In one swift motion, her father spun around, and Ethan couldn’t help but notice that the smallswords were pointed at his nose. Ethan narrowed his eyes and saw how sharp the ends were. All right. So maybe this wasn’t merely a sport. Maybe His Grace had a nefarious reason for inviting him over for a game of fencing.
Her father lowered the smallswords and handed one to Ethan. “You’ll find your mask over there.”
As much as Ethan wanted to go right back to the small room, change into his clothes and hurry out of the townhouse, he knew he had to stay there and play the game her father wanted. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went to the bench and picked up the mask. With a glance at the other gentleman who was putting his mask on, he followed suit and did the same. He took a deep breath, assured that there wasn’t anything His Grace had put in the mask to suffocate him. Sure, her father didn’t strike him as the type to murder someone, but desperate men did desperate things. Maybe this was the very thing that would make him do the unthinkable.
Gripping the smallsword in his hand, Ethan ventured, “Your Grace, I don’t mean to put a damper on what’s about to transpire, but I just want to say I’m relieved they now forbid duels.”
Her father paused and after a long moment of silence, he said, “I don’t recall mentioning a duel. Did I mention a duel, Lord Edon?”
Gulping, he shook his head. “No.”
“I think it’s odd that you mention it.”
“Oh, well, I,” he cleared his throat, “I was making conversation.” He let out a weak laugh. “Just for something to say. That’s all.”
“Hmm… In that case, I think it’s a shame that someone can’t sign a young gentleman up to be a soldier so he can stop Napoleon.”
“I understand.” Ethan knew that was exactly what her father would do if he could.
Her father moved to the center of the room and lifted his smallsword. “Are you ready?”
Ethan had the feeling that her father wasn’t going to make the game easy on him, and he was right. His Grace was an expert fencer, and he made no hesitation of showing off his skills. Ethan had to struggle to keep up with his fast pace. A few times he slipped and almost got jabbed by the smallsword. He managed to recover from his blunders and thought he was doing well in holding his own until it occurred to him that her father was purposely letting him think he was an adequate competitor. As much as Ethan tried to take an offensive stance, he only found himself stuck taking defensive measures.
“There may be a law against duels, as you pointed out, but I’m afraid accidents happen while fencing, despite the protective gear,” His Grace said, barely out of breath.
Gasping for air, Ethan managed to ask, “But there are no defects in your fencing clothing, are there?”
“I hope not.”
He made a move to strike his chest, but Ethan managed to block his smallsword.
“I brought up Catherine to be a lady,” the Duke said, taking another offensive maneuver which Ethan barely stopped.
“I’m aware of that, Your Grace.”
“Are you?” He stepped forward and lunged at him.
“Yes.” Ethan stumbled in an effort to avoid him and ended up falling on his back.
Her father pointed his smallsword at the base of Ethan’s throat before he could get up. “I don’t know what kind of perversions you’re used to, and quite frankly, I don’t want to know. But we’re going to get one thing clear. You’ll be gentle with my daughter. That means in and out of bed. I can’t stop you from doing the disgusting things you do when you’re not with her, but I require you to be discrete. If I catch one more item of gossip about you in the Tittletattle, you’ll answer to me. If you so much as treat my daughter the way you treat one of your whores, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. From this moment forward, you will be a gentleman in every sense of the word. Do you understand?”
Gulping, Ethan nodded, praying that this whole ordeal was over.
The duke removed the smallsword from his throat and motioned for him to stand up. “This game is over. You may rise to your feet like a gentleman.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed, making sure there was enough distance between them so he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of the smallsword again.
“I’ll let you change back into your clothes, but don’t forget that I’m watching everything you’re doing.”
Ethan headed toward the small room where the valet waited to help him change clothes, and as much as he struggled to keep a casual pace, he found himself hurrying for the door. By the time he was out of the duke’s viewing range, he breathed a sigh of relief and removed his mask. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, convinced that some of the perspiration was a result of the duke’s words.
“What a terrible thing it is to fall under the wrath of a protective father,” he mumbled as he rushed through the process of removing the fencing gear.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Did you say something?” the valet asked.
He shook his head. “Not of any consequence.” What did any of it matter? He was doomed no matter what he did. Between his mother and his father-in-law, his only means of escape was death. And given his young age and health, he feared death was a long ways off.
Chapter Six
Ethan entered through the servants’ stairs of Agatha’s townhouse late that evening. Once he made sure the hallway leading to the library was clear, he hurried down it. Without knocking, he opened the door and slipped into the room.
Agatha glanced up from her desk where she was writing and gasped.
He quickly lowered the hood of his cloak and pressed his fingers to his lips. “It’s all right. It’s just me.”
Pressing a hand to her heart, she took a deep breath and released it. “You’re horrible, Ethan. What are you doing here?” she hissed in a low voice.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“I can’t put another falsehood about you into the Tittletattle so soon. Even you aren’t so notorious that you have to grace the pages of every edition that gets published.”
