“It is hardly my fault if he finds me disappointing, any more than it is my fault I was born that way.” An outright lie and he suspected she knew it, but he would rather die than let her glimpse any of the sorry truth.
While it was true the insufferable Duke of Harpenden had always considered his only son unworthy in every possible sense, Giles had used out-and-out rebellion as a defense mechanism long before he had discovered theDirty Secretand that he really was unworthy in every possible sense. By then, it had been too late to rejoice in that enlightening fact. The dreadful die had been cast, the hand of fate had been dealt, and there really wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it apart from the one thing that would blow his entire world to smithereens. A prospect he wouldn’t have minded in the slightest if it were just himself it affected. Unfortunately, the awful, unpalatable, and toxic truth had dire consequences for a great many innocent people, and more unfortunately, he had failed to inherit his father’s unfeeling, granite heart. If he had, he would have lit the fuse himself then cheerfully pulled up a chair and enjoyed an entire plate of biscuits while he watched the illustrious name of Harpenden implode spectacularly in the full glare of the public gaze.
“I hear rumor that you are about to do something your father wholeheartedly approves of… and that finally, congratulations are in order.” Her sip of champagne was much too nonchalant this time, as if she were fishing, though for the life of him he couldn’t think what for.
“Congratulations?”
“Does the name Miss Dahlia Regis ring any bells?”
“Doe-eyed Dahlia the dumpy draper’s daughter?”
“Surely you mean desirable Dahlia with the newly doubled dowry?” She stared him dead in the eye. “Or perhaps determined-to-be-a-duchess Dahlia would be a better description if the rumors I hear about the pair of you are true?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at the preposterousness of her suggestion. “Surely you do not thinkIam romantically linked to Miss Regis? For she is far too proper for my dissolute tastes.” And far too vapid. Daft Dahlia was her nickname in the gentleman’s clubs because she could not converse without prompts from her pushy father, but he was too much of a gentleman to repeat that moniker outside of one.
“Not linked, Giles.Engaged.”
“You need more reliable sources, Diana.”
Two flummoxed dark eyebrows kissed in consternation. “You are not engaged?”
“It is not the sort of horror a man forgets. And if I were about to sacrifice my liberty to the fetid prison of the parson’s trap, which I absolutely never will, I would not choose a future duchess incapable of even spelling the wordduchesswithout assistance. Poor Dahlia is as dim as a pauper’s candle, bless her, and where is the challenge in that?”
In truth, Giles had always felt sorry for the girl. Her shameless social-climbing father had touted her about season after season, wafting her ever-increasing dowry under every titled gentleman’s nose as bait so unsubtly, he made the poor thing a laughingstock when nobody ever took it. Apparently, even fortune hunters had standards, which the stuttering, sweet-tempered Miss Regis had always failed to meet.
Diana touched his arm. An unusual and sympathetic gesture from a woman who worked hard to mask every emotion except disdain, and a touch he typically felt everywhere because she had always had such an inexplicable and profound effect on him.
“Her father and yours have dined together twice this last week alone.” She leaned in to whisper in case anyone overheard. “Once at the Regis house on Bruton Place and once at White’s. I also have a reliable source in the legal trade who is convinced the settlements have already been drawn up and signed.”
“Signed?” He didn’t doubt the validity of the information. SinceThe London Tribunehad employed Diana, amongst others, the incendiary quality of their stories had improved. With her spearheading the gossip column and the mysterious Sentinel dominating the news, the paper was a force to be reckoned with to such an extent many ne’er-do-wells, as well as all the other rival newspapers, now feared them. Only last month, one fortune-huntingrake had been forced to flee town on the back of one ofThe Tribune’s exposés.
Diana nodded. “I have another lady who claims Mrs. Regis was heard bragging of her daughter’s imminent elevation to the highest echelons of society only yesterday at a tea party.”
He huffed out a withering sigh as the ridiculous rumor suddenly made perfect sense. “The duke has been trying to marry me off for years. Every month he puts forward another candidate for my consideration.” It was his solemn duty apparently, to furnish the Harpenden line with more heirs to continue it in perpetuity, unrepentant that in doing so Giles would be perpetuating his sire’s lie. Every well-bred young debutante had been paraded in front of him for a decade. Clearly he was now scraping the barrel if poor Miss Dahlia Regis was the next contender, as she was neither. “They are always presented to me as a fait accompli.” Along with the bellowed demand that he do his duty.
The Sinclairs had been obsessed with duty from time immemorial, and choosing not to do it was a cardinal sin, no matter how noble the reasons or how tenuous the legality. Dukes begat heirs who begat heirs without question, and the duke expected Giles to ignore theDirty Secretand do the same without complaint. Although his sire had never had the nerve to have actual settlements drawn up before.
“Madame Devy is making Miss Regis’s trousseau.” There was something odd swirling in Diana’s lovely eyes. Concern perhaps. Regret? Pity? “She has been instructed to embroider every garment with these initials.” She rummaged in her tiny, beaded, delightfully frivolous evening bag before she passed him a small square of cloth. On it were the intertwined lettersD,G, andS. TheDhe presumed was the bride’s Christian name; theShad to be for Sinclair. Giles couldn’t think of another fraudulent future duke with a surname of that letter, and theGsealed his fate. “The bride told Madame Devy in a quiet aside that although her parents had said she was always destined for the nobility, she still could not quite believe she was destined to be a duchess. She claimed to be giddy from the excitement of it all.”
Giles stared at the embroidered letters, feeling wretched. “Who told you that?”
“Madame Devy herself… she owes me a favor… I am sorry, Giles, but my sources are reliable. I wouldn’t have brought it to you otherwise.” There was definitely pity in those vexing green eyes now—although probably more for the bride than him.
Poor Dahlia.
That his father’s callous determination to see Giles wed was enough to give that unfortunate, sweet woman such cruel false hope. But how blasted typical of him to leave his disappointing son to be the one to dash it.
“I am not marrying Dahlia Regis!” Or anyone ever, for that matter. Thanks to theDirty Secret, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—inflict that cruel punishment on anyone.
“My contact atThe Timessays the announcement goes out in two days.” She squeezed his arm again, making every nerve ending stand to attention. “I thought you should know.”
And with that she disappeared back off into the crowd; part of it but separate, as was her way.
Chapter Two
At ten the next morning, an hour before their regular appointment, and a good three hours before he usually turned up for it, Giles hammered on the duke’s front door.
The old man had gone too far this time!
