Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,109
warily.
“I’ve done worse things than you could imagine, and no, I’m not going to share any of my secrets as a sop to your conscience. However, I’ll assure you from personal experience that a ruined reputation can be regilded, and gaseous society gossips will eventually seek new material with which to inflate themselves.”
“That’s not my worst concern.” West rubbed the pad of his thumb across the dull edge of a butter knife, back and forth. He forced himself to go on. “I’ll always have to wonder when my inner demons might lash out and drag anyone who loves me down to whatever circle happens to be propping up hell.”
“Most men have inner demons,” Kingston replied quietly. “God knows I do. And so does a friend who’s the finest and most genuinely moral man I’ve ever known.”
“How do you get rid of them?”
“You don’t. You learn to manage them.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Let’s not go in circles, Ravenel. You’re not perfect—we’re both in agreement on that. But I’ve seen and heard enough to be assured you’ll provide the kind of companionship my daughter wants and needs. You won’t seclude her from the outer world. She and Henry lived in that damned Greek Temple on a hill like deities on Mount Olympus, breathing only rarefied air. You’ll be the kind of father those boys need. You’ll prepare them for a changing world and teach them empathy for the people who live on their land.” His intent gaze met West’s. “I understand you, Ravenel. I’ve been in your shoes. You’re afraid, but you’re not a coward. Stand up to this. Stop running. Go take up this matter with my daughter. If the two of you can’t come to some satisfactory conclusion on your own, I’m sure you don’t deserve to marry.”
There was a discreet knock at the door.
“Come in,” the duke said, the silvered locks at his temples glinting in the light as he turned his head.
A footman opened the door. “Your Grace,” he said, and gave a decisive nod toward the window.
The duke rose from his chair and went to the window, glancing down at the street. “Ah. What perfect timing.” He glanced back at the footman. “Proceed.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
West was too consumed by his thoughts to pay attention to the exchange. In his life, he’d had more than his share of lectures, some brutal enough to leave permanent gouges in his soul. But no man had ever spoken to him quite like this, wry, honest, direct, bracing, and a bit high-handed in a way that felt oddly reassuring. Fatherly. Admittedly, the suggestion of cowardice had rankled, but West couldn’t deny that Kingston was right, it was fear. He was afraid of too many damned things.
But the list was a bit shorter now. Shaving had just been crossed off. That proved something, didn’t it?
Kingston had gone to the partially open door. He was speaking to someone on the other side of the threshold.
A muffled female voice, just the tone of it, awakened West’s nerves like a handful of Lucifer matches all lit at once. He stood so quickly, he nearly knocked the chair backward. As he moved closer to the door, his heart started beating fast and hard, his ears straining.
“. . . brought the children,” she was saying. “They’re downstairs with Nanny.”
Kingston laughed quietly. “Your mother will have a fit of temper when I tell her I had them all to myself here, while she was at Heron’s Point.” Becoming aware of West’s approach, he stepped back and opened the door a bit wider.
Phoebe.
Joy filled West in a violent rush. Thunderstruck by the force of his feelings, he could only stare at her. In that moment, he knew that no matter what happened from then on, no matter what he had to do, he would never be able to leave her again.
“Father sent for me this morning,” Phoebe said breathlessly. “I had to hurry to catch the train in time.”
Clumsily West took a step back as she entered the room.
“I’ve done my part,” the duke said. “Now I suppose I’ll have to leave it to you two.”
“Thank you, father,” Phoebe replied wryly. “We’ll try to manage without you.”
Kingston left, closing the door behind him.
West stayed exactly where he was as Phoebe turned to face him. Holy Hell, it felt good to be near her. “I’ve been thinking,” he said huskily.
A tremulous smile curved her lips. “About what?”
“Trust. When I told you I couldn’t count on someone loving me . . .”