“I’m not here to get another mention in the Tittletattle.”
With a sigh of relief, she said, “Good.”
He walked over to her desk and sat in the chair across from her. “Actually, I came here to ask if you’d not mention how poor I am.”
“But you insisted on it.”
“I know.” He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time.”
“It was. I think it’ll get those horrible mothers to relent and finally stop trying to pair you up with their daughters. Second to a title, ladies crave money. And who can blame them? Shopping is a very pleasant experience.”
“But you have to stop it from getting into the scandalsheets, Agatha!”
Her eyes grew wide and she shushed him. “If anyone finds out you just snuck into my townhouse, we’ll be accused of creating a scandal.”
Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. And right now, a scandal is the worst thing that can happen to me.” Really, it was. He could see the Duke of Rumsey’s face clearly in his mind. The gentleman would narrow those cold beady eyes at him and frown as if he was asked to clean chamber pots. The image alone was enough to make him sick to his stomach. “I have to be careful. I can’t do anything to upset my father-in-law.”
“Your father-in-law? I didn’t hear you were married.”
“Not yet. The wedding will be in three weeks, four days, fourteen hours and thirty-six seconds.” When her eyebrows rose in surprise, he added, “Not that I’m keeping track of the passage of time or anything.”
“When did the engagement happen?”
“That night I went to the Duke of Rumsey’s ball.”
“The same night you came here begging me to put that juicy bit of information about you in the Tittletattle?”
He nodded and clutched his stomach. “Yes. It was the worst night of my life.”
She burst
out laughing but quickly placed her hand over her mouth to quiet herself.
“It’s not funny.”
She giggled. “For you, it’s not. For me, it’s hilarious.”
He rolled his eyes. “I should have expected such an uncaring response from a lady who writes gothic horror under a gentleman’s name.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “I’m shocked you haven’t heard.”
“I’ve been writing. I’m almost done with this story. Then you can hand it to the publisher at Minerva Press.”
“Do you take delight in pretending to be a gentleman all the time?”
“I do it because I don’t want anyone who reads my work to know I’m a lady.”
“I find it hard to believe you can pull off so many identities,” Ethan commented.
She shrugged. “I only have two. Gerard Addison contributes to the Tittletattle, and Gilbert Horlock writes gothic horror. It’s easy to keep track of them.”
“Even so, I think you’ll slip at some point and expose one of them.”
“You don’t give me enough credit, Ethan. I’m mindful to watch what I’m doing.”
“Maybe.” He couldn’t manage it if it was him. Turning his attention back to her, he pressed, “You’ll forget the item I asked you to write about me being poor, won’t you?”
“I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Stiffening in his seat, he asked, “What?”
With an apologetic smile, she shrugged. “I submitted it yesterday morning.”
“But why?”
“Because you asked me to. You were rather insistent it happen right away, so I didn’t delay.”
He threw back his head and groaned, gripping the arms of the chair so he wouldn’t scream. This couldn’t be happening to him. Of all the times Agatha was prompt about submitting something to the Tittletattle, it had to be this one time when the duke would kill him if he heard of it!
“I’m sorry, Ethan.”
He got the image of Catherine’s father in his mind. The gentleman stood over him, a smallsword pressed against his throat, and this time, he had no mask to protect him.
Agatha rose from her chair and hurried over to him. Giving his face a gentle pat, she asked, “Are you all right?”
“My life is over. The duke is going to make me participate in a duel.”
“Oh, don’t be hysterical. Duels are against the law.”
He shook his head and tried not to cry. “You don’t know the power of his fury. He’ll cut me in half and feed me to the dogs.” Glancing at her, he added, “I’m too young to die.”
She sighed in exasperation and crossed her arms. “You’re being absurd.”
“You didn’t see the way he glared at me while we were fencing today. He hates me.”
“Just because he harbors feelings of ill will toward you, it doesn’t mean he hates you.”
Ethan lessened his hold on the arms of the chair and wiped his forehead. He was sweating again. This wasn’t good. His hands started to shake and he had to clasp them to stop the shaking from getting out of control. “He does hate me. I’m a vile gentleman who is about to ruin his daughter. He wants my head on a silver platter.”
“And to think I’m the one who writes gothic horror instead of you,” Agatha muttered with an exasperated look on her face. “I demand you pull yourself together at once. When the item comes out on the Tittletattle, you will look the Duke of Rumsey in the eye and tell him it’s not true. Ethan, you know better than anyone that you can’t believe everything you read in the Tittletattle.”
“You don’t understand him.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. I was fencing with him today, and he made it clear that I’m supposed to have a spotless reputation from now on.”
“You’ll be fine. You have more money than most titled gentlemen. Have your steward talk to him. Show him your books. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are wealthier than him.”
