The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(87)

His father leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

At long last, the sharp, bitter divide, made by another, faded.

His father mopped his brow, and when he again looked at Robert, in this instance, the telltale marks of suffering lifted, and he was the robust, hearty father he’d always known. “So I take it you are here about your Miss Banbury.”

“I am.”

A pained smile pulled at his lips. “I like her a great deal.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Something of a bluestocking.”

Do you disapprove of a woman of knowledge . . . Robert managed his first real grin since he’d stepped inside this townhouse, that morn. “She is.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew the special license. Where the late duke had been driven by nothing more than the succession of the Somerset title and the noble bloodlines to connect the family to, his father had only wanted to see his children settled before he left this earth. “I intend to marry her.”

His father gave an approving nod. “Smart boy,” he said in the same proud tones he’d used when Robert had mastered his lessons as a child. He folded his hands on his stomach. “Now, go along and speak to Wilkinson. I expect your Miss Banbury is waiting for you.”

Robert lingered.

“Go, Robert. To your future.”

And shoving back his chair, Robert took his leave of the townhouse that had contained so much sin and darkness, and made his way to the Duke of Wilkinson’s.



A short while later, Robert was being shown into the older duke’s office.

“Westfield, my boy,” he boomed, shoving his large frame into a stand as the door closed behind him.

“Your Grace.” Robert dropped a bow.

“Bah, no need for formality this day, eh?” he said, banging Robert on the back. “A glass of brandy?” Without awaiting a reply, he ambled over to the sideboard and proceeded to pour two snifters. He carried them over and motioned to the wingback chairs at the edge of the hearth.

Robert accepted the drink with a murmured thanks and slid into the comfortable folds. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You are here about my girl, I take it?” the duke supplied for him. “Helena,” he clarified.

“I love her,” he said, setting his brandy down on the table beside him.

The duke smiled over the rim of his snifter. “As I said, smart boy.” Then his usual grin slipped, and he looked into the contents of his drink. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, Westfield. I wasn’t faithful to my wife. I failed Helena’s mother. But for all the regrets I carry, I will never regret my daughter.” He clutched his glass so tight, his knuckles whitened. “Her life has not been an easy one.” The duke lifted his eyes, blinking slowly. “I do not even know what her life was like before Ryker rescued her.” Ryker. The owner of the Hell, and Helena’s savior. The man would have Robert’s eternal devotion for it. “But I know it wasn’t a good one, just as I know you will bring her the happiness she deserves.” He lifted his glass. “So before we discuss the terms of the contract, shall we toast?”

Robert reached for his glass just as a distant shrieking reached through the office door, followed by frantic footfalls.

The door burst open and an out-of-breath duchess stumbled into the room. Tears ravaged her unwrinkled cheeks.

Robert and Wilkinson shoved to their feet.

“They are gone,” she cried, between her great gasping sobs.

Robert’s heart thumped an extra beat, as a slow-building dread started in his belly and fanned out.

“Who . . . ?”

“I-I never thought D-Diana would go,” the duchess sobbed into her hands, muffling her words. “It was just meant to be Miss Banbury.”

The dread grew, licking at his senses, threatening to pull him under.

“What are you on about?” her husband barked, stalking forward.

She lowered her hands to her sides. “Th-they are going to that c-club to meet M-Mr. Diggory.”

And Robert’s heart stopped. The monster who’d burned her. The man who stalked her dreams and owned her nightmares. His hand shook, sending brandy spilling over the rim of his glass, and he set the glass down.

“Who is Mr. Diggory?” The duke furrowed his brow, and when his wife continued to blubber and stammer, he took her by the shoulders in an uncharacteristic display of strength.

His wife sobbed all the harder. “He is the m-man who I turned her and her mother o-over to. You have to believe I would have never orchestrated their meeting had I known Diana would have accompanied h-her.” Then she launched into a new round of noisy tears. Wilkinson released her so quickly she stumbled backwards and caught herself against the side of the leather wingback chair. The man rushed across the room, and withdrew a case of dueling pistols.

A black sheen of rage descended over Robert’s vision, momentarily blinding him. “Where is she?” he seethed. “Where is she?” he thundered when she continued weeping.

“A-At that club,” she cried, as her husband handed one of his pistols over to Robert.

Wordlessly accepting the weapon, he leveled her with a frosty stare. This woman was responsible for the hell Helena had endured. She’d no doubt been the one to leave her fingerprints on her arms, and now she’d threatened her very life. Dread slithered around his belly. “By God, if anything happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable,” he seethed. With the duke bellowing for his servants, Robert sprinted from the room.