To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(82)

Eleanor stroked Satin’s back. Unfortunately, what her aunt could not realize is that this was not really about Eleanor. Not any longer.

This was about Marcia.

There was no choice but to leave.





Chapter 20


“I am getting married.”

Shocked silence met Marcus’ pronouncement. He stared wryly at mother and daughter, perched on the leather button sofa with their mouths rounded and eyes flared.

Lizzie was the first to break the impasse. She surged to her feet and raced across the room. “Oh, Marcus!”

“Oomph.” He staggered under the weight of her form knocking into him.

“Marianne will make you a splendid wife. She has loved you since your first waltz and after the broken heart you suffered years earlier, you deserve nothing but happiness and love.”

Marianne? He set Lizzie away. “Er… I am not marrying Lady Marianne.”

Marcus may as well have announced the sky was falling on London for the shock in Lizzie’s eyes. “You aren’t?”

He looked over her shoulder, to where his mother sat primly, hands folded on her lap, and a pleased smile on her lips. “I suspect Marcus intends to offer for Mrs. Collins.” Then, catching his eye, she gave him a wink.

He started. How much had his mother seen through the years that he himself had failed to see?

Lizzie furrowed her brow. “Mrs. Collins?”

Marcus continued his earlier path over to the sideboard. “Indeed.” A surge of warmth filled his heart. “I have already asked the lady and she has acquiesced.”

His mother clasped her hands to her chest and, with an uncharacteristic zeal, surged to her feet. “Oh, Marcus!”

Lizzie whipped her head back and forth between mother and son. “What?”

The pleased tones of his mother, Viscountess Wessex, and the disappointed, shocked ones of his sister warred for supremacy. “I have offered for Mrs. Collins and she has said yes.”

His sister emitted a plaintive wail. “Oh, Marcus, surely not.” From where he stood at the sideboard, Marcus turned a frown on Lizzie.

“I love her,” he said plainly.

“I once heard mother and the Duchess speaking about your broken heart. It was Mrs. Collins, wasn’t it?”

He hooded his eyes. “Lizzie, not everything is always as clear as it seems.”

His sister slammed the back of one hand against her palm. “That woman has hurt you, broken your heart, and you would give yourself to her?” She tightened her lips. Marcus halted, with his hand poised over the decanter. In all his imaginings of how Eleanor would be received by his family, he’d never dared consider his loyal, loving, and stubborn sister would hold Eleanor guilty of whispered tales from long ago.

“Lizzie,” their mother scolded. She rushed past her daughter and took Marcus’ hands. “I am so very happy for you, Marcus. You have loved her for so very long and you were not the same man when she left. When the duchess said she would return, I had hoped…” A blush filled her cheeks and she promptly closed her mouth.

The ghost of a smile played on his lips. Ah, both her doting aunt and his determined mama had carefully orchestrated so much of Eleanor’s return.

In a temper, Lizzie stamped her foot. “He was not the same because she broke his heart.”

Looking over his mother’s shoulder, Marcus glowered at his sister. “I appreciate your loyalty, but you do not know anything of it.” Just as he’d known nothing about anything over the years. While Lizzie saw the surface of what she believed to be the truth, there were layers to Eleanor’s departure that could never be explained. Those secrets belonged to her, and him, and someday Marcia—but no other. He grabbed a decanter of fine French brandy—and froze.

…He stank of brandy…

The bottle slipped from his hands and clattered noisily to the smooth mahogany piece.

Lizzie stuck a finger out. “Marianne has held out hope that you would marry her because she loves you.”

He winced. Good God, is that what his innocent sister believed? Lady Marianne, with her thinly veiled innuendos, had clear designs on him that were anything but proper and polite.

Their mother passed a look between her children. “I would not have either of my children wed where their hearts are not engaged.”

Lizzie made a sound of impatience. “Well, I would not have him wed where his heart was already broken.”

Grabbing for a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass. His sister had always been blindly loyal—to her family, to the few friends she’d known…but it was that blindness and her youth that prevented her from seeing that there were often layers to a person that went far beneath the surface. “I am touched by your concern, Lizzie,” he began patiently.

“Do not patronize me,” she gritted out.

He sighed and took a long swallow of his drink. “But I am marrying her. She is a good woman and a wonderful mother. We were parted by…” He searched his mind, but that black, blinding rage slipped around his mind. “A misunderstanding,” he settled for.

“I want you to be happy, Marcus,” she began.

“Good, I am.”

His sister turned her palms up. “But I cannot be happy for you. Not even in this.” Her mouth tightened. “If you’ll excuse me?” Without another word, Lizzie marched from the room and slammed the door in her wake.