The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Careful, Tragmore. That sounds suspiciously like an insult.”

Tragmore clenched his fists, which were white and trembling with rage. “So that’s why my messenger was turned away from Markham last night. I thought it stemmed from your spiteful determination to keep me from my daughter. In reality, it sprang from something far more ominous. You’ve not only abducted Daphne, you’ve seized Elizabeth as well.”

“Daphne is my wife.”

“Elizabeth is mine.”

“Is she, Father?” Daphne asked. “Then why don’t you treat her as such, with some care and respect? Instead, she is naught but your prey, the object of your violence. ’Tis no wonder she’s so desperate to escape you.” A flash of anger ignited Daphne’s eyes. “Pierce didn’t abduct Mama. She chose to go.”

“Chose?” Tragmore roared. “She has no right to choose. She relinquished that right and all her others the day she married me.” He shoved past Pierce. “I’ll drag her out of there myself.”

“No, you won’t,” Pierce clamped a hand on Tragmore’s forearm, staying his departure.

The marquis made several ineffective attempts to free himself. “Your threats mean nothing, Thornton. Not this time. This time the law is on my side. If you block my entry to Markham, I’ll contact my solicitor and—”

“I repeat, no you won’t. Because if you do I’ll call in your notes so fast, your head will spin.”

“You’ll do that anyway.”

“Perhaps not.”

Tragmore ceased his struggles. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes narrowed on Pierce’s face. “What does that mean?”

“It means I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.?

?

“I thought you might.” Pierce released his grip, thrusting Tragmore away like a hideous insect. “I’m willing to have Hollingsby draw up a paper, which we both will sign, attesting to the fact that I won’t call in a single one of your notes.”

“And in return?”

“In return, the agreement will contain a stipulation clause.”

“Which is?”

“That you make no attempt to see, speak with, or in any other way contact Daphne or the marchioness.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“For how long?”

“As long as the ladies wish it.”

“Thorn—Markham,” the marquis amended, obviously striving with great difficulty to temper his fury, “I’m willing to compromise. But you’re not being reasonable. Daphne is one issue, Elizabeth quite another. I’ll agree to relinquish Daphne to you. Whether or not I approve, the two of you are wed. But Elizabeth—For heaven’s sake, Markham, surely you see the ramifications of what you’re demanding.”

“Frankly, no.”

“No?” Tragmore wiped his brow. “How would you suggest I explain my wife’s disappearance to the world?”

“The world? Ah, you mean the ton.”

“Well, of course I mean the ton. Whom else would I mean?”

“If that’s your only concern, the problem is easily resolved,” Daphne intervened, unable to bear another moment of her father’s unfeeling tirade. “Tell the ton Mama is staying with me, helping me to oversee a staff, to adjust to my new role as a duchess, to adapt to married life in general. That should stifle the gossips.”