Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,121

with his return.

His family, whose only intent had been to see Dare reintegrated with society.

Nay, not just society—his family. His eyes drifted across the length of the table to where his sister sat, fiddling with her fork and staring at her plate. If it had been about reclaiming his place amongst the ton, the arrangement the duke and duchess had held him to wouldn’t have had anything to do with Kinsley, or with Dare becoming a brother to her.

“I’m sorry . . . Grandfather,” Dare said quietly.

The duke started and cupped a hand about his ear. “Come again?”

“I said I am sorry . . . Grandfather.” For so much. For having rejected every attempt the duke had made to be close to him. For having made every aspect of his return to Polite Society . . . so difficult. Dare tried to get the words out, but the duke again patted his hand.

“Fine.” Tears misted the older man’s eyes. “It is fine, my boy.”

My boy.

And in this . . . there was an absolution of sorts.

How very long Dare had been fighting that connection. Fighting any bond. It had been just one more thing Temperance had made him open his eyes to. He’d gone out of his way to destroy everything, this relationship included. Had it not been for Temperance, he would have never seen as much.

From where he sat, Dare watched Temperance several chairs away, seated between Kinsley and the duchess. Graceful and elegant, she was a queen amongst mere mortals. She, who’d lived a life of strife and come out on the other side of evil to triumph—and without anyone to save her. Even as he’d wished to be there for her.

She was more woman than he’d ever deserved, and he was a selfish bastard, because he wanted her anyway.

“I want your twenty thousand pounds,” Dare said quietly, and his grandfather froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. He was not, however, willing to sell his soul for it. “I’ve had time to think on it.”

“And?”

“And I’m not willing to require Kinsley to marry.”

“That is . . . honorable of you,” his grandfather murmured, and picking up his monocle, he studied Dare through that round glass. Did he think to search out his intentions? Different motives? “There is, of course, the—”

“Nor will I fulfill the other terms of your arrangement.” There’d be no child with Temperance. The pain of that was raw, still . . . and perhaps would always be so. Every corner of his heart ached. Even if she had been capable of carrying a child, however, he’d still not ask or require that of her. “I’ll not have my wife be expected to give me a child. She is no broodmare.” It was why he’d never really allowed himself to consider that as a real means to the funds.

The duke frowned. “This isn’t the place. We can talk on it—”

“There is nothing more to talk about,” he said quietly. “We are at an impasse. I cannot”—nay—“I will not give you either of what you seek.”

He braced for the pressing weight of panic at losing those monies. Funds enough to see so many people in the Rookeries cared for. And yet . . . this time, it did not come. There were other ways. He was not immune to the fact that men born of privilege had greater opportunities available to them. It was wrong. It was unfair. And yet Dare could and would use that for good. Eventually. In time.

“What will you do?” The duke’s query emerged, hesitant.

His grandfather held the same fears that Temperance did. And why should he not? Dare had shown no real commitment then, or up until now, to divorce himself of a life of crime and devote himself to an honorable way. “I don’t know,” he confessed. He briefly studied the silver fork dangling forgotten from his fingers, a piece so fine it could have filled many empty bellies. He slowly set the piece down. “But when I was ten, I chose a life of stealing.”

The duke’s features contorted, but he made no attempt to silence Dare. As he would have expected any lord would. Particularly with them both within earshot of any number of plummy guests. Instead, the duke angled closer, gripping the edge of the table, as he hung on to Dare’s every word.

“At first, it was all good fun. Easy. I was playing in those streets I’d never before visited, let alone knew existed . .