Page 101 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Oh fook. He was going to have to confess to Fawkes before he confessed to Kit? Thorne struck the cue ball, which careened wildly across the baize, missing the last red ball entirely.
Sighing, he tossed down his snooker cue. “She thinks Society wohldnae accept my duchess if they found out she’d worn trousers and worked as a footman. And then my valet. And I fell in love with her when I thought she was male.”
He couldhearFawkes’s wince when his cousin murmured, “Och, well, she might be right.” The other man sighed. “Surely there’s a way to control the narrative?”
“My people are loyal to me. I dinnae think Titsworth or any of the servants would spread rumors, but all it would take would be a whisper to get out, even years later…”
“Unless ye could get ahead of it,” Fawkes offered, propping the butt of his cue against the floor. “Perhaps put out the word she was doing itbecauseshe was Blackrose’s daughter? Then she’d be seen as brave and clever. Assuming we make his crimes public, that is.”
Thorne braced his palms against the baize and slowly lowered his weight, considering the possibilities. “That…might work. I’d just have to figure out a way to spin it.”
“The musicale is tomorrow evening. Ye’d better figure out thatspinquickly.” Fawkes hummed. “Of course, that’s no’ yer only problem. As Kit said,whoshe is might matter more. I’m speaking as a bastard myself.” His gray gaze was serious whenhe held Thorne’s. “I went to school with all of ye rich and powerful arseholes, and I kenned then what I ken now; being born on the wrong side of the blanket is no’ easy. They’ll no’ accept her, any more than I was accepted.”
Shite.
Hell, he had to tell someone. The truth was burning in his soul and he had to release the tension.
Thorne dropped his head. “She’s no’ a bastard,” he mumbled.
“What?” his cousin asked sharply. “Thorne,what? Because it sounded as if ye said—”
“She’s no’ a bastard,” Thorne admitted with a sigh.
Fawkes cursed sharply. “Then why did ye let us all assume—? The way she explained it…”
Swallowing down a sigh at his own stupidity, Thorne straightened. “BecauseKitthinks she’s illegitimate. It’s what she was told, by her mother. I thought she was illegitimate until Bull broke into Blackrose’s safe and…I found his file on her.”
Fawkes’s cue clattered to the floor. “And?”
“AndI found the marriage certificate between William Stoughton and Gloria Pastorino. Dated a yearbeforeKit’s birth.”
“Oh,shite, Thorne, that’s…” Shaking his head, Fawkes gaped. “Damnation.”
“Right?” Thorne dragged a hand through his hair. “It makes her fit for a duchess.”
“Duchess, hell, Thorne.” Fawkes pointed a finger at him. “It makes her a futurecountess.She’s Blackrose’s heir presumptive now, as his legitimate daughter. If he marries Lady Emma and produces a son, then—nay, wait, he cannae marry Lady Emma. I assume Kit’s mother is still alive?”
Thorne scowled.Philistine.“How do ye no’ ken these things? Aye ofcourseKit’s mother is still alive. Ye haven followed Gloria Pastorino’s career?”
“No’ all of us are as stupidly obsessed with opera and music and—and—whatever else ye’re obsessed with,” Fawkes dismissed. “So if Blackrose marries the Earl of Stallings’s daughter, he’ll be a bigamist. Another crime to add to his list.”
“Aye. So unless Gloria dies, Kit is his heir.”
“Fook. And he kens it. He kens he cannae marry again, cannae have a chance at a sonhe’llget to rear, if Gloria is still alive.”
Thorne nodded grimly. “Why do ye think I’ve insisted the modiste come here? I havenae let Kit out of this house without me escorting her since she met her father at that ball. I even wrote to her mother and warned her of the danger.”
Fawkes was shaking his head. “Blackrose has connections, aye, but no’ loyal men. Remember? That was the point, to purge anyone who might ken his secrets. There’s nae one left to send after her, no’ if he himself is here in London.”
The guards at the ball Blackrose hosted…had they been loyal, or merely hired for the night? The remainder, theunknown, didn’t set Thorne’s mind at ease.
“What are ye going to do after tomorrow?” Fawkes prompted. “If Blackrose doesnae come to the musicale, he’ll be expecting Kit to show up at his home with the evidence.”
Thorne grimaced, placing his cue back in the cabinet. “Aye…but he’ll come to the musicale.”
“Ye sound all grimly determined when ye say that. What makes ye so certain?”
Like a small lad caught in a crime, Thorne winced, then sighed. He turned back to the table and grimaced again when he admitted, “Because…because tomorrow morning, Olivia has assured me that the front page of her paper will run a headline about the musicale, and how the Earl of Bonkinbone’s daughter from his current—and verra much extant—marriage will be entertaining a group of Society’s finest, with her father as the guest of honor.”
