The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,38

had not been expecting that question, and could not imagine why his father needed to know the particulars. He could name a handful of brothels but that would only be meeting his father on the ground of his choosing. He chose a different tack. “You can’t expect me to admit to the name of the sort of establishment I frequent,” he said. “Wouldn’t do to have any dear friends stuck in the pillory, now, would it?” That made the duke’s cheeks redden, because he simply hated to be reminded that his son fucked men.

“You will not speak that way in front of Her Grace,” the duke said.

“I beg your pardon, Marian,” Percy said graciously. “I suppose I ought to follow my father’s example and confine my breakfast-table conversation to the ordinary sort of whorehouse.”

“Percy,” Marian said, her eyes daggers. She sat pale faced and stiff backed, her plate empty and her hands in her lap, as she did nearly every meal.

Percy supposed that in the normal course of things, it would be wise to ingratiate himself to the duke so as to secure some sort of livelihood or settlement after the truth came out. But Percy didn’t for a minute think that his father would willingly toss so much as a spare coin in his direction, however agreeable Percy tried to make himself. Besides, Percy reasoned that if he suddenly started acting civil to the duke, after twenty-three years of open hostility, it would make the man suspicious. It would make the entire household suspicious, come to that. Everybody knew that the duke and his heir—ha!—didn’t get along; depending on one’s alliance, that was either because the duke was a belligerent and controlling mean-spirited tyrant or because Percy was a lazy sybarite with a taste for unspeakable vice.

Besides, that was the point of acquiring the book—it would be foolish to depend on the duke’s unlikely largesse when they had extortion as an option.

“It’s time for you to find a wife,” the duke said.

For one wild moment, Percy nearly laughed. With some effort, he schooled his features into something like boredom. “I rather thought that the point of this”—he gestured between his father and Marian—“was insurance in the event that I never sired a son.” He could sense Marian bristle at the other end of the table, and he regretted needing to refer to her union with his father in those terms. But he had a part to play. He took an idle sip of tea. “Indeed, I thought it remarkably prudent of you, given my inclinations.”

Percy had always known that he would need to marry. As his father’s only son, he had a pressing need for an heir. He had never questioned it, and, if things had gone according to plan, he would at some point in the next year have married a suitable woman and done what was needful. Now, however, it would be unthinkable to marry. He could hardly wed a woman who thought she was marrying the future Duke of Clare but who instead turned out to be a penniless bastard. He already knew he couldn’t offer a wife a love match; to also deprive her of title and fortune was outright villainy.

“In case you had not noticed, you are still the only son I have,” the duke ground out.

Percy nearly said that he damned well hoped he was, because all this situation needed was the arrival of a French peasant on the scene claiming to be the rightful heir to the dukedom. Instead, he stirred some sugar into his tea. “Quite right,” he said, and enjoyed the confusion and disappointment that passed over his father’s face. Percy realized that the duke had been longing for a quarrel that morning and had picked a fight with Percy simply because he was near at hand.

For years he had regarded his father as a casual sort of nemesis, one who had no real power to harm him. But it occurred to him now that as soon as news of his illegitimacy was public and he was no longer heir apparent to the dukedom, he’d not only lose whatever protection he had as a wealthy and titled man, but he’d also open himself up to attack from his father. The duke could see to it that Percy was arrested, pilloried, locked away in the sort of asylum that existed to hide family members with inconvenient or unpleasant proclivities. Once the duke had no obligation to treat Percy as his heir,