Chapter 16

It only took Maitland three days to discover Kirkwood’s true financial situation. What he learned was enough to have him braving the snow and cold to report to Philip in person.

“It is as you suspected,” he told Philip as he stretched out his long legs in front of the fire in the room Rose had set aside for Philip—the late Duke of Roxborough’s study. “Kirkwood’s son, Francis Gowan, has not only made some bad investments but he’s also raked up huge gambling debts.”

Maitland took a swallow of his brandy and shook his head. “The young fool has almost brought the marquess to his knees. I suspect Kirkwood has not yet used his position as Drake’s guardian and stolen from her because he knows I’m Rose’s investment adviser and therefore watch her—and Drake’s—finances closely.”

“Damn the man. And his son.” Philip almost wished Kirkwood had stolen money. Then, at least, there would be a case they could take to the chancery and leverage they could use to have him removed as Drake’s guardian. “So what now? We now know he has a motive. At the house party he certainly had means to harm the boy. But we have no proof. Without proof, the chancery will see no reason to remove him.”

Maitland’s brow furrowed as he watched the flames in the grate. “I’m not sure having him removed as Drake’s guardian would keep Rose safe anyway. What is to prevent him from arranging her marriage to his son, and then getting rid of Drake? Once Rose is part of his family, he can take his time staging an accident to kill the boy. And her.”

The very thought had Philip’s blood boiling in his veins. How dared Kirkwood try to harm those he loved? And yes, he could admit that he loved Rose. As for Drake, he thought of the boy as his own son. However, all that did was fill him with guilt as he was stuck between honoring his vow or living a wonderful life his brother never got to have. “Then what are we to do? We cannot simply sit by and let it happen.”

“Of course not.” Maitland crossed one leg over the other, leaned his head back against the chair, and studied the ceiling as he considered. “We have to catch him committing a crime that will see him ruined. Something that cannot be hidden or explained away. Only then will we be able to expose his true intentions to the ton, and ensure protection for Rose and young Roxborough.”

“Do you have a plan?” Because he certainly didn’t. “How do we catch him without putting Drake in danger?”

Maitland grimaced. “No, I don’t. And the child’s already in danger. The problem for us now is that Kirkwood will not harm the boy himself. He’ll hire people to do his dirty work. That makes it devilishly difficult to prove he was the mastermind behind the deed. We’d need more than the word of a damned hired thug to make an accusation of murder-for-hire stick to a marquess.”

Philip didn’t like it, but Maitland was right. “Then we need to call a meeting of the Libertine Scholars. Grayson is one of the best strategists I’ve ever known. He might be able to come up with a plan.” Suddenly, emotion ripped through him like a hurricane. “God, I wish I had agreed to marry her now. Then Kirkwood would have nothing to gain from their deaths, and she and Drake would be safe.”

“You could still marry her.” Maitland hadn’t taken his attention from the ceiling. “Quietly, and by Special License. It’s not too late.”

Yes, it was. And that could be laid at his door, too. “Rose won’t marry me now. Not if she thinks I’m doing so out of duty.”

Maitland snorted. “Rubbish. She’ll marry you fast enough if it’s the only way to save her son.”

Philip said nothing. Wouldn’t that be worse? How ironic that two people who loved each other could be forced into marriage in such a way that they’d always doubt the other’s love.

What would Robert have done? If he’d loved Rose he’d have married her without a second’s hesitation. What would he say about Philip’s reluctance? About his vow? Philip tossed back the last of his brandy and knew there wasn’t enough spirit in the world to dull the ache inside him. The choice between honor or love was one no gentleman should have to face.

It had been the longest three days of Rose’s life. For the first time since the snow fell she was grateful for the inclement weather. Otherwise she had no idea how she would have kept Drake inside. He was bored. And when little boys got bored the entire household knew about it.

Philip had been wonderful and had done his best to keep him entertained. But even he was running out of games to play and things to do. As a last resort, he’d suggested an outing and he and Maitland had swept Drake off to a meeting of the Libertine Scholars at Sebastian’s house. The prospect of an afternoon’s fun with Henry had done the trick.

Now Rose was exhausted. And oddly nervous. That unease wasn’t helped by her knowing that Philip was sleeping only down the hall. Or that she could put an end to all this by telling him about his child.

It was wearing, and emotionally draining.

Drake was so excited to have Philip staying, and Philip—well, he could not hide his feelings for her son. Each morning they would sit as a family and eat. Each night she tried to ignore the longing, need, and desire in his eyes as she said a cool good night.

The only reason she had not succumbed to her desire and crept into his bed was because she did not want him to discover her thickening waistline, or for her to have to explain away her nausea in the mornings—although it was lessening.

She hoped the men came up with something soon, and quickly. If they did not, she’d have no choice but to confess her condition and agree to a marriage. If only she knew a marriage was his choice, not his duty.

At least the snow had stopped and people once more ventured out into the street. With Philip and Drake out of the house, Rose could at last see her modiste—in private. She desperately needed new gowns to accommodate her changing figure.

Madam Durand was due at three. Rose sent Elaine off to the attic to find some of the gowns she’d worn when she was carrying Drake so they could discuss design and other ideas with Madam Durand.

In her room, dressed only in her shift and robe, Rose could not settle.

She still had not written to Lord Kirkwood with an explanation of her sudden departure from the house party. It must be done. Whether it would lull him into believing she was innocent of his plans, she did not know. She doubted it. But she could play this game, too.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not pay attention when her door opened, thinking it was Elaine returning with the gowns.

Only as the footsteps got closer did she realize the person was wearing boots.

She looked up, but it was too late to scream. An arm wrapped around her neck and a cloth of sickly smelling ether pressed into her face.

The last thing she saw as she fought for consciousness was Francis’s cold, hard eyes above her. Funny the thoughts that drift into your mind. Francis had his father’s eyes. Kirkwood had made his move.