Page 99 of His Unwanted Duchess

Cornelia’s jaw clenched. “That is none of your concern. Not anymore. I won’t allow you to hurt my brother, Stephen.”

He held her gaze. “I am not here to hurt him. Or you. I am here to talk frankly to you both. May I sit?”

“No!” the Marquess snapped bad-temperedly.

Cornelia flushed. “Mark, please! Yes, Stephen, you may sit.”

Stephen waited politely until Cornelia sat down and then took a seat in the opposite armchair. There were only two chairs in the small, grimy apartment, and the Marquess was left standing, shifting mulishly from foot to foot.

“I cannot allow you to continue humiliating my wife,” Stephen began at once. There was no point in waiting for tea. He suspected that nobody was in the mood for small talk. “That means you, Cornelia, must leave me and her alone. You, Hampton, must not approach any more newspaper editors, and neither must you feed information, false or otherwise, to the scandal sheets. I do not expect my name or that of my Duchessto ever cross your lips again. If you wonder whether I would ever know, I think my presence here in your little hidey-hole is proof that I can and will find you if you remain in London.”

“Is this an ultimatum?” Cornelia spat. “I am to leave? You are blackmailing me?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “You know me better than that, I think. I don’t blackmail. I make promises. You do not need to leave London, not if you mind your own business. Live your lives, both of you, and I will live mine.Wewill live ours.”

There was a long silence, during which Cornelia stared unblinkingly at Stephen.

“You are in love with her,” she blurted out, incredulous.

Stephen had not been expecting that. His customary composure did not desert him, at least.

Even so, the Marquess burst into laughter. “What, that fat, little bluestocking? Good God, man, youmustbe desperate.”

Cornelia did not laugh. There was a somberness to her expression now. She picked at a loose thread on the arm of her chair and eyed her laughing brother uncomfortably.

“That’s enough, Mark,” she muttered, but the Marquess was not listening.

“I was only going to marry her because her father would have made it worth my while,” the Marquess scoffed. “She’s hardly abeauty.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak of the Duchess of Blackwood in that manner,” Stephen said smoothly, not looking at the man. “I shall not warn you again.”

“Oh, come now, she’s barely a duchess. Everybody is laughing at her, and really, it’s not as if she looks the part. She’s quite ridiculous. Only the other day, Miss Boules said that…”

Stephen was out of his chair before the Marquess could blink, and before Cornelia could warn him. There was barely enough time to see panic and possibly regret cross the Marquess’s face before Stephen’s fist crashed into his jaw.

Cornelia shrieked. The Marquess went sprawling across the floor, automatically clamping his hand over his mouth. On his back, he scrambled backward, his eyes wide and staring up at Stephen.

Ignoring the stinging pain in his hand, Stephen took a step forward, bending down. Wrapping his hand around the Marquess’s cravat, he yanked him up a few inches until they were nose to nose.

“Don’t hurt him, Stephen, please!” Cornelia squawked. “He’s a fool who doesn’t know when to be quiet.”

“I’m aware of that, my dear,” Stephen hissed, staring unblinkingly at the Marquess. “Lord Hampton, let me be clear. If I see you in London again, there will be consequences. If you speak to the newspapers or scandal sheets about imaginary scandals, I will find you and make you pay. If you trouble me or my family again, you will regret it. Perhaps everything that has happened has led to this moment, perhaps not. But one thing I can promise you for certain. If you speak about my wife in that manner again, I shall kill you. Do you understand?”

The Marquess nodded frantically, clearly not trusting himself to speak.

“Good.”

Stephen released his hold on the man’s cravat, and the Marquess fell back onto the floorboards with athump. Cornelia hurried over to his side but made no move to comfort him.

“Goodbye, Cornelia,” Stephen said, ignoring the Marquess altogether. He handed over an envelope, sealed ostentatiously with his crest. “You’ll find two tickets for a ship that leaves for the Americas within a week. The Marquess must certainly get on the ship, but in consideration of your goodwill, I shall give you the courtesy of choosing whether to leave or not. I wish we could have parted on better terms.”

Cornelia swallowed. “Yes. I wish that, too.”

He gave her a short bow, then stepped neatly over the Marquess and strode out the door.

The fat landlord was standing by the bottom of the stairs, gawping. Stephen did not even glance at him, striding out of the dingy apartment building and into his waiting carriage.

“Where to, Your Grace?” the coachman asked, securing the door.

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