal tones befitting a queen instead of a younger sister. “Where have you been?”

“Bea,” he said with a forced smile.

Having made her Come Out four years earlier, his only sibling was as of yet unwed, grasping and clinging to that great hope of love. Alas . . . She’d yet to realize and accept that the Denningtons were not slated for that sentiment. Especially not now, given the change of their financial circumstances. The world, lords and ladies, servants and paupers, could never, would never, see past the ancient title. Now that truth might save them.

“I am here about Father. He is—”

“Well,” he supplied for her, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his gloves. He tugged them on. “We just . . . spoke,” he settled for.

She furrowed her brow. “No . . .”

“Yes,” he said, as the butler, Davidson, rushed over with Robert’s cloak. Thanking the servant, he shrugged into the garment. “He is quite the picture of health.”

Beatrice cocked her head. God love Bea. She’d only ever seen the best in everyone. Robert knew the inevitable day would come when that innocence would be shattered. Robert also knew that when it did he would end the bastard responsible for hurting his beloved sister.

When Beatrice still said nothing, Robert took pity on her. “He was trying to marry us off.” To refill the depleted coffers. At the very least it now made sense. Yet why had he not confided in Robert before? Instead he’d sought to manipulate him. Just as everyone ultimately did.

Beatrice opened and closed her mouth several times. Then . . . “Surely not.” She spoke those words as fact. “I saw him.”

Yes, they’d seen precisely what the duke had wished them to see. “He wants us married, Bea,” he said, gentling his tone.

His obstinate sister brought her shoulders back. “Not enough to lie.” The emphasis placed on that particular word could only come from a woman who’d never seen the whole ugly that existed about them.

Robert cuffed her under the chin. “I assure you, he is quite hearty and healthy, and I could not be happier.” Robert might resent the man for forcing him to look at the life he lived, and less than subtly placing doubts on him, but he loved him, still. It was hard not to. Particularly when one saw the manner of beast the late duke had been.

“You’re certain?” Bea pressed. “He is not simply saying he’s feeling better for our benefit?”

“I’d wager all my funds on it,” he reassured, except as soon as the words left him, panic reached his core. Their lives were nothing more than a castle made of sand.

Her shoulders sagged, and he found some solace in her blitheness. “Oh, thank God.” Then a slow, wide smile split her cheeks and she stepped aside. “You may go, now.”

Davidson rushed over and pulled the door open. Desperate to be free of this house, and alone with all the admissions made by his father, Robert hurried forward.

“Oh, and Robert?” Bea called, staying his movements.