“Richard said he could only rant about you being Satan’s spawn and how he’d laid evidence with the magistrates. Apparently Hillbrook hadn’t been home in three days when they encountered one another. He seemed to be hitting the brandy hard. Richard seemed to think…”
“Richard’s an old woman.”
The duke’s expression hardened into hauteur. Even Sidonie’s brief observation indicated that he was a remarkably self-contained man. Despite Merrick doing his best to taunt him, he’d maintained his equilibrium. “You’re a dashed ungrateful sod, Merrick. But then you always were.”
Merrick performed a mocking bow. “What do you want, Your Grace? Paeans of gratitude?”
“I told Richard you’d pay us no notice. You’ve paid us no notice since Eton. My conscience is clear. You, my dear childhood companion, can go to the devil under your own auspices.” The duke turned on his heel and stalked from the room without a backward glance.
Merrick remained where he was, staring thoughtfully at the closed door. Then he raised his head to Sidonie, unerringly finding her. “Was that edifying?”
“No,” she said in an arctic tone, standing and negotiating the steps until she stood facing him. “You really don’t give a farthing about what William might do to Roberta, do you?”
“Oh, I care very much what William does, bella.”
She turned toward the door, too angry to bandy words. “I have to go to her.”
He leaned away from the desk and caught her arm. “No, you don’t.”
“If he’s losing his mind—and it sounds like he is—she’s in more danger than ever.”
“Last night, Lady Hillbrook was hearty and hale and enjoying herself prodigiously at the Nash ball. With her husband nowhere in evidence, you’ll be pleased to learn.”
Sidonie was too surprised to draw away. “How do you know?”
Merrick looked bored, but she’d discovered he assumed that expression as a way of concealing his thoughts. “I set a man to watching her after you told me William beats her. If anything untoward happens to Roberta, I’ll know.”
Sidonie hissed with scornful dismissal. “Don’t lie. We’re in Devon. Roberta’s in London, miles away.”
“I have a network of couriers and carrier pigeons all over England. News takes mere hours to reach me, wherever I am. Mr. Bevan runs a complex for the birds in the east tower. I can show you if you like.”
“Oh.” Sidonie’s anger evaporated and she sagged in his hold as her knees gave way with relief to hear Roberta was safe. Again he left her utterly bewildered. But the duke’s visit had firmed her intentions. She had no choice but to delay informing Merrick about his inheritance. She’d need the marriage lines to control William’s behavior, now he faced bankruptcy. They were her only leverage against his temper. “Why would you bother? You don’t like Roberta.”
He shrugged. “It pleased me.”
“So you already knew William intended to report you to the magistrates.”
“Yes.”
“But his behavior is erratic enough to send your friend down here.”
Jonas’s laugh was bitter. “Sedgemoor’s not my friend.”
“He obviously remembers you fondly if he’s willing to brave the road to Castle Craven.”
A spark of grim amusement lit Merrick’s eyes. “We share a similar plight.” He released her and subsided into the chair the duke had vacated. He gestured to the chair’s twin at his side. “I take it you’ve never heard the gossip.”
As she sat, Sidonie almost found it in her to smile. For a man without a legal name, he could be astonishingly lordly. “You know I don’t get out into society.”
“Even so, you knew all the stories about me.”
“You’re family.”
“At Eton, Cam Rothermere, the man you saw today, Richard Harmsworth, who sent Cam on his futile mission of mercy, and I were collectively known as the bunch of bastards.”
This didn’t make sense. “But he’s a duke.”
“I’m the only one of the three officially declared a bastard. The other two are merely the result of questionable unions that have kept tongues wagging for years. Because their fathers acknowledged them, Cam and Richard retained their rights and privileges. Cam’s mother overflowed with such family feeling, she shared her favors equally with the late duke and his younger brother. Nobody, apparently including the duchess, knows who fathered Cam, although at least his blood is unquestionably Rothermere. It’s a complete mystery who sired Richard Harmsworth. His mother never admitted who shared her bed, but when she produced Richard sixteen months after her husband left for St. Petersburg, her adultery was revealed. The late Sir Lester Harmsworth recognized the child as his in the absence of another heir, but there’s never been much doubt that he was absent at Richard’s conception.”