What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

“Your Grace, what a pleasure.” Lady Marianne’s voice was low, like a cello. That voice would never challenge him or tease him or warm with wry humor.

Whatever else Pen was, she was entertaining. Five minutes with her and his skin prickled with physical awareness, his brain fired with stimulation, he was laughing.

He couldn’t imagine laughing with Lady Marianne. She was too like one of the Meissen figurines that his mother had thrown when no dinner plates or Chinese vases lay to hand. In the Rothermere residences, numerous shepherds lacked their shepherdesses, thanks to the late duchess’s tantrums.

“Good morning, Lady Marianne,” he said.

Lady Marianne sank onto an azure chaise longue. Her back was ruler straight, her hands laced decorously in her lap. She looked like she sat for a painting. Her pale yellow gown complimented her creamy complexion. Immediately Cam pictured Pen as he’d last seen her, wearing an ill-fitting, borrowed dress. She’d been fighting him. Why was that immeasurably more exciting than Lady Marianne’s serenity?

Clearly he was mad.

He’d been set on marrying this lady, to a point where he’d quarreled with his closest friends Jonas Merrick and Richard Harmsworth. Both were converts to the joys of married bliss and they hadn’t approved of Cam’s coldhearted plans for an alliance with the Seaton family.

Yet now he felt like he faced a stranger.

Lady Marianne gestured toward a chair upholstered in matching blue. “Please sit down. I heard about the shipwreck. I’m sorry about the loss of your yacht. And the brave men who perished with her.”

She must have heard about his bride too. He’d expected this, but it was a devil of a way to discover that her suitor jilted her. Wishing desperately he was somewhere else, he sat. “Thank you. You perhaps also know that I traveled with a lady.”

The steady cobalt gaze didn’t waver. She was better at concealing her emotions than anyone he knew. Or perhaps she had no feelings to hide. Neither had harbored any illusion that their marriage was more than a dynastic merger. Cam had been grateful for that. A wife who wanted his love—even worse, a wife who would be hurt by his inability to love her—was his definition of hell. His father had loved his mother and unrequited passion had warped into anger and cruelty.

At least Pen knew that love wasn’t on the agenda. Lord, she didn’t love him. Most of the time, she could barely stand to have him around. He would never experience that glorious closeness with a beloved partner that Jonas had found with Sidonie, and Richard had found with Genevieve. And from the bottom of his frozen heart, he was relieved.

“Yes, the papers reported the story,” she said coolly.

“The lady is my wife. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before the rumor mill started. It’s been a… hectic few days and I felt I needed to see you in person.”

“I see.” She paused with a delicacy so finely tuned, Cam heard a clear ping in the air. “My congratulations, Your Grace. I hope you and the duchess will be very happy.”

She was a stylish creature, he thought with sudden admiration. And brave. She deserved better than a cold, decorous marriage with a man who didn’t love her. He’d offered her a shabby bargain, however shabbily he now broke it. She was better off without him.

“Thank you. You have every right to be furious, and—”

She raised one hand to silence him. “I’ve enjoyed your company, but there were no expectations on either side.”

A face-saving lie. Guilt and regret flooded him, but her subtly brittle air hinted that his apology was the last thing she wanted. He’d come to know her better than he’d realized during their circumspect courtship.

He felt like the lowest worm in creation. Because now that he looked closely, a tightness at the corner of her lips and a wariness in her eyes revealed that she was no happier hearing that he’d married another woman than he was telling her. And the hellish reality was that her jilting was no secret. The gossips wouldn’t be kind to the woman Camden Rothermere had passed over.

Her slender throat moved as she swallowed, but her voice emerged with commendable evenness. “There has been no mention of the lady’s name. Is she perhaps Italian?”

“No.”

“An English lady, then.”

The habit of protecting Pen’s identity was so ingrained, he had to remind himself that everything would become public in a few days. “My wife is Penelope Thorne, Lord Wilmott’s sister.”

Shock turned Lady Marianne’s expression blank. “I only know Miss Thorne by reputation.”

Cam could imagine. “We grew up together. I went to Italy to tell her about her brother’s death.”

Lady Marianne studied him before comprehension lit her features. Cam had a nasty suspicion that she put two and two together and got thirteen. “A long-standing attachment, then.”

“Yes,” he said, meaning friendship and knowing that Lady Marianne pictured childhood sweethearts renewing their passion.

Why in Hades was the world obsessed with love? Surely there were more important things to worry about.

“The lady has been away from England for many years. Perhaps she’ll appreciate a friend to help her navigate London society. I hope Her Grace will call when she’s in Town.”