What to Do with a Duke Read Free

of Hart since has lived to see his son born proves that.”
    Marcus drank some more brandy, trying to wash away the bad taste this tale always left in his mouth.
    The entire decanter couldn’t do that.
    â€œAnd there’s no evidence my disreputable ancestor offered his support,” Marcus said. “By the time Isabelle Dorring realized her, er, problem, the duke had left on a bridal journey with his new wife.”
    Alex grimaced. “That wasn’t well done of him.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t.”
    â€œSo what happened to Miss Dorring?”
    â€œShe drowned herself—and her unborn baby—in Loves Water.”
    â€œYou don’t know that,” Nate said, as he always did. “Her body was never found.”
    â€œWhat else could have happened?” Nate knew the story as well as he did—Nate’s parents had been the first to tell them it. He hated the thought, but he had to face facts. “You know Loves Water is very deep. It’s not surprising her body wasn’t discovered.”
    Alex was shaking his head. “It’s a very sad story. Tragic, really. But that’s no reason to believe in a curse.”
    â€œAs Nate said, my family history proves the truth of the matter. My great-great-great-grandfather broke his neck going over a jump two weeks before his son was born. My great-great-grandfather died of the ague eight months after his wedding; his wife was delivered of a son two months later. Generation after generation, the same result.”
    â€œYour father?”
    â€œTripped on a loose pavement stone and cracked his head open on the marble steps of this house. I was born six weeks later.”
    Alex scowled at him. “That’s bloody unbelievable.”
    â€œBelief isn’t required. Finch told me my father scoffed at it all, and he’s just as dead as the other dukes.”
    â€œSo is there no way to break this, ah, curse?” Alex was looking at them as if they’d just escaped from Bedlam.
    Nate tossed off the rest of his brandy. “The Duke of Hart must marry for love.”
    Marcus snorted. “And what is the chance of that happening? Zero.” Nate’s parents were the only people Marcus knew who’d made a love match. His own mother certainly hadn’t.
    She hadn’t even loved me.
    His heart clenched. Stupid.
    I’m thirty years old. It doesn’t matter any longer.
    His mother had dropped him at his aunt and uncle’s estate on her way to the Continent when he was a newborn. Last he’d heard, she’d married some Italian count and was living on a Mediterranean island. Someone must be supporting her. She hadn’t touched any of her widow’s benefits in the years he’d been holding the purse strings.
    He wouldn’t recognize her if she stepped into the library this moment.
    It’s a good thing she abandoned me. It gave me a family. It gave me Nate.
    Laurence, one of his footmen, came in then with a tray of ham, cheese, and bread. “Mr. Finch wanted me to be sure ye got the letter from Loves Bridge, Yer Grace. It’s on yer desk.”
    â€œAh, yes, thank you, Laurence. I see it.” News of a leaky roof or crumbling fence could wait.
    â€œWhat did happen with Miss Rathbone?” Alex asked once Laurence left. “I thought you were far too wily to fall prey to her.”
    â€œI thought so, too, Marcus.” Nate’s voice held worry, frustration, and perhaps a touch of anger. “You know you have to be careful, especially now.”
    He was tempted to tell Nate he’d gone outside to get free of his bloody constant surveillance, but Nate hadn’t been the only one he’d wanted to escape.
    â€œYou know how stifling a crowded ballroom can be. I just needed some fresh air.”
    The noise and the stink of too many people in too small a space had indeed been gagging, but he’d also wanted to get away from the Widow Chesney.