He shrugged. Whether he had more money than the duke was irrelevant. The gentleman was going to be furious he was mentioned in the Tittletattle, especially since he just warned him about it. Slapping his hands on the armchairs, he let out a weary sigh. He rose to his feet and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. “If I mysteriously disappear, you know the duke killed me.”
Though she didn’t respond, he could tell she thought he was exaggerating. Well, maybe if she had a smallsword pressed to her throat, she’d be more understanding.
“You have no need to fret. I’ll make sure no one sees me,” he softly said as he crossed the room so he could reach the door.
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“I know I’ll be fine getting out of here, but who knows how things will go when that tidbit about me shows up in the Tittletattle.”
“Ethan!” she hissed.
Before she could criticize him further, he slipped out of the library and scurried down the hall until he found the servants’ stairs. In no time at all, he was back on the street, safe from discovery. If only it was so easy to avoid Catherine’s father.
***
To Ethan’s further dismay, it wasn’t the Duke of Rumsey who first found out about the Tittletattle’s contents. He had just finished praying for absolution from all his sins in case he was about to step into eternity, because of an ill-fated smallsword, when his mother tracked him down in the hallway.
“What is this about you being a pauper?” she demanded, practically shoving a copy of the gossip paper into his arms.
He reluctantly took it and scanned through it until he came across “Gerard Addison’s” submission. Though Lord Edon might dress the part of a dandy, it’s only on the surface. If it weren’t for kin buying him clothes, he’d be exposed for the pauper he really is.
“You’ve been telling people you’re as poor as a church mouse?” his mother asked, her hands on her hips.
Glancing around the hallway to make sure none of the servants heard her, he was relieved to see no one in sight. He took her by the elbow and led her to the library, which was the nearest room. Once he closed the door to ensure their privacy, he turned to her. “I’m appalled you’d believe anything in a gossip paper.” Then, as if he couldn’t care less what was in the Tittletattle, he tossed it on the desk and went to the chair across the room.
Undaunted by his deliberate show of indifference, she followed him, gritting her teeth. “You will not ruin this for me, Ethan. The Banns have been read once already. The other two times will occur, and then there will be a wedding.”
“I didn’t tell anyone I was poor.” It wasn’t a direct lie since, technically, it was Agatha who did it. “Besides, who is going to believe such an outrageous thing? Look around you. I own this townhouse.”
“No. Your father owned it. You inherited it.”
“And we’re still living in it. You needed a new carriage last month, and I got you one. Our family crest is engraved in gold. Could I do that if I was poor?”
“You gamble so much. One of these days, you’re bound to lose everything.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve given up gambling, remember?” He gave her a pointed look. “You insisted on it the night you arranged my engagement.”
“But how do I know you won’t do it anyway?”
Because the Duke of Rumsey wasn’t shy when it came to showing off his skills with a smallsword, he thought. But he didn’t dare tell her that. Instead, he pressed his hand to his chest and gave her a wounded look. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I gave you my word.”
“You’re a rake. Breaking your word is what you do best.”
“But not to my mother. Seriously? Have I been such a horrible son that you think I wouldn’t honor my word to you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t play innocent with me. You’ve been promising me you’d try to find a nice, respectable lady to marry, but I’ve had to watch you go through each Season without an engagement.”
“I never gave my word on that. You insisted and assumed I wen
t along with it.”
She gasped. “You can’t turn this around so it looks like I’m in error.”
“I kept telling you I wanted to hand over my title to my cousin, but you wouldn’t hear of it. I never made a pretense of wanting to marry a lady and pass on my title to an heir.”
He knew he should have enjoyed the moment when she realized he was right, but he couldn’t when he saw her countenance fall. With a sigh, he stood up and hugged her. “I know you mean well, Mother.”
“A gentleman can’t be happy unless he has a good lady by his side,” she replied.
“I do.” He pulled away from her and grinned. “I have you.”
Though she shook her head, a slight smile graced her lips. “You know I meant a wife. Your father said he fared far better with me in his life. He was happy.”
“I know he was.”
“I want you to be happy, too.”
Deciding not to insist that a gentleman could be happy living in the country and spending his days reading books, he allowed her to have the final word on the matter. It wouldn’t change anything. He was still going to marry Catherine, as long as her father let him live.
“If you believed I was a pauper, I suppose the Duke of Rumsey will, too.” And he needed to go over to his townhouse to assure the gentleman that it wasn’t true.
“I doubt the duke resorts to reading the Tittletattle. He’s a refined gentleman.”
“He does because he wants to know who will make a suitable husband for his daughter. Or rather, who won’t make a suitable husband.”
She patted his arm and smiled. “But you will make a suitable husband.”
“No, I won’t, and you’ve just confined a poor young lady to a life with me.”
“You’re a suitable gentleman, Ethan. You’ve always taken good care of me, and because you take care of me, I expect you’ll do the same for your wife.”
A Most Unsuitable Earl (Regency Collection Book 3) Page 5