Chapter Twenty-One

 

Phillip placed his calling card on the silver tray the butler extended and then waited in silence as the man retreated to make his presence known. He did not pace or inspect the contents of the room, refusing to give in to nerves. The likeliest event would be a refusal to admit him and Phillip steeled himself for the possibility. He would leave without argument.

I will have to reconsider how many days in a row I’ll make the attempt before he calls the authorities or has me shot for—

“He will see you, Sir Warrick. If you will follow me.” The butler’s announcement redirected his thoughts and Phillip trailed after the man out of the sitting room, through the grand entry and up the wide marble staircase. It was a palatial home, compensating for warmth with a soul-crushing show of wealth.

Phillip anticipated being shown into a library or study but was thrown off when the room he was led into was quite obviously a great bedroom and private sitting room. A dark carved four poster bed the size of a carriage dominated one end of the room, burgundy silk velvet drapery pooling onto the floor, ornate enough to offer an emperor and Phillip couldn’t help but stare at the thing.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Phillip shifted to spot the Duke of Northland sitting in his morning coat at a desk near the fireplace at the room’s opposite end. “I can’t imagine sleeping there. I think I’d be too distracted by the…craftsmanship.”

The duke didn’t reply, merely gesturing for Phillip to approach.

Phillip moved to stand before him. “I am grateful that you would see me, Your Grace.”

“Warrick. Phillip Warrick.” Northland made an open study of him from head to toe. “We meet at last.”

“Yes.” A thousand speeches abandoned him. A thousand reasons for taking this risk and pushing into the man’s presence fled his mind’s hold. A thousand bids for pardon vanished. Damn it.

The duke stood. “There was a time, Sir Warrick, when I did not think to hate another human being more than I hated you.”

“Yes,” Phillip managed.

“She came to me so…broken. She’d walked the heels off of her shoes and the weather had so destroyed her clothes, that a group of village boys mistook her for a beggar. Those little animals pelted her with rocks and mud, Phillip. Can you imagine it? My child reduced to an object of scorn and ridicule? My blood begging for a place in my kitchens? The creature who is the very image of her beautiful dead mother on her knees asking me softly if she could scrub my pots and pans in return for crusts of bread?”

Phillip shook his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

“Crusts of bread, Warrick.” The duke walked toward one of the massive windows that looked out onto regal gardens and stared down. “I said I did not think to hate another human being more than you. Can you guess who I hate more, Sir Warrick?”

“Trent.”

The duke shook his head. “I have an ocean of loathing for that man but he is not the soul I have in mind.”

“I cannot imagine it. I don’t think anyone dead or living could edge out my villainy in your eyes.”

Northland turned back to face him. “You are wrong. You see, there is one more man to be blamed for her downfall and he is the blackest villain of all. He is me.”

“No,” Phillip protested in shock. “That seems unlikely!”

“I was a weak drunkard and so full of vanity and pride, it sickens me to think of the way I swaggered through my youth, Warrick. I seduced a virtuous and beautiful creature and told myself that my desire and need were all the justification required. Then I fell in love with her.” Northland sighed. “When she came to me in tears to tell me that there was to be a child, my father threatened to disown me. He threatened scandal, poverty and even exile if I married her—and I nearly held firm and defied him. Nearly.”

Northland began to pace in front of the fireplace, astonishing Phillip with the familiarity of a habit he’d seen Raven enact dozens of times.

“For my father demonstrated what ruthlessness really looked like. He hauled me down into the servant’s hall and lined up no less than six pretty maids I’d tumbled in the previous year. He mocked my protests that I had reformed, he dared me to claim that I hadn’t already fathered a bastard to two, he likened my darling to a common servant, and cruelest of all, told me he would be sure to introduce my future duchess to every slice of quim I’d plundered and make sure there was no question in her mind of what a worthless whoring rake she’d spread her legs for.”

“My God.”

“He made promises to provide for Arabelle and I…I was so humiliated and weak, I allowed it. I fled to London and drank myself into a stupor so foul and all-encompassing that by the time I lifted my head from a puddle of my own vomit, Arabelle was dead. My father had lied, providing nothing for her support. The birth of our daughter proved too much for her and I learned later from the midwife that she had died of a broken heart.”

“You couldn’t have known what was to happen.”

“I arranged for Raven’s care without ever seeing her. The midwife knew of a childless vicar and his wife who had suffered their own losses. I instructed her to make the arrangements and then I never looked in that direction again. I returned to my drink and my grief, I nursed my hatred and inherited my title. I was twenty-two years old.”

Shit.

“By the time I heard of her orphaned status years later, I was barely fit. Drink had made me ill and Trent—Trent appeared like a savior offering to amend the situation and give Raven the care that she deserved. The rest, I believe you know the rest.” Northland stopped pacing. “I recognize villainy when I see it because I am familiar with a looking glass, Warrick.”

Phillip shook his head. “No. These are tragedies, not a testament to who you are. I refuse to paint you black and allow that to stand.”

Northland smiled. “You defend me? I thought you had come to offer your own defense.”

“What defense can I lay down? That I was also young when I earned Trent’s displeasure? That I blindly followed my passions to a love I cannot relinquish? That I hurt her in a fit of rage that I will regret until the day I die? What help to tell you that I doubled back for her, that when I couldn’t find her I lamed a horse racing to Oakwell Manor only to get another dose of Trent’s vile poison? Six months of searching the same roads over and over because I needed to know what had happened but all the while, cowering in the dark begging God not to allow me to know the worst?” Phillip pressed his fingers to his temples to tame the spikes of pain there. “That the blackest moment came when I stopped looking? Is ignorance a defense if I acknowledge that I was terrified of being robbed of her memory so I tried hating her instead?”

“And now?”

“I love her. I never stopped loving her. She and I have reached a truce and I have vowed to never leave her again. I will spend the rest of my life striving to deserve her and doing whatever I can to make her happy.”

“Marriage?”

“If she desires it. So far, she has refused to entertain it. Your daughter is a very independent creature and also somewhat…unconventional.”

“Yes.” Pride shone from Northland’s eyes. “Yes she is.”

“She is my life.”

The duke’s gaze narrowed. “Why are you here, Warrick?”

“I’m here because I don’t know you. Because I think her business with Trent is about to come to a finish and in the crush of my worries for our future, I realized that I could not leave this alone. I will be a part of her life, Your Grace. If you hate me for what I’ve done, if you harbor resentment or a need for vengeance, then I wanted to make sure that I’d faced you openly. I want my debts paid so that there are no more phantoms haunting my steps. I’ve wasted too much time looking back over my shoulder. It ends today.”

“You don’t know me. What will you do if I start yelling for pistols at dawn?”

Phillip blinked. “I honestly hadn’t gotten that far. I suppose I’d make the suggestion that your daughter won’t forgive you for shooting me in an illegal duel and recommend making it look like an accident instead? You are a wealthy enough man to hire an assassin and prevent her from making the connection.”

“True enough.” Northland smiled grimly. “An accident, eh? Throwing yourself on my mercy. A huge risk considering that you really do not know me at all.”

“Apparently a larger one than I’d anticipated.” Phillip held his ground and waited.

Northland’s expression changed, his smile betraying a flash of mischief in smoke-grey eyes. “My God, I like you! Sit down, Warrick. Have a lemonade with me and let’s see if we cannot arrange for your survival.”

The duke began to laugh as he rang for refreshments and Phillip found himself doing the same.