Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

“No,” the duke nodded his head slowly, like an old man. He looked like an old man, the lines scouring his cheeks, his shoulders bent. “No, it wasn’t your fault, Max. When it happened I couldn’t think clearly. I wanted to hit out at someone and there was only you left. I-I lost my temper.”

“Do you expect me to forgive you?”

“I regret deeply what has been done! I want to make amends, Max. Let me make amends.”

Max looked at him bleakly. Where did he begin to explain that the relationship between them could never be the same again, no matter how much money the duke threw at him? Couldn’t his father see that? Was he so deluded that he did not realize that it would never be what it was?

“Have you told Harold and Susannah about this plan of yours?”

“It has nothing to do with Harold or Susannah, but I will inform them. I wanted to talk to you first, Max. Besides, Harold will do as he’s told.”

Max looked at him with dislike. “I see.”

“I want to put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

At that moment Max felt his anger soar to new levels. He did not think he had ever been this furious before in life, but neither had he felt so free to express it. Being disinherited was more liberating than he could have imagined.

“Do you know, father, I don’t care what you want. I don’t even care about Valland House. I’m quite content with mother’s house in Cornwall. I’m looking forward to it—I have plans for the old mine. You’d probably scoff at them as paltry, and I would have agreed with you, once. But I don’t have to think about the estate any more. I don’t have to remember I’m a duke’s son and I must behave accordingly, that I have duties and responsibilities, and my life is structured around them. I am simply Max Valland and I am free to do whatever I want to. So I’m going to Cornwall to live…with Marietta if she’ll have me.” He paused, and now his voice dripped ice. “And if you’ve hurt her, Father, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“For God’s sake, Max! Right now you probably don’t believe you’re worthy of a respectable woman, but stop and think! When I’ve sorted matters out you’ll be able to have your pick again and—” The duke’s voice rose and took on a desperate note. “Max! Max, come back!”

But Max had walked out. He could hear his father’s voice behind him, one moment angry and the next pleading, but he didn’t listen. He walked downstairs and out the front door, ignoring the twittering of Mrs. Pomeroy and Pomeroy’s anxious questions. He walked along Bedford Square and into Bloomsbury Street and he kept walking. And for the first time in his life he didn’t give a damn if he never saw the Valland townhouse, or his father, again.

Francesca was patting her sister’s back, murmuring comforting noises. The door opened and she looked up, her voice anxious as she said, “She won’t stop crying.” The bed shifted beneath the weight of another person, and Vivianna’s gentle hand smoothed aside Marietta’s tangled hair so that she could see her flushed, damp cheek and swollen eyes.

“Marietta,” she whispered, “my dear. I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I do not care if you insult the duke, insult him all you like. I do not care if you insult the whole of London society and poke your tongue out at the queen…Well, perhaps not the queen,” she added cautiously. “But the rest of them don’t matter a jot to me. You are what is important and I think, for a moment there, I forgot that. Forgive me or I will never be able to bear it.”

Marietta turned her face and saw that Vivianna was crying too. With a wail she flung herself into her sister’s arms, and found that Francesca had joined her.

“We need to be together,” Vivianna said, trying to catch her breath on little sobs. “We need to stay together. We’ve always survived by staying together, and if we don’t…if one of us should be hurt again, then we will all be hurt.”

“All for one,” Francesca said in a muffled voice.

Marietta giggled. “And one for all?” she asked, sniffling.

Vivianna nodded seriously. “Exactly.”

There was a tap on the door, and Lil stuck her head around it, eyes widening at the sight of the three sisters with their tear-streaked faces. “Sorry to interrupt, my lady, but there’s a gentleman downstairs to see Miss Marietta, and he don’t look very happy.”

Marietta covered her face. “Not the duke again.”

Lil shook her head. “Not this time, miss. This time it’s his son.”

Max, here? Marietta sat u

p. “I…I’m in no state. I can’t face him. Not after what his father said.”

“Do you love this man?” Francesca asked her seriously. “This Max? I’ve never seen you like this before, Marietta. Never. I think you must feel something for him.”

Marietta looked bleak. “I don’t know what I feel. I count the moments until I see him again, and I miss him when I’m not with him, and I dream about him at night when I’m asleep.”

Vivianna sighed elaborately. “Oh dear.”

“Is that love? But what does it matter if I do love him? I can’t marry him—I’ve told him so—and I’m afraid,” her voice trembled. “Remember what it was like when I was left at that inn and I had to find my own way home…I had no money and the wood carter gave me a ride on his wagon, and then Mr. Jardine came and when I-I called out to him he didn’t even recognize me. His face.” The hot tears ran down her cheeks. “The shock on his face. I felt utterly destroyed. I can’t let myself fall so low again, I just can’t!”

Vivianna patted her back comfortingly, but her voice was firm. “Marietta, why do you imagine Lord Roseby would ask you to marry him unless he meant it? He is an aristocrat, despite his damaged reputation, a gentleman with connections and class. Frankly he is not the sort to ask you to marry him unless he sincerely wanted you to be his wife. If you love him, Marietta, then you should think very seriously about accepting.”

Marietta swallowed nervously. “My heart—”