Then she turned and hurried away, trying to pretend she didn’t wish he’d asked her to stay.
* * *
As soon as Natalia left the room, Dylan went to find his future father-in-law. Something had to be done about Jonathan. Clayton had the power and influence to ensure the slimy worm never hurt Natalia again.
He couldn’t believe Jonathan’s hatred and jealousy ran deep enough to attempt an assault on the Duke of Clayton’s daughter. He shuddered to think of the lengths Jonathan might have gone to in order to keep Natalia from naming her attacker.
One of the servants informed Dylan the duke was in the kitchen with Jonathan. Dylan headed in the direction the man indicated and found Jonathan stretched out on the floor, still unconscious. The duke paced around his prone body.
“I should have let you kill him,” the duke muttered without preamble. “That bastard would wake up on a slow boat to China if he weren’t the Marquess of Langley’s son.”
It doesn’t matter whose son he is,” Dylan asserted. “He has to pay for what he’s done.”
The duke nodded. “You’re right. I’ll insist Langley banish him. The marquess won’t be happy about it—Jonathan is his heir—but I’m sure he’ll agree it’s the only possible way of making amends. God forbid we should have to drag this matter into the courts.”
“God forbid,” Dylan agreed. Enough scandal and gossip surrounded Natalia already. A sensational trial would only make things worse.
Clayton nudged Jonathan’s hip with the toe of one polished black boot, as though he wanted to kick him a few times. “Well, let’s just try to put all this unpleasantness behind us, shall we? The wedding is in less than two days.”
Chapter Eighteen
On the morning of June third, Dylan stood before the mirror in Basingstoke’s guest suite and struggled to arrange his recalcitrant cravat. Julian had offered him the use of a manservant, but after about two minutes of the man’s stiff and unsmiling company, Dylan had sent him away. He was nervous enough already.
“Do you need a hand with that?”
His brother’s voice jarred Dylan out of his nervous thoughts. Stunned, he let his hands fall from the starched fabric. He met Michael’s gaze in the full-length mirror, instantly defensive. “What are you doing here?”
“Basingstoke told me about the wedding. I hope you don’t mind if I attend? After all, it isn’t every day a man’s only brother gets married.”
Dylan forgot all about his neckpiece and turned around. He met his brother’s gaze head on and realized how much he’d hated to be the cause of the rift between them. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
Michael shrugged and shook his head. “Words said in anger. I didn’t mean them.”
Dylan managed a smile of his own, divested of his tremendous load of guilt. “I’m glad to hear that, Michael. God, you can’t imagine how happy I am that you’re here.”
“I couldn’t let you go through the most important day of your life without a single member of your family by your side.” Michael stepped forward and tied Dylan’s cravat with crisp efficiency. “I’m sorry, but Father refused to come. He’s still furious you managed to do what I couldn’t. I told him it’s his own fault he’s lost Natalia’s dowry. That if he hadn’t driven you away, you might have been willing to help him.”
“What about you?” Dylan picked up the light gray morning jacket that completed his wedding ensemble and shrugged into it, careful not to meet his brother’s gaze. “Are you still angry with me?”
“I regret having to marry Emma Marks.” Michael gave a bitter laugh. “But I feel nothing for Lady Natalia. We really don’t suit. She would never have cared for me the way she cares for you.”
“Perhaps you should take a closer look at Miss Marks.” Dylan flashed his brother a speculative look and wondered if the flamboyant American was exactly what he needed. Maybe she could get him to bend a little. Michael needed to have a little fun and learn not to take everything so damned seriously. “I met her, you know. She’s a very interesting woman.”
Michael snorted, the most ungentlemanly sound Dylan had ever heard from him. “I suppose so—if crass, low-bred commoners appeal to you.”
Dylan grinned. “You’re such a snob, Michael. The girl can’t help not being born an aristocrat.”
“You’re right.” Michael gave a reluctant laugh. “I haven’t made much of an effort to get to know her. We’ve never even spoken.”
“Well, perhaps you should introduce yourself. You never know what might happen.” Dylan went back to the mirror and gave his appearance one last critical glance. “I think it would be a very fine thing, being in love with your own wife.”
He hoped such a thing was possible—prayed Natalia could learn to care for him again.
“Well, I doubt that will happen in my case, but it seems as though you’ve got something special with Lady Natalia. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
Dylan smiled at his brother once again. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much Michael’s absence pained him. Bless Basingstoke for his interference. “Thank you for coming. It makes all the difference.”
* * *
