A Rogue by Any Other Name
Page 90

“I find that it behooves one to respond to the summons of one’s father-in-law.”
Needham laughed. “Especially when the man in question holds the only thing you want.”
Michael accepted Needham’s firm handshake. “It’s bloody cold, Needham. What are we doing out here?”
The marquess ignored him, turning away with a loud “Ha!” and sending the dogs into the brush twenty yards away. A single pheasant was flushed into the air. Needham lifted his shotgun and fired.
“Damn! Missed it!”
A shock, certainly.
The two men walked toward the bushes, and Bourne waited for the older man to speak first. “You’ve done a fine job of keeping my girls out of your mud.” Michael did not reply, and Needham continued, “Castleton has proposed to Pippa.”
“I heard that. I confess, I’m surprised you agreed.”
Needham grimaced as the wind tore past them. A dog barked nearby, and Needham turned back. “Come on, Brutus! We’re not finished!” He resumed walking. “Dog can’t hunt worth a damn.” Bourne resisted the obvious retort. “Castelton’s a simpleton, but he’s an earl, and that makes the wife happy.” The dogs flushed another pheasant, and Needham fired and missed. “Pippa’s too smart for her own good.”
“Pippa is too smart for a life with Castleton.” He knew he shouldn’t say it. Knew that he shouldn’t care who the girl married as long as the betrothal ended with the means for Langford’s revenge in his hands.
But he couldn’t stop thinking of Penelope, and the way Pippa’s uninspired match had upset her. He didn’t want her upset. He wanted her happy.
He was going soft.
Needham didn’t seem to notice. “The girl accepted. I can’t call it off. Not without a decent reason.”
“And the fact that Castleton is a muttonhead?”
“Not good enough.”
“What if I find you another reason? A better one?” Surely there was something in the files at The Angel—something that would condemn Castleton and end the betrothal.
Needham cut him a look. “You forget, I am keenly aware of the punishment for broken engagements. Even the ones with good reason damage girls. And their sisters.”
Like Penelope.
“Give me a few days. I shall find something to end it.” Suddenly, it was critical that Bourne find Pippa a way out of her engagement. It did not matter that he could taste revenge, so close and sweet.
Needham shook his head. “I’ve got to take the offers that come, or I’ll have another Penelope on my hands. Can’t afford that.”
Bourne gritted his teeth at the words. “Penelope is a marchioness.”
“She wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t come after Falconwell, would she? Why do you think I attached the land to her in the first place? It was my last chance.”
“Your last chance at what?”
“I don’t have a son, Bourne.” He looked toward Dolby House. “When I die, this house and the manor shall be passed down to some idiot cousin who doesn’t care a whit for them, or the land on which they sit. Penelope’s a good girl. She does what she’s told. I made it clear to her that she had to marry to keep her sisters valuable. She couldn’t decide to be a spinster and spend the rest of her days languishing in Surrey. She knew her duty. She knew that Falconwell would go to her children, and with it, some of the history of the Needham land.”
A little row of towheaded girls appeared in his thoughts.
Not memory. Fantasy.
Her children.
Their children.
The thought consumed him, as did the desire that came with it. He’d never considered children. He’d never imagined he’d want them. Never thought he’d be the kind of father they deserved. “You wanted something of your past to give to your future.”
The marquess turned back toward the house. “Something you understand, I’d wager.”
How strange that he’d never really thought of it in such a way. Not until this moment. He’d been so focused on regaining Falconwell that he’d never thought of what he would do with it. Of what would come next. Of who would come next.
In his mind, nothing had come after the restoration of Falconwell. Nothing but revenge.
Except, now there was something more, beyond the hulking shadow of the house and his past.
Something that revenge would kill.
He pushed the thought aside.
“I confess, when Langford offered Falconwell as his stake in the game, I knew you’d come after it. I was happy to win it, knowing that it would summon you.”
Michael heard the self-satisfaction in them. “Why?”
Needham lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I’d always known that she’d marry you or Tommy Alles and, between us, I’d always hoped it would be you—not for the obvious reason—Alles’s illegitimacy—though that was a bit of it; I always liked you, boy. Always thought that you’d come back from school and be ready to take the title and the land and the girl. When Langford paupered you, and I had to hunt for Leighton, I was not a small bit put out, I’ll tell you.”
Michael would have found the selfishness of the statement amusing if he weren’t so shocked by the idea that Needham had always wanted him for Penelope.
“Why me?”
Needham looked out over the Thames, considering the question. Finally, he said, “You were the one who cared the most for the land.”
It was true. He’d cared for the land and its people. So much, that when he’d lost it all, he hadn’t had the courage to come back to face them. To face her.