When the Duke Returns(106)

Cosway’s eyebrows flew up. “Do you find that inconvenient?”

“I haven’t,” Villiers said feelingly, “but I am beginning to. You see, I have decided to gather these children into my own household.”

“And the number is?” Cosway asked.

“Six.” Villiers sighed. “I can hardly believe it myself. The sins of youth become the burden of old age.”

“You’re hardly old,” Cosway objected. “What are you, thirty? I suppose you could sprout a full dozen if you put your mind to it.”

“Thirty-four,” Villiers said. “And my soul is much older, I assure you. At any rate, six illegitimate children do pose something of a problem for my matrimonial prospects, as you can imagine.”

Cosway snorted. “You won’t be—” He broke off.

Villiers watched with satisfaction as the truth dawned.

“I need to find them a mother,” he pointed out. “Women of my own rank are unlikely to take me, under the circumstances. But a divorced woman? And Isidore is very delectable.” He said it gently, but apparently not gently enough.

He could have sworn that Cosway didn’t even move, but the next moment there was a strong hand around his throat. “She is no mother for your misbegotten brats,” Cosway snarled. The tight thread of rage in his voice would have made Villiers smile, but he had a suspicion he might die for it. “She’s mine.” He threw Villiers backwards. The chair nearly tilted and went over, but held.

Villiers delicately felt his throat. Jemma would owe him for this one. Friendship was one thing; physical assault was not as appealing. He coughed. Cosway didn’t seem to be impressed, so he coughed again, harder.

Cosway was still standing over him, staring. “Damn it,” he said, turning and throwing himself down into a chair. “You lied to me. Bastard.”

“In what way?” Villiers asked cautiously.

“You don’t intend to marry Isidore, do you?”

“Not if it drives you to assail me, no.”

Cosway’s face was as foul as any pirate captain Villiers had had the good luck not to meet. “I’d probably rip your guts out at the altar.”

“Charming,” Villiers said. “What happened to all that Middle Way business that you regaled me with when we were on board ship together? Aren’t you a calm pebble on the shores of eternity any more?”

“I met Isidore,” Cosway said through clenched teeth.

“Women,” Villiers sighed. He got up and rang the bell.

The butler appeared immediately. “May I bring some refreshments?”

“A wet cloth for my throat,” Villiers said. “And tell the duke’s valet that we’re leaving for London within the hour. We’ll be on the royal yacht tonight and the valet needs to pack accordingly.”

“Damn it,” Cosway said behind him.

“You’re just rediscovering your manhood,” Villiers said soothingly. “All that pebble business wasn’t good for you. The question is, how are you going to win her back without getting yourself thrown in the Tower for murder?”

“She said she wants to pick her husband,” Cosway said. “She wants to be wooed. Flowers. Poetry.”

“Jewels,” Villiers said. “Skip the flowers; they just die. Do you have any jewelry?”

“Tiger rubies. I just had them transferred from Hoare’s bank.”

“Excellent.”

“But Isidore is not really interested in that sort of thing,” Cosway said, slumping back in his chair.

“What is she looking for?”

“A lapdog,” Cosway said. “Someone who will allow her to make all the decisions and believe everything she says.”

“She’ll adjust,” Villiers said, getting up and wandering over to examine the wall paneling. “You have some lovely frieze work here, Cosway. Was this original to the room?”

“No. Isidore brought someone in, but she left before seeing what he did.”

Villiers turned around. “Here’s my advice, for what it’s worth. There’s been nothing romantic about your marriage.”

“What marriage?”

“Exactly. She went off to London to have it annulled and you didn’t even bother to follow.”

“I’m not a damned dog to follow at her heels!”

“Exactly,” Villiers said. “You’re more of a pirate.”

Cosway narrowed his eyes. “A—”

“A man who slashes his way to his lady’s side,” Villiers said, almost dreamily. “Beating all the odds, including causing grave bodily harm to those highest in the realm (for which he could be hung, mind you), he makes his way to his chosen bride and slings her over his shoulder, heading for the freedom of the open—”