Page 62 of The Devil's Accidental Duchess
CHAPTER 21
Alucky devil, indeed.
Philip took a moment to gather himself before he pushed off the wall. Perhaps he wouldindulge in another dance or two with his betrothed. Anything to be closer to her.
He had only taken a few steps toward the ballroom doors when a figure approached, swaying. Glassy eyes spoke of one too many libations, though that didn’t excuse the finger that jabbed into Philip’s chest.
Had it been anyone else, he would have snapped it in two.
“Don’t think that I don’t know exactly what is happening here,” John slurred, staggering back a step. “I saw you pull my daughter behind those bushes.”
Philip stared coldly at the man. “Is it to your displeasure that I actuallylikemy betrothed? Did you want me to hate her?”
Like his own father, could it be that John was not so keen to end the feud after all? Had John forced his daughter into Philip’s sphere as some form of twisted revenge?
“No, I am not sorry that you like my daughter,” John mumbled, “but I do not likeyou. I have tried to pretend, but… I just do not like you at all.”
He seemed lost in thought, blinking dramatically. The effects of the champagne he had been imbibing, no doubt, celebrating so enthusiastically that he had gone in the opposite direction, toward misery. Deep in his cups.
“And what have I done to offend?” Philip asked. “I did right by your daughter. And by you. I have been to war, Barlow. We both know that I would have killed you if you had insisted on a duel.”
John sneered. “And I would have preferred it. My honor would be intact.” His unfocused gaze tried to find Philip’s eyes. “You know, you look exactly like him. I had not noticed how uncanny the resemblance is until now.”
Philip bristled. He had heard it many times before. It was why he did not look at his reflection if he could help it, so he would not have to seethatface staring back at him.
Of all the cruel things his father had done, giving him his face was the worst. It meant Philip could never escape his father, not even after the wretch was dead and gone.
“I cannot help how I look,” Philip said through gritted teeth.
John leaned in, a drunken grin on his lips as he whispered, “I know why he sent you away.”
“What?”
Ignoring him, John continued to babble, “People callmecruel because I shout and I lose my temper. I am not always kind, but I would never hurt my own children.”
“Then you are a better father than most,” Philip said, uncertain as to where this conversation was going.
What did he mean, he knew why his father had sent him away? Was he going to say, or had the liquor already snatched the thought from his mind?
“I just hope you only got his appearance from him,” John muttered accusingly. “Or else the feud doesn’t end here. It starts again. Perhaps I can’t kill you in a duel, Ashbrook. Perhaps I can’t kill you at all, but you had better believe that I will die trying if you… if you lay a hand on my daughter. If you are anything likehim.”
Philip saw an opportunity. The man was drunk, and libations had a way of loosening lips. If he was ever going to find out what had caused the feud in the first place, perhaps this was it.
“I do not understand,” he said. “I know my father wasn’t well-liked, but I am afraid I know nothing about your feud. All I was aware of was that you hated each other. Now, I know the cruelty thatIwas subjected to, but… what areyoutalking about?”
John blinked and studied him for a moment. Inebriated he might have been, but clarity suddenly seemed to sharpen his expression.
“My God, you really do not know, do you?” he whispered, as if the former Duke of Ashbrook might be hiding nearby. “You really have no notion of who your father really was? What manner of monster he was?”
“Oh, I am aware of what a monster he was,” Philip countered, “but only toward me.”
The response seemed to perplex John. He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and chewed on the inside of his cheek, his mouth twisting. Faint muttering could be heard under his breath, but Philip couldn’t decipher a word of it.
“If you have nothing else to say,” Philip added, hoping to elicit a reaction, “then I shall?—”
“He killed my sister,” John hissed, spittle flying from his mouth.
Philip froze. “He did what?”
