Page 63 of A Duke's Keeper
“Ridiculous. He’s a gentleman, a duke, a complete and utter idiot, and I’m... me.”
“He did seem to notice that last part.”
“You’ve suffered too many blows to the head if you believe such blindness is acceptable to theton.”
“I never thought I’d see you run from a fight.”
“I’m not running.”
Syd looked back out at the scenery. “If you say so.”
Syd’s words drew up images of Renard and the severity of their last argument. He hadn’t said a word about the baby. Racking her brain, she had no idea why he’d gotten so angry. Gentlemen were notorious for siring illegitimate children with mistresses. Was he afraid she’d keep him from a proper marriage?
Rutting arse! The debutantes could have at him. She’d told him because a child changed their relationship, if only linking them in a way previously absent. Most bastards were carted off to orphanages so as not to impede a dalliance with a rich man. But Camille’s ambitions had never strayed towards that life. She’d thought Renard would see a child differently. The way he’d spoken of his sister, she’d seen his compassion and familial ties. She hadn’t gone and foolishly fallen for an unattainable man. Good thing too. Accusing her of trapping him! Idiot man. She wouldn’t have him if he begged on his knees. Her heart was intact, her thoughts clear. The painful tearing in her chest was from her condition and nothing more.
*
After being turnedaway from Camille’s home once again by the fine-whiskered Mr. Rockford, then hearing from the Madamthat Camille had left London for a few days—and refused to tell him exactly where she’d gone—Renard knew sitting idle would do no one any good. He left a letter with the Amazonian at the Pony for Camille, explaining his departure from London and the necessity to check in on his sister in the country. He wished he could have offered the information in person, along with a heartfelt apology.
His knuckles tightened around his horse’s reins. He wanted their child. He wanted everything! If the strength of language in his missive—likening himself to the worst and smelliest parts of a particular barn animal—didn’t express his disdain for his actions properly, he’d make his feelings clear when he returned.
Somehow, he’d convince Camille to marry him. If he had to offer up what black cinders remained of his soul, she had but to ask. He’d confess everything, his past, his impending fall from society. There was hardly more he could do to claim his child’s legitimacy when he’d be stripped of far more than his title. If Camille never wished to see him again, it would all be worth her disgust if she but agreed to be cared for somewhere safe and comfortable in the country. He’d find a suitable house with a secluded wing to house her mother, keeping that shrill and haunting voice from interfering until Camille’s condition was over.
Renard spurred his horse faster, the Lux estate coming into view over the ridge. He placed his plans for Camille and the baby aside. First, he’d sit down with Charlotte and covertly gain insight into her desires for a husband. He’d find her someone suitable and have a marriage contract secured by the end of the week. His sister’s only chance of happiness with a respectable man of title had to be before the news broke.
He congratulated himself on his stupid luck for finding the most impossible women to dedicate his short life to. Maybe thetwo women would strike up a friendship while commiserating over the Louis name’s stain.
He shook himself to task: find Charlotte a husband, marry Camille, secure both their futures before the noose. Let that horrid Mrs. Norris and her son claim the title. There were more important things than status or wealth.
Two weeks, he told himself. He’d make it all happen in two weeks come hell or incarceration.
*
“What do youmean?” Renard asked.
His housekeeper’s pinched expression was one of disapproval he knew too well, usually from a lady he knew better.
“Lady Charlotte has gone to attend the Quickners’ garden party, Your Grace.”
“Where’s Mrs. Chiselhurst?” He’d paid the chaperone a small fortune.
“Quit last week. My letter did mention your visit was a matter of urgency.”
“Of all the—” Renard brandished the party’s invitation between them, ready to storm Lord and Lady Quickner’s estate and drag his sister home by the bustle. “The party is a two-day affair. Does she plan to spend the evening there?”
“I do believe that was her intention. She packed a small trunk and reticule.”
Renard did indeed go for his horse then, fully prepared to make an utter fool of himself to save his sister’s reputation. Of all the times for his sister to take an interest in mingling and forgo the rules of society when he needed to secure a match based on her pristine reputation—fate wasn’t done interfering yet, it seemed.
Lord Quickner’s property was another six miles west of Lux estate, the only other neighboring property aside from Camine Manor. He glanced at the fading sun in the direction he must travel. If he rode like the Devil, he’d be there before nightfall.
“Your Grace.” His housekeeper stopped him before he could mount his stallion. “If you wish to smooth the ripples of Lady Charlotte’s actions, might I suggest a fresh shirt and coat?”
Renard looked down at his dust-coated ensemble, filthy from his haste to make it to the estate before dinner. Panic and anger made way for practicality.
He offered his horse’s reins to a stableboy with an order to brush and feed the poor animal in the twenty minutes it would take for him to wash and dress for a party. At least he and Charlotte would have the proper family carriage for the journey home.
Making for the house, Renard kept his gaze from wandering to the stables themselves.
