“To warn them off? It sounded to me as though you had something else in mind. Another duel, in fact.”
“It was Lionel who broached the topic of a duel, not I.”
Allendale frowned. “What’s he playing at, I wonder?”
“I’d have thought it was obvious. He’s attempting to dig up the truth. And he’s doing a damned good job of it.”
“On the scent like a bloodhound,” Allendale muttered from his place across from St. Clare. “All because of that duel of yours with Burton-Smythe. And because of your dealings with that Honeywell female.” He scowled at him. “You’ve been careless.”
“Perhaps I have.”
“You’ve forgotten your duty.”
A swell of bitterness took St. Clare unaware. “I beg your pardon, but I have not. How could I forget? It’s been hammered into my head every minute of every day for ten years.”
“Self-pitying claptrap. You may have been obliged to work hard and train hard, but look at what you’ve gained in the bargain. You came to me a raw country lad, nothing but unchecked emotion, and I’ve made you into a gentleman of restraint and refinement. My heir. My true heir. And you would throw it all away? Cast it to the wind the very moment we stand on the brink?”
“We are standing on the brink,” St. Clare said. “But not of success, I fear.”
“Nonsense. My solicitor will manufacture the proof required. After which—”
“After which, I shall be beholden to the man for the remainder of my life.” The prospect left a sour taste in St. Clare’s mouth. “I’m amazed you’re willing to trust him with our secret.”
“What’s the alternative? You’ve yet to make a match with a suitable gel. Had you proposed to Miss Steele—or one of the dowager’s granddaughters—”
“Not this again.”
“Yes, this,” Allendale snapped. “If you’d managed to contrive a betrothal with Miss Steele, it wouldn’t only be my influence you’d have on your side. It would be the influence of the gel’s father.”
“I’m not going to marry Miss Steele. It was a mistake to act the part of her escort these past days. I thought I could stomach it—”
“Stomach it!” Allendale repeated, outraged. “You talk as if the gel’s an antidote.”
St. Clare folded his arms. His stitches strained across his wound. The bite of pain only sharpened his resolve. “She may as well be as far as I’m concerned.”
“Bah! She’s an acknowledged beauty.”
“She’s not for me. Only one lady is. And I’ve a mind to have her, by whatever means. Even if I must—”
“Don’t dare say another word,” Allendale warned. His face was red, his jaw clenching and unclenching with barely controlled fury. “By heaven, I never thought I’d see the day you’d go the way of your father. Throwing everything away for the sake of your basest impulses.”
“For love.”
“Love!”
“Love,” St. Clare affirmed.
“We were soul mates,” Maggie had said. “As essential to each other as light or air. From my earliest memory, I existed only for those moments when I could see him next, and he did the same. Neither of us was complete outside the presence of the other.”
St. Clare’s chest constricted to recall it. It was the truth. He’d only ever been loved but once in his life, and had only ever loved once in return. “I tried to forget her,” he said. “To leave her behind with all the rest of my past. I thought I had done. But I hadn’t. I can’t. I’d sooner cut out my own beating heart.”
Allendale studied his face. “Because you love her.”
St. Clare nodded grimly.
“You’d give up the title? You may as well do. You’ll be leading the papers straight to Somerset. Any enterprising reporter could find out the rest. Question the servants at that estate where you lived. What was it called?”
“Beasley Park.”
“Just so. You won’t have been forgotten completely. Some groom or groundskeeper will sell their secrets for a shilling. ‘Aye, that’s him,’ they’ll say. ‘That’s the scullery maid’s bastard.’ And when that much is known, you may bid goodbye to the title.”
“It’s not mine,” St. Clare said. It was the bitter truth. He was a bastard. A drunken mistake. He had no right to any of this. “Not by law.”
“You had no scruples about that when we began this venture. No more than I did.”
“That was before.”
“Before you saw this Honeywell gel.”
St. Clare fell silent.
“Think well on it, my lad,” Allendale said. “If you abandon the claim, you’ll receive nothing from the estate. Nothing from me. Not a single penny. I won’t support my