Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (Gentlemen of Disrepute #1)(41)

‘Yes, Mama,’ the child said and when she set him back down upon the ground he dutifully took hold of Mrs Tatton’s hand, and glanced with curiosity at Dominic as she led him from the room. Mrs Tatton followed the boy’s gaze and if looks could have killed the one that the older woman shot him would have had him dead upon the floor. The door closed with a brisk click behind them.

Arabella had not moved. She stood where she was, her eyes hooded and cautious, her face pale.

‘He is my son, isn’t he?’

She did not answer, just stood there so still yet he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the dressing gown and feel the strain in her silence.

‘Isn’t he, Arabella?’ he demanded and he knew his voice was harsh with the shock that was coursing through him.

‘Of course he is your son! Why else would I have married Henry Marlbrook in such haste after you left me?’ The words exploded from her. ‘But do not think, for one minute, that I shall let you take him from me, Dominic!’ There was something of the tigress in her eyes, a ruthlessness, a strength, an absolute determination, and he knew that she would fight to her last breath to defend their child.

‘I have no intention of taking him from you.’ Mrs Tatton’s words echoed in his head: …after what he did to you… The hostility of the woman’s attitude, and of Arabella’s own words—after you left me—prickled a warning at the nape of his neck. And foreboding was heavy upon him.

‘You speak as if it was I responsible for our breaking apart,’ he said slowly.

‘How can you deny it?’ she retorted with eyes that flashed their fury. ‘You just upped and offed without so much as a word. Not one consideration for my feelings, not one for what you might be leaving behind. I was nineteen, Dominic. Nineteen!’

His blood flowed like ice. His stomach was brimful with dread. ‘What do you mean, Arabella?’

‘You know very well what I mean!’ she shouted.

‘I do not.’ He forced himself to remain calm, to carry on despite the dread deep in the marrow of his bones. ‘Tell me.’

‘John Smith saw us coming out of Fisher’s barn that last day. He told my father and my father had the truth from me. He already knew, Dominic, and I could not lie to him. He was angry and disappointed. He went to your father, the duke, and told him that our betrothal must be made formal and the wedding arranged as soon as possible.’

That Mr Tatton had ever visited on such a mission was news to Dominic. He had a terrible premonition of what his father had done.

‘Why are you even making me tell you all this?’ she cried. ‘Was it not cruel enough the first time round?’

‘Tell me, Arabella.’

She pushed at him and tried to turn away, but he grabbed hold of her and pulled her back round to face him, knowing he needed to hear every word of the nightmare. ‘For God’s sake, tell me,’ he insisted. ‘What did my father say?’

‘That the matter would rest with you and you alone. And like a fool I thought everything would be all right.’ The tears spilled from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

‘Arabella,’ he whispered and tried to wipe them away, but she struck his hand away as if she could not bear to have him touch her. And then she hit out at his chest, pushing him, trying to free herself, again and again until he captured her wrists and held her still.

‘You coward!’ she yelled through the tears. ‘To send your father in your stead because you had not the courage to tell me yourself!’

The ice spread through his veins. ‘You are saying that my father visited you.’ It was no question for he could already see the whole horrid story beginning to unfold before his very eyes.

‘You know that he did, for you sent him, Dominic!’ She ceased struggling, but she was crying in earnest now, the tears streaming all the harder.

‘No, Arabella, I did not,’ he said, ‘I did not send him, Arabella. I did not even know that your father had come to the house.’ He felt numb and sick and furious all at once.

‘Why are you lying?’ she cried. ‘Have you not humiliated me enough? Is it not enough that I am your mistress? That you own me? Must you seek to hurt me more with these lies?’ She bowed her head that he would not see her crying.

‘Arabella, look at me!’ And when she would not he took her face between his hands and made her. ‘I am not lying.’

She fought against him.

‘I am not lying, Arabella.’

And something of his sincerity must have reached her for she seemed to still and hear what he was saying properly for the first time. She looked up into his eyes. And there was such vulnerability there, such hurt that it made everything he had felt across the years pale in comparison.

‘I am not lying,’ he said for a third time, soft as a breath against her face. ‘I swear it on all that is holy.’ His hands slid down to her upper arms, holding her in place, supporting her. He could hear the small shudder in her breathing and feel the tremor that ran through her body.


‘I do not understand.’ Her words were a cracked whisper.

‘I think I am beginning to,’ he said grimly. ‘Tell me what my father said to you, Arabella?’

‘He explained it all very carefully. That you did not want me. That young men will be young men and sow their wild oats. And when my own father pointed out that young men must be held responsible for their actions and demanded that you be forced to wed me, he said that he would do no such thing—for surely we could all see that, despite my gentle birth, I was too poor and lowly to be a future duke’s wife. He said that such a marriage would be a mésalliance and that we had never really been betrothed.’