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"Simon? It is you. I was convinced Frederic was mistaken. But it is you."
"Yes, Mother. It is I." He ignored the plea in her eyes. She might have fooled London with her fragile blonde beauty and her gentle voice, but he knew the true woman behind her soft manners.
Seeing that he intended no gesture of peace, she settled into a chair by the fire. He ignored her wave for him to sit. "Have you come then, to tell me …" Her voice faded for a moment, then regained its strength. "…to say goodbye?"
"I am to be married."
She gave a shocked exclamation. "Married? Have you gone mad?"
Stiffly, Simon answered, "The matter is settled. I see no point in discussing it."
"Then why did you come?" she asked bitterly.
"I did not want to cause you any undue embarrassment, should you appear ignorant of the engagement of your only son. I would do nothing to break the promise I made the old duke, as you know." He would have turned and left, but she laid a hand on his arm.
Sudden hope kindled in her eyes. "Simon, does this mean that you have decided not to go through with your foolish plan?"
"No, Mother." He should have guessed that would be her first question. Ever her thoughts revolved around her position and her image in society.
"Then why?"
"It is a long and uninteresting story, Mother. One I do not wish to share with you. Suffice it to say that my bride is a resourceful, impetuous woman, whose parents did a lamentable job with the extraordinary daughter they were given. I have decided to amuse myself in my last months with turning her into a woman suitable to live in the world in which she was born." He added, as a muttered afterthought, "Without turning it upside down and inside out."
His mother flushed. "You cannot marry when you have no intention of remaining a duke. Do you plan to walk away from your wife in six months' time? You'd do better to leave her jilted at the altar."
"Perhaps that is true, Mother, but I am not about to do so."
"I see." The cold woman he was more comfortable dealing with came again to the fore. "You are just like your father. What you want, you take, no matter the consequences."
"Are you referring to him?" Simon nodded toward the portrait of the former duke that hung above the mantel. "Or were you speaking of my true father?"
Her cheeks grew pink. "How dare you be so insolent. The duke acknowledged you, Simon. He was your father in the eyes of the law."
"And in the eyes of God?"
With cold precision, she said, "Truly, you are as unfeeling as both of your fathers. You care nothing for this girl or her welfare. You wish only to satisfy your own whims."
His mother was more furious than Simon had ever seen her, except perhaps at his father's deathbed. The words she had spoken were still burned into his memory. I find I cannot pray that the devil takes you, Sinclair. Though I wish I had never clapped eyes on you, though I wish my father had not sold me to you before I even had a chance at the marriage mart. I would not have Simon if it were not for you.
Simon had not understood, as he stood listening unseen from the doorway, until his mother had answered his father's inaudible whisper. Yes, he is a fine boy. My bastard son will make a successful seventh duke.
Bringing himself back to the present, he said curtly, "You give me no credit, Mother. It is not merely my whim which compels the marriage." He wondered very much the truth of that – he had evaded marriage traps before with great skill. This one, it seemed, he was springing on the bride. Was it only a whim?
Her eyes narrowed. "You have gotten her with child?"
"No, Mother. Though you are hardly one to comment, are you?"
"Simon. I am your mother."
"Of course. Please excuse my intemperate speech, Madam." He felt a twist of pleasure and pain at the color that washed her cheeks yet again. He sighed. "Miss Fenster and I have been discovered in a compromising position by a person who would delight in trying to embarrass me, for which I care little. But I promised the old duke I would not harm the family name, and I will not allow even a trace of mockery to be attached to it as long as I am duke. After all, I know what my proud lineage is, do I not?"
Her mouth twisted as she let out a cry. He had never seen her lose control like this – except on the day of the old duke's death. She gazed at him steadily and said in a cold, hard voice, "You might not be his son, but you are more like Sinclair than you know."
She closed her eyes and whispered, "How I wish it weren't so." And then, her anger returned, she added, "And so will this girl you intend to marry – unless you give up your plan to run away form your title and the duty you were bred to perform."
"I believe we have covered that completely in the past, mother."
The duke knew, Simon. He …" Her voice trailed off, the emotion that had burst from her words going flat in a way he knew well from the days when he had thought himself his father's son, the legitimate heir, and had listened to her rare arguments with his father. No one ever won an argument with his father. After a while, most learned not to try. "He wanted you to inherit. If he had not, he would have disowned you without a moment's hesitation."
"Good day, Mother."
"Think of that innocent young girl, Simon. Does she deserve what you want to put her through? Just so that you can amuse yourself for a few months' time? You will ruin her." When he would have answered, she allowed her voice to rise. "I don't mean her reputation. I mean her heart and soul."
He thrust that thought away from him. He wanted Miranda as he had wanted no other woman in his life and Fate had dropped her into his arms. No matter that it was foolhardy to marry for the few months he had left, he would do so. He would be a good husband to her, no matter how brief their time together. And for the rest of his life, he would know that he had had at least a tiny part of the life he had dreamed of once long ago.
He was not without self-control and he knew several methods that would assure he left no child behind. He was not, in truth, being unreasonable. He could not risk marrying in his new life. Years of deception would wear him down to nothing. But six months was a heartbeat in a lifetime. If he could have her for six months, then so be it. Still, he could not help his urge to justify himself. "She will be ruined if do not marry her, Mother. And she will only be a widow — heart, soul, and jointure in her possession if I do."
His mother winced. "Simon, reconsider this foolhardy action of yours. If you are determined to keep the integrity of the Watterlys unscathed by scandal and pass the line to a true descendent, you do not want to bring a wife into this mess."
Simon refused to listen. She was not one from whom he would take counsel. "I must go mother." He bent to press a light kiss against her cheek, avoiding her clutching hand.
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