Page 59 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
The Duke shook his head, a weariness overtaking him. “I’m unaware of any of this. My father and late wife shared a passion for art, but it was lost on me. They would rotate different paintings throughout our estate, but that is the extent of my knowledge. I didn’t pay the artwork much mind.”
Arthur stroked his chin, deep in thought. “The attacks on Lady Charlotte’s life must be linked to Roberts’s death. If Your Gracehas not heard from him in a decade, Roberts must have become involved in something bad.”
The room fell silent as the three men replayed the recent events in their minds. Soon Arthur’s eyes once again darted between James and the Duke. He pushed up his spectacles, clearly a nervous gesture. “You have never met before?”
James and the Duke responded simultaneously with a resounding “no” and looks of disgust on their faces.
“There’s no relation?” Arthur asked, with an inflection at the end of the sentence.
“Absolutely not. It’s impossible. My father was an officer,” James said.
Arthur cleared his throat. “I see. I suppose Hughes is a common name. I know the Duke of Westcliffe’s family has long been established in Kent, but what about you, Captain Hughes?”
“Birmingham. Not even close to Kent. My mother insisted on keeping the name of the good-for-nothing officer who deserted her soon after they married. I’ve never met the knave, so I would never claim to be any distant relation of His Grace.”
The Duke stumbled backward, and his eyes swept up and down James’s body. All the color rushed from his face. “What’s your mother’s name?”
James’s emotions were roiling inside him from the day’s events, which had led him to disclose too much about his unsavory background. He could not comprehend why the Duke would care about his mother’s name, but at this point, he just wanted the conversation to end. “Rose Clarke.”
The Duke made a choking sound and looked at James as if he had seen a ghost.
“Why?” James barked.
His Grace let out an almost inaudible whisper, “When were you born?”
James crossed his arms. “1787.”
He did not think it was possible for the Duke’s face to become paler, but yet it did.
“No, no, no, no.” His Grace shook his head back and forth.
James’s patience finally snapped, and he threw up his hands. “What is it?”
“You’re my son.”
James stared at the Duke in disbelief. “Impossible.”
“No. Very possible. Is your mother alive?”
“Of course she is,” James retorted.
The Duke of Westcliffe ran his hand through his sandy-blond hair. “That can’t be.”
“Well, she is alive.” James tried to look at him objectively. He was tall like James, yes, but he had light hair and hazel eyes, which was a stark contrast to James’s features. Moreover,he looked like the epitome of an aristocrat with his square jaw, straight nose, and sharply delineated cheekbones.
The Duke regained some of his composure and gestured toward a group of chairs that were across from the settee. “Let us sit.”
“Sit?” James responded incredulously. “I’m not your son, and we should be focused on Lady Charlotte.”
“I gave her extra laudanum while you were speaking with the magistrate, because she became uncomfortable and was agitated. She’ll be comfortable for a while,” Arthur reassured James.
James ran his hand through his hair while emotions further tumbled inside him. There was no waythisduke could be his father.
“Sit down,” the Duke said. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. James stared back at him.
Arthur intervened. “I understand the discomfort of this situation, but I see a strong resemblance between you two. A standoff is not going to get us anywhere. We should discuss this calmly,” Arthur mediated, his nervousness gone and his political acumen now at the forefront.
“Fine,” James huffed, and he went and sat on one of the chairs. The Duke sat in the one facing him, while Arthur sat to his left. To his right, Lottie was sleeping soundly on the settee, breathing even.
