The duchess waved her walking stick at him and continued. “My God, it is bad enough that my son was killed so stupidly—racing a dratted carriage—and I have had to see you become duke. The only vindication for that is that you use your handsome looks to bring about a superb marriage. You will pick the richest duke’s daughter in the offing, you fool.”
The duchess had told him from the moment he arrived in London that she despised him, that he was not worthy of being a duke. He came from a branch of the family that had been disowned by his great-grandfather, and his father had usually, when drunk, told him the ducal side of the family would rather split them with swords, then spit on their entrails, than speak to them.
The duchess pursed her lips. “I will not allow this marriage to take place.”
That startled him. For a moment, Sin felt a jolt of panic. “You can’t stop it.”
“I will ensure that you see sense,” she barked. “You are nineteen years of age. You have not even begun to sow your wild oats. If you’re lusty, there are places you can go.”
This was a conversation he refused to have. “I am engaged to Portia Lamb and I will not break off the engagement. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
“We will see about that,” his cousin snapped.
There was nothing to see about. He didn’t care what she thought. What the ton thought. He wanted to marry for love. He knew what happened when people married and despised each other. He knew what happened when people married for money and social prestige—it led to hatred. Sometimes it led to death.
He turned and walked out of the room.
As he reached the threshold, the duchess shouted, “You will not marry this nobody and make her a duchess. You will marry as I wish. You know nothing about being a duke. And you have the inferior blood of your parents in you!”
Sin kept walking, her words ringing in his ears. She knew how to wound, his cousin. But his past didn’t matter. He was going to start again with Portia. She was his promise of a good future.
Dejected, angry, he stalked out of the house. He summoned his carriage and called out to the driver, “Take me to White’s.”
Willoughby and the rest of his friends had planned to go to the staid old club tonight. He joined them at a table and ordered a bottle of the best port. One for each of them.
“Damn generous of you,” said the Earl of Wintermere. “Luck at hazard?”
“No.” Sin couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Tonight we celebrate my engagement.”
Willoughby’s cheroot fell out of his mouth. He caught it before it hit the table. “Your what?”
“My engagement. To the most beautiful and sweet girl in England, Portia Lamb.”
“The girl who works at the foundling home?” Will frowned. “Our sort don’t marry girls like that. Seduce her if you really want her, then pay her off with a settlement.”
“What the hell are you saying, Will?”
“She’s a nobody.”
He was damn tired of titled people saying that. “She’s the woman I love.”
“So make her your mistress. That’s what peers do. Fuck all the angels and whores you want, but you marry a woman who has two sterling qualities: bloodlines and money. If you find a pretty young debutant who’s also deliciously fuckable, that’s all to the good. But you don’t love your wife. Marry Miss Lamb and you’ll make a hell of a mistake.”
Sin got up from the chair, a heavy weight on his heart. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Will. I don’t understand why everyone is against this marriage. I’m going through with it, no matter what anyone says.”
With that, he strode out of White’s. He stalked down the steps and turned up St. James Street. For once in his life, he was happy. He wanted love. He didn’t want to marry for duty and keep a mistress.
He and Portia would prove them all wrong. He would never let her find out the truth about him, so they would always be happy.
The next night, his butler announced that the Viscount Willoughby had arrived.
Will walked in. “Forgive me for last night, Sin. I’m delighted to see you happy. Let me make up for what I said. Let me take you out on the town, so you can savor your last few days as a free man.”
“So you approve of my marriage?”
A wicked grin flashed on Will’s face. “I do. But you need to experience the wild sex on offer in London before you settle down.”
“No, Will. I consider myself already married.”
“Then we’ll hit the gaming hells. Deep play at cards before you put on the leg shackles of marriage.”
“All right. Gambling is fine. But nothing involving brothels or sex.”