What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

“Or have I mistaken the situation?” Sir Henry’s voice lowered as no introduction to the new Duchess of Sedgemoor eventuated. “If so, you may rely on my discretion.”

Pen had no idea how he meant to fulfill that promise. Fifty people must have heard Sir Henry identify Cam as the Duke of Sedgemoor.

“Not at all, Sir Henry,” Cam said as coldly as she’d ever heard him speak to anyone. Then words that rendered her dumb with horror. “My wife has undergone a terrible ordeal. She requires quiet and privacy. I’ll take her upstairs and tend to her. Should you require details of the wreck, you may call tomorrow.” He marched past an openmouthed Sir Henry. “Mrs. Skillings, pray direct us to our rooms.”

The throng fell completely silent to witness Cam at his most ducal, although curiosity swirled around them as powerful as the lashing sea that had nearly drowned her.

“Cam—” she began, uncertain how to avert catastrophe.

“Later, my dear.” His words sounded more reprimand than endearment. “Your servant, Sir Henry.”

Cam bowed to the magistrate with insulting brevity. Carrying a quaking Pen, he followed the innkeeper from the taproom.

Chapter Fourteen

I won’t marry you, Cam.” In the three days since the shipwreck, Pen felt like she’d repeated those words a thousand times.

She stared uncompromisingly across the small parlor that linked their bedrooms at the Leaping Mackerel. Cam lounged against the windowsill, the mullioned window open to the busy street below and the salt-laden breeze ruffling his thick dark hair. Morning light shone on him, as though heaven itself informed the unworthy Miss Thorne that this man was completely out of her sphere.

He still looked like a pirate, although a better dressed one than the drenched ruffian fished from the Channel. Cam had managed to borrow some clothes that almost fitted, but Pen still got a surprise whenever she caught sight of the elegant Duke of Sedgemoor wearing the rough shirt and trousers. Strangely the cheap clothing made him look even more aristocratic. She’d never been so aware that he was born to be a duke.

At a disadvantage sitting, Pen rose from the table where she’d been reading last week’s London papers. She had a nasty feeling that Sedgemoor’s shipwreck and mysterious bride featured in more recent editions.

Cam had just come in from checking on Oates, the injured crewman. Captain MacGregor and Williams had left yesterday. Tragically this morning they’d received news of the missing men’s bodies washing up further south.

“The world believes we’re married,” Cam responded implacably. He must be as sick of this subject as she was. But gentlemen accepted the consequences of their actions. Not for the first time, Pen wished she’d been shipwrecked with a man of fewer principles.

She squared her shoulders, sensing the difference in Cam. She’d seen his face when he learned about the two dead sailors. She’d read guilt, anger, regret—and ominously for her, immovable determination. They had no further reason to linger in Ramsgate. They were both close to recovered, barring a few bruises. He knew this was his last chance to convince her to marry him.

“Nobody has identified me. A glower down that long nose will quash any impertinent questions. You can blame the misunderstanding on the chaos after the wreck. The world will shrug its shoulders and assume that you traveled with a mistress. A small scandal. A diamond or two will smooth Lady Marianne’s feathers. No harm done.”

He slumped on the windowsill, looking uncharacteristically defeated. “But harm is done, Pen. You’re ingenuous to suggest otherwise.”

“It will be a five-minute wonder at best,” she said desperately, because somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice insisted that he was right.

“You forget that I’m a child of scandal.” She hated when Cam looked at her as though he needed her help. “Now I’m caught in a compromising situation, all the old stories will resurface.” His eyes sharpened on her. “And if you imagine your role will remain secret, you underestimate the press. You forget we were seen together near Genoa.”

“When I’m back in Italy, tattle in England won’t bother me.”

“I’m staying here and it will bother me. The world wants me to prove myself as rackety as my forebears. Do you mean to throw me to the wolves, Pen?”

She whirled away to escape his grave regard. To gain her cooperation, Cam played upon her guilt. When he’d proposed a marriage to save her from ruin, she’d stubbornly resisted. With her father’s indiscriminate womanizing and Peter’s extravagance, there was already scandal aplenty in the Thornes. More, while unwelcome, wouldn’t make much difference, especially as Pen had no intention of marrying.

Now Cam deployed his final weapon—their long friendship. Despite his words, she knew he wasn’t selfishly concerned for himself. Although he should be. After his struggle to restore pride to the Rothermere name, he’d now undergo trial by gossip.

He was a manipulative devil to enlist her conscience against her. Fathoming his game made his tactic no less effective. She hated to think of Cam suffering because of her actions. He’d hurt and infuriated her when he’d asked her to become his mistress. Remembering that scene before the shipwreck, she was still hurt—and restless and embarrassed and wickedly curious about what might have happened.

“That’s not fair, Cam.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked softly.

The room fell so quiet that she heard a mother scolding her child on the street below and the creak of boats moored in the harbor. Still she refused to answer. Knowing that if she did, she was lost.

When she was nineteen, she’d fought this agonizing battle. If anything, her reasons for saying no to everything her heart desired were stronger now. Except that Cam didn’t offer everything her heart desired. Whatever passion they mustered between them, there would be a coldness at the center of this marriage arranged purely to appease public opinion.

Pen couldn’t live with Cam day after day hungering for his love. She’d seen her mother become a bitter harridan through yearning after a man who didn’t return her affection once the first reckless rapture had passed. It was a terrifying example of the price of unrequited love.

With a grim sense of inevitability, she heard Cam padding toward her. Even in borrowed boots, he still moved like a cat.