Page 19

His Grace approached, pausing a couple feet away to address him. “I am afraid this cannot wait, Mr. Scott. This is a matter of … mortal importance.”

There was a pause.

Mortal?

That seemed unduly ominous.

“They have news, Simon. Of Peter. We must hear them out.”

Simon glanced down at his brother, whose breathing had eased and who was looking up at him with worry on his face. “Are you sure? They can come back another day.”

“I need to hear what they have to say.”

Simon nodded, and His Grace took it as his cue to make introductions.

As he had thought, it was Lord Saunton he had spotted at the window. To his surprise, a younger gentleman was introduced as Lord Filminster, which was a name that had come up a few times in recent weeks. Presumably the son who had inherited the title from the murdered baron, but Simon did not ask. Then he was introduced to a coxcomb with hair in startling contrasting tones and a luxurious suit that could have been dreadful but had turned out to be a creation of sartorial genius. Sage green with a gold brocade waistcoat. Too lavish for Simon’s tastes, but the buck had a flair for it which Lord Boyle could only hope for. It turned out to be Lord Trafford, whom Simon had heard about. He had been something of a disreputable rogue until the news sheets had reported he had wed last month.

The duke gestured to the corner. “And this is … Mr. Gideon. He is … brother-in-law … to Lord Trafford.” Halmesbury seemed hesitant in introducing the lad, who bowed his head politely but said nothing. His beaver was still on, as it had been when Simon had entered.

They took their seats, Simon first ringing a bell. Duncan entered and Simon ordered tea for his brother, whose well-being still had him worried. Glancing about, he asked if their guests would care for some, too, but they shook their heads, and Simon did not wish to encourage them to remain longer than necessary. Despite their polite demeanor, there were undertones of resentment in the room. John needed to retire to his rooms to recover from his outing to church and the interminable meal with the Boyles.

“We represent several lords, and I have been authorized to speak with you by the Home Secretary in the interests of keeping this discussion unofficial.”

The duke’s voice was calm, but Simon’s unease was rising. He could not think what was of such import that these peers would interrupt their day of rest. The single notion to enter his head was that John had mentioned something months ago about the late Filminster raising the subject of Peter’s issue. But, surely, it could not be that?

“This morning we received confirmation from Florence that Peter Scott sired two children with his wife, Mrs. Bianca Scott, before his death.” The duke paused. “Male children.”

Simon jumped to his feet in bewilderment. “What?”

John gasped, clutching his chest, and began to pant. Simon immediately forgot about the incredible news, rushing over to his brother in alarm. The baron waved him back, concentrating on his breathing. After a few minutes, he had recovered, the guests waiting in silence. Then he gestured to Simon, a cue to continue the discussion. He looked back at their guests, who were waiting with an expectant air. All except the youth, Gideon, whose silver-gray eyes were scrutinizing his brother with unwavering interest.

“We have … nephews?”

Despite his need to focus on the answer, to ask discerning questions, and to ascertain if any of it was true, it was as if his thoughts were floating away. He listened to the revelation from a far distance while he sorted through a variety of reactions. Two nephews! That meant he was relegated to third in line to inherit! He was not the future Lord Blackwood, but rather it was some boy living in Italy. Which meant …

Am I free?

Heady elation followed this thought until a second intruded to bump him rudely back into reality.

He was betrothed to Olivia Boyle.

An act that could not be undone.

He was to wed Miss Boyle despite this turn of events. He might not be the heir, but his duty still bound him. She could not be deserted without ruining her, and he would never do that to a lady vulnerable to censure. He was in the seventh circle of hell, and there was not a solitary reason to be there if he had no obligation to the title.

“Misters Marco and Angelo Scott are making plans to travel to London to meet with you,” the duke responded, oblivious to the turmoil raging in Simon’s mind.

“I shall … expect confirmation of … this news.” John’s panting declaration drew Simon back to the present, his gaze returning to his brother, whose pallor had worsened.

The Earl of Saunton leaned in to speak to the duke in a low voice. The duke nodded, eventually responding to John’s request. “Perhaps we should finish this conversation tomorrow, Lord Blackwood? I had heard you were not well⁠—”

“Is there more to be discussed?” John’s voice was firm.

The duke’s eyes flickered back to Lord Saunton before he turned to look at Mr. Gideon, who was still standing apart in the corner of the room with those silver-gray eyes fixed on Simon’s brother. Mr. Gideon, noting the silence, shot a glance to where His Grace was waiting and gave a slight nod of authority.

“There is … more,” replied Halmesbury.

Simon was perplexed. The exchange was peculiar, as though a seasoned duke were taking his cue from a lad who could not yet have reached his majority. From the soft features and the absence of stubble, the youth appeared no older than fifteen or sixteen. A brother-in-law to an honorary viscount, and yet these men, peers of the realm, were deferring to him. What possible reason could there be for such deference?