To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(80)

Lord Atbrooke growled and she retreated another step, placing the ivory upholstered sofa between them.

“And he knows the truth of what you did.”

He snapped his eyebrows into a single, menacing line.

“If you think he’ll toss me over for the crimes only you are guilty of, then you are wrong.”

The marquess looked at her for a long moment and then chuckled. “Why, I am not so very foolish to believe Wessex wouldn’t have you at any cost.” His chest shook with the force of his laughter. “That gent has been itching to get between your legs since he was a boy.”

Her body burned hot with words that would turn Marcus’ love and attentions into something vile and ugly. Then, should she expect anything more from a man who’d violate an innocent woman?

In a fluidly elegant move, he folded his arms before him, once more at ease. She gritted her teeth at that remarkable composure. “But you have already proven yourself able to leave him once and I’ve no doubt you will do it again.” Will. Not would.

Eleanor gripped the edges of her skirt, wrinkling the fabric. “I will not.” Not again. She could no sooner leave Marcus again than she could cut out her own heart.

“Not even for your daughter’s sake?”

She stilled.

“Ah, I see I have your attention now.”

And he did. God help her, just like that, with the mere mention of her daughter he’d reclaimed ownership of this meeting.

“Tell me, how will Society feel about a fickle young woman who seduced me, stole my heart, and then made off with my child, only to foist that bastard off on a war soldier?” He tossed his head back and laughed. “Then, isn’t that what makes this all so delicious? Why, when searching turns up that there never was a Mr. Collins and you lied…” It would only cast aspersions upon her character.

His threat sucked the air from the room. Eleanor remained unmoving and he may as well have run her through with a dull rapier. Her entire body jerked from the shock and pain of his dangled threat. She shook her head furiously. “You would not…”

“I would,” he said, flicking an imagined piece of lint from his sapphire coat sleeve. “Quite happily. The ton would find tales of a merchant’s daughter who gave herself to me years ago and left with my heart when she found I had no wealth to my name quite scintillating, no? More so when that schemer returned and seduced the plump in the pockets viscount.” He grinned that evil, empty smile. “Of course, you could not have simply married the viscount all those years ago when you were carrying my bastard, but now you returned to work your wiles.” She recoiled. “Why, imagine the scandal.” He tapped a finger against the side of his mouth. “Well, I expect Society will applaud me for taking my daughter back from such a woman.”

Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood and the metallic taste of it nearly gagged her. “She is not your d-daughter,” she said, weakly.

The marquess’ renewed laughter indicated he’d detected that pregnant pause. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the Hamilton birthmark is a quite interesting piece to the girl’s paternal puzzle.” He quirked a dark brown eyebrow.

The same man who’d stolen her innocence would so easily shatter the carefully constructed world she’d built for her…for Marcia—for the two of them together. All the dreams breathed into possibility two evenings prior, flickered like the spark of a candle and then went out. Eleanor would sacrifice everything and anything to be with Marcus—everything, except her daughter. “What do you want?” she whispered.

“I want you to leave,” he said bluntly, all traces of his earlier levity now gone. “I want you to take your daughter and go wherever it is you’ve lived and allow my sister Lord Wessex and his fifty thousand pounds.”

She gripped the edge of the sofa, seeking purchase in the soft fabric. “I have money.” The words tore out of her, desperate and quaking. “Ten thousand pounds.” Or she would.

“I need more than your paltry ten thousand pounds.” Paltry? It was a fortune that would last her the course of her life. Then should anything surprise her where this reprobate was concerned? He peeled his lip back. “Furthermore, I will acquire much more in a marriage settlement between my sister and the viscount.”

There was a finality to that pronouncement that the marquess wanted her to break Marcus’ heart once more. How could she walk out of his life again? What would her world be without him in it? A sheen of tears misted her eyes and she damned the useless signs of weakness. In this moment, she proved herself the ultimate selfish creature and the worst kind of mother. For she wanted to spit in the face of the marquess’ threat and risk all for Marcus. She made another appeal. “He does not love her.” The futility of pleading with a monster registered and, yet, surely there was a shred of something decent within him that would allow Eleanor this one piece of happiness.

“It does not matter if he loves her,” Lord Atbrooke said with a sneer. “He desires her. And when you betray him again, my sister will serve as the perfect diversion.”

Oh, God. Her stomach pitched with nausea. How could she give Marcus up, knowing that one day another would take her place? Mayhap it would be Lady Marianne or mayhap not. But it was, as her aunt said…if Eleanor left him…this time he would move on and find another.