The Inconvenient Duchess

say he believes you. Perhaps he will even believe he speaks the truth. And he will welcome you back with open arms. But he will wonder. He will lie awake beside you at night, wondering what truly happened while you were with me. And the more you protest, the less he will trust. Of course, I will assure him. Lay his fears to rest.’ He laughed. ‘Much as I did when he was married to Bethany. It will not matter if I leave you untouched, and say in all honesty that nothing happened. Honesty from my lips rings more false in his ears than any lie I could produce.’
    ‘But I am not Bethany, St John. Things are different from how they used to be. Marcus is different. And he will trust me when I tell him the truth.’
    I hope. The voice rose small in her. Although I was untrustworthy before, he will trust me now.
    St John stared into her eyes. ‘You really think that he will trust you? And how much does he know about you, really? Does he know about your guardian, for instance? The notable Lady Cecily?’
    She stared at him in amazement. ‘You truly are the most horrible person I have ever met. And deluded, if you think that you can hold me against my will and ruin your brother so easily. You are right, St John. We are well and truly married now. He knows the truth. And as for your pathetic little scheme?’ She shrugged. ‘It did not work the last time, when you so obviously compromised me at the ball. Yet you try thesame thing again. Will you never learn, or must I go through repeated blackmail and kidnapping until we are all old and grey?’
    There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes and she pushed on.
    ‘You could kill me, and drag the body downstairs to lay it at your brother’s feet. But I don’t think you have the stomach for it.’ She prayed she was correct. ‘They’d hang you for a cold-blooded murderer. A rope around the neck is not nearly so fashionable as your cravat.
    ‘Your brother, however? When he finds you, I doubt he’ll have any compunction about putting a ball through your heart. And he’ll be doing it in defence of his wife’s honour. Are you sure you want to continue with this?’
    His eyes were hooded, but she noticed the muzzle of the pistol droop.
    ‘Go now, St John. Marcus has done nothing so terrible to deserve such hatred as this. And if he did, it is in the past. Do not let it destroy what is left of both your lives. Let it go.’
    The gun was pointed towards the ground, now. Her argument was succeeding. She could see the tiredness in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak.
    And suddenly the connecting door burst open and Marcus strode into the room. There was a look of murder in his eyes.
    ‘I can explain,’ she began.
    ‘You don’t have to explain. I can guess what happened,’ he growled. ‘Stand aside.’ His eye on the pistol, he stepped in front of her. ‘Keep out of the way, Miranda. Go into my room and wait for me there. This will be over soon enough. St John, get down off the bed and let us settle this once and for all.’
    ‘Marcus, no.’ She tried to step in front of him, but he pushed her back. ‘I will not leave you.’ Not while St John still held his pistol and her husband stood before him unarmed.
    ‘Brother, I didn’t expect you so soon.’ St John’s arms opened wide and he smiled as he swung his feet off the bed. Marcus’s eyes followed the pistol as it veered off target.
    ‘You invade my house and force yourself into my wife’s bedchamber and do not expect that I will find you? The servants have been warned. If they value their jobs, they will tell me of your presence. I am not the fool I once was, St John.’
    St John’s smile was triumphant. ‘How do you know I am not here by invitation?’
    Her heart stopped in her throat, for barely a beat before he answered, ‘Because I know you. And because I know my wife. You may think me a fool, but she knows I am not.’ He smiled coldly. ‘If she invited you here, then she would make certain you were not caught.’
    ‘Really? I suppose that is true. She is very good at keeping secrets, is she not? Do you know she was raised by a whore and a drunkard?’
    ‘Is that the revelation you’ve been holding over her head? It has no legs, St John. I’ve known from the first. When I went to London after our marriage.’
    St John seemed to deflate a bit, and Marcus shot her a quick encouraging look. ‘And don’t think that you can threaten her with exposure. I’ll stand by her. It matters not to me, one