Third Son's a Charm (The Survivors #1)

“And do you not think my mother the most hypocritical woman who ever walked the earth? How many lovers has she had? Three? Four?”

Nell busied herself turning down the bedclothes, as though she actually expected Lorrie to sleep. “I don’t know anything about that, my lady.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does. And now she thinks to lecture me on morality.”

“She only wants what’s best for you, my lady. May I?”

Lorrie nodded, and Nell began to unfasten the borrowed dress.

“She wants what is best for her. I love Ewan!”

“Have you told her that? Have you told His Grace?”

Lorrie bit her lip.

“Ask yourself, my lady, is love enough?”

Lorrie closed her eyes, weariness suddenly pounding down on her. “I don’t know, Nell. But I have to believe it will be.”

*

Ewan entered the duke’s library, keenly aware that while the dark paneled room with its shelves and shelves of books had not changed since he had first stepped into it, he had changed a great deal.

The duke looked up from his desk, a smile on his face. “Mr. Mostyn, no doubt you will feel better after a bath and a change of clothing.”

Ewan nodded.

The duke gestured to his desk, littered with papers Ewan could never hope to read. “I have here details on several of my properties in the north of England. None of them are more than modestly successful, but I think with a man like you managing them, they would be bettered. In exchange for your service to my family, I’d like to gift you with one of them.”

He continued speaking, but Ewan could not hear over the rushing in his ears. His own property. His own house and land. Tenants and a living. He had never hoped for so much.

And yet, he knew it would never be enough.

“Thank you, but no,” Ewan said, interrupting the duke.

Ridlington scowled. “May I ask why you dismiss my offer without even hearing all of the details?”

“Because I can’t be bought.”

“I beg your pardon!” Ridlington stood. “I resent that accusation.”

“You want to give me a property so I will go away and leave Lady Lorraine to your designs.”

“I didn’t say that, but I would expect you to live on the land I gift you. And the lady in question is my daughter. I do not have designs on her.”

“I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Good God.” The duke rubbed the back of his neck as though attempting to unknot it. “The duchess warned me this would happen.”

“Then you will have prepared an answer. Before you give it, let me be frank with you.”

The duke raised his brows and gave Ewan a steely look. “Go on.”

“It gives me no pleasure to confess that my actions toward your daughter have not been wholly honorable.”

“I see.” The duke went rigid, though his expression showed no surprise.

“We were alone at an inn, and I…took advantage of the situation. I take full responsibility. And now I wish to do the right thing and marry her.”

“No,” the duke said.

The single word was like a pistol shot booming through the room. Ewan could only stare at the duke.

“Take the land and go. You will not have my daughter.”

Rage began to build inside Ewan, but he tamped it down with a fierceness borne out of long practice. “She is ruined, Your Grace. She may be carrying my child.”

“The child, if there is one, will not be a bastard. She will be married posthaste.” The duke sat back at his desk, evidently dismissing Ewan.

“But not to me.”

“Not to you, sir. She is the daughter of a duke, the granddaughter of a duke, and a distant relation to the King. She will marry a man whose rank and position are equal to hers.”

“A man who needs her dowry.”

The duke looked up sharply. “That is not your concern. Now, I suggest you accept my offer of land before I withdraw it.”

“No,” Ewan said. “Good day, Your Grace.”

The duke rose. “You are no longer welcome in this house, Mostyn.”

Ewan stalked toward the door.

“Do not come back, sir.”

Ewan opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. He barreled through the vestibule, his peripheral vision colored with red. He didn’t see Lorraine until it was almost too late. He had to catch her shoulder else he would have knocked her over.

“I heard,” she said breathlessly once she’d regained her balance. “I’m sorry, but I eavesdropped outside the library.”

Of course she had. He should have expected it.

“What are we to do?” she asked, looking up at him with those green eyes that were almost too pretty to be real. She looked to him to save her, and he could not.

“I’m leaving.”

“And will you take me?” she asked.

He wanted to scoop her up and carry her away. He wanted to hold her against him and kiss her until she clung to him and begged for more. He could do it too. He could carry her out of her father’s house. No one could stop him. God help them if they tried, but once outside, where would he take her? To Langley’s? Were they to live at a gaming hell? What kind of life would that be for her?

“No,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Lorrie gaped at him. “That’s it?” She caught his arm, and though she was not strong enough to stall him, he paused. “That is all you have to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

She shook his arm, her eyes pleading. “I don’t know! I love you? I want to marry you? Please come with me?”

Ewan blew out a breath. “Fairy tales.”

“They don’t have to be.”

“I’m no prince, my lady. I’m a former soldier and an illiterate brute. You deserve better than me.”

“I don’t want better than you!”

“I want better for you.” He lifted her hand from his sleeve and bent until he could look directly into her eyes. “Goodbye.”

It took great effort, but he managed to lift his leaden feet and make slow, plodding progress toward the door. The butler opened the door with a sniff, his nose in the air. Ewan stepped forward, leaving the house, but not before he heard a muffled sob and the sound of slippered feet running away.





Twenty-three


She threw herself on the bed, sobbing until no more tears remained. Sobbing until her head ached, her eyes stung from the tears, and her pillow was damp. When Nell came, Lorrie ordered her away. She ignored her mother’s pleas for her to come to dinner, and she threw a book at the door when her father dared knock.

Welly she allowed to comfort her. The puppy licked her face and whimpered quietly before lying next to her and watching her with large brown eyes.

“He doesn’t deserve me, you know,” she told the dog, stroking his soft brown ears. “If he won’t fight for me, he’s not worth these tears.”

Shana Galen's books