Page 59 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Chapter 21
“I’m sorry?” Antonia could not believe her ears. She shuffled backward out of the warm nest and tugged her chemise over her head. “Why on earth would you want that, after all the trouble to obtain it?”
“Because even though she despises me, Lady Summervale is my grandmother. Holding the Heart’s Cry again made me understand that no matter how I lovingly I remember my mother, I can’t bring her back. All I can do is honor her by restoring her picture to the family hall. I can have the miniature repaired from my sketches, and between that and my sketches of you, a competent portraitist ought to be able to create the full-size painting for my gallery. My mother will no longer be a pariah. I will honor her and, as the Duke of Havencrest, others will follow my lead.”
“I thought it meant the world to you to possess that diamond again,” said Antonia accusingly. Without the warmth of his body, her toes were beginning to go numb. She tugged on her stays, laced them as well as she could, and threw on her crumpled dress. It was such a pity that a fancy woman required so many layers to be made respectable once she had been foolish enough to let a man strip her naked. All the clothing made it difficult to flounce away in a huff.
“Let me help you.” Havencrest had stuck his legs into his trousers and pulled a shirt over his head. Antonia turned her back and held her hair as he fumbled with the tiny buttons in his blunt-tipped fingers. “It did. But now it has served its purpose. I care nothing for the object itself, only for the memories it carries with it. Do you think you can put it back?”
The note of hope in his voice punched the sore spot beneath her solar plexus. “Me?”
Havencrest finished the final button. “Yes, you,” he said after a moment. He regarded her with the same arrogance he had pursued her. One brow quirked up.
Antonia whirled around to face him, her skirt spinning out in a bell. “No, Malcolm. If you want to take the necklace back, that’s up to you. But I cannot help you. After all, you are at no risk of hanging whatsoever.”
“True. Yet I am disinclined to damage my relationship with my grandmother further.” Havencrest stroked his chin, considering.
“I am equally disinclined to be any further involved in this family misadventure.” Antonia thrust her chin out stubbornly, as if holding high could tip the tears back down and away from spilling. Besides, now that the damned man was looming over her, bare-chested in his barely fastened trousers, she had to peer upward to meet his gaze. “You need to talk to one another.”
He frowned. “My grandmother won’t see me.”
“When have you ever tried, Malcolm?” Antonia asked.
His jaw worked. “My grandmother was there the night the woman I was engaged to marry threw me over. I received the news unkindly, to say the least. I proved her worst fears about my father true.”
“What do you think she was afraid of?” Antonia asked, fearing the answer.
“That I had become like him,” Malcolm replied. He finished slipping his shirt studs into place. “Selfish. Cutting where I thought I could get a laugh. I was those things, but that night I saw what it had cost me. I started trying to change. I suppose I have not transformed myself as much as I thought.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I thought this was the end of my attempt to reconcile my parents and put their influence in the past.”
Antonia gave him a small, wan smile. “It sounds as if it is just the beginning.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I can’t help you any further, Malcolm. Decide what you wish to do with the Heart’s Cry. You should know, though, that Lady Summervale has a portrait of your mother. I saw it the afternoon I spent working as a maid. Maybe you don’t need to recreate your memories. If you made an effort to reconcile with her, you could ask your grandmother to leave the picture to you when she is…gone.”
Leaving him alone in the world, just like her.
“I should have told you about it sooner,” Antonia said softly. “I didn’t think of it until tonight. The pieces were there, of course. I am not accusing you of hiding it, but I did not comprehend the import until you told me.”
Malcolm bent his head to hers. “I would ask you to stay if it didn’t put your life at risk.”
“But it does,” she whispered. “I must disappear.”
“We could marry.” But from the hopelessness in his voice, Antonia knew he didn’t mean it. Her instinct was proved correct when he continued, “There’d be quite an uproar, of course. But you would be safe under a duke’s influence.”
“I won’t do that to Margaret,” Antonia declared, pulling away to better resist the temptation of throwing herself into his arms.
“Your friend doesn’t even want to marry me,” he exclaimed, and Antonia jumped.
“Nor you, her. And yet, it is what everyone expects. It will be the scandal of the century if you were to throw over an earl’s sister for a mere American. A criminal, at that.” Antonia’s hands trembled with cold and anger. Perched with her bum against the rickety table, she wondered whether there would be another piece of furniture reduced to matchsticks today.
“I am not afraid of scandals,” Malcolm declared as though this made him noble.
“Well, I am disinclined to become one,” Antonia snapped. “Any more than I already have.”
He scowled and snatched up his coat. “Perhaps I shall marry Margaret after all,” he seethed.
Antonia scoffed. “As if she would have you.” This was better. Anger. Conflict. A straightforward parting of ways. “Margaret will break off with you the instant she knows I’m gone for good.”
“Just as my fiancée did,” Malcolm replied bitterly. “Perhaps my father was right about women all along.”
He slammed the door so hard it rattled on its hinges. Antonia heaved a shuddering breath. The tight, hard ache beneath her ribs deepened. Antonia vowed this was the last time she would ever let another human being wriggle their way into her heart. It had taken her months to trust a friend and a lover, and within two days, she had lost both. Worse, she had put Margaret’s reputation at risk. Word of Antonia’s wager, the money she had spent, and her demand for the Heart’s Cry had undoubtedly gotten around by now. The Evendaws must be horrified at having harbored such a viper in their midst. Caring about other people never came to any good.
