Christian whipped around to see his father standing in the doorway, back ramrod straight and nose firmly in the air as if he had just smelled something unpleasant.

“I know you are hopeless, Christian, but you really should be more careful with what you are saying, especially when in a house with, how did the servant say you phrased it? Ah, yes, with enemy ears. Careless as always, especially letting things out of your possession just so that you can get a tumble with any villager ready to spread her legs.”

“Don’t call—”

Christian’s breath died as his father said two words. “Interesting journal.”

He froze. No, he couldn’t have. He looked toward the sitting room and realized he had left it on the chair when he had carried Kate into the bedroom, too far gone in lust and love to care about anything else. Careless. Careless, useless, wasteful. All the words he had grown up with swirled in his head.

His father had Anthony’s journal. Oh, not on his person, assuredly, but in his possession. He wouldn’t allow his son to try and physically remove it from him, no matter how crass an action that might be. His father thought much worse of him than just being crass, Christian knew.

His father had Anthony’s journal. His father, who had more power in one finger than Freewater with his small paper could ever dream. His father, the bane of his existence, the one whom he had tried and tried to please before nearly going mad. If it hadn’t been for meeting Anthony at Eton, he didn’t know what he would have done. Not even when his two elder brothers had died had his father given him a thought beyond criticism. So Christian had lived up to every thought his father had had of him. It had been a damn sight better to live that way than to live under an ever heavier boot.

Christian looked at Kate. He had worried about her having that power over him, but the more he knew of her character, the more at ease he felt. He trusted her. Twenty-five years’ worth of damaged trust with his father, and Kate had managed to slip past his defenses in under a week. And after last night…

But Anthony’s journal…He looked at his father, who was too noble to smirk, instead wearing a chilly, distant look, disappointment permanently creased in the lines on his face.

“You will follow me downstairs. Now. And I want your strumpet out of this house.”

Christian saw Kate shrink into the bedding.

“No,” he said calmly, tugging his trousers on.

“What did you say?” his father asked in his usual low and deadly tones.

“I said no. Kate is not a strumpet, and she’s not going anywhere.”

“You dare say no to me, in my own house?”

“It is my house too, unfortunately for you. And Kate is staying. You were not to return for another week. I do not know why you came back earlier, nor do I care. We would have assuredly bypassed the property if I had known, but as we are here now, we will be staying for two days and then will be gone.”

“Would that you could have died instead of your mother, instead of your brothers,” he said harshly.

Christian let the words wash off him. “I know, Father. I am well aware of your preferences, and have been most of my life. Unfortunately for you, I’m still here, and none of them are.”

He watched his father turn red, trying to control his rage. The marquess shot a poisonous glance toward the bed. “You will follow me to the study, Christian. I will not have this conversation in front of the hired help.”

“Kate is not the hired help, but do lead the way. I’m sure I’ve forgotten where your study is by now. It has been far too long since I’ve been disciplined.”

The marquess turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the room. Christian apologetically turned to Kate, whose mouth was hanging open. He concentrated on the anger in her eyes rather than the pity. “Stay here, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If Sally comes by, have her stay with you too. I should have thought of that last night.”

She began to speak, but he forestalled her with a sharp hand motion. “No, Kate, please. I can’t let down my defenses to explain right now. I need them to speak with the marquess. Say you understand.”

She swallowed and nodded.

He allowed a small bit of relief to overtake him, and he briefly closed his eyes as he kissed her. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

His father deliberately took his time. It had proven an effective maneuver in putting Christian at a distinct disadvantage in the past. He poured a glass of port, swished it around, sniffed its aroma, then sipped. Christian held himself perfectly still throughout the ritual. It had long ago been beaten out of him not to fidget or interrupt, and even though he had occasionally used the tactic to stir his father to anger during the past few years since he had come of age, he didn’t want anything to distract him from what his father might say.

This was it. His father thought he finally had something concrete that he could use to bend Christian to his will. The swished port and calculating air always boded ill. His father was nothing if not predictable.

“I have been talking to Lord Palmer. His daughter is on the market this year. Diamond of the first water, most assuredly. You will wed her by the end of the season.”

Christian had met Palmer’s daughter. Nice enough girl, but not the one for him. That designation belonged to Kate.

“No.”

The marquess stroked his glass. “Oh, you will, and furthermore, you will do so with a smile on your face.”

“Why the sudden interest in my wedded state?”

“Because even if you are a worthless son, there is still a possibility for the future generations. They will still be of my seed.” The marquess’s face twisted.

“Most regrettably, of course, as they will carry Uncle Charlie’s legacy as well,” Christian said smoothly, trying to stay calm.

Christian closely resembled his uncle on his mother’s side. While his father had blamed Christian for the death of his mother, his uncle had blamed his father. Very vocally.

Somehow it seemed fitting that he looked like his uncle. The marquess had always hated his brother-in-law. Still did, in fact, even with him four years in the ground. Christian could only thank the fact that his uncle had hated his father with equal vigor and had left all his assets to Christian, as a final twist of the knife. The largesse had emancipated Christian from his father in a way that he never would have been able to achieve otherwise.

“Always one to state the obvious, Christian. It is one of your many failings.”

“Being born to this family has to be by far my worst.” He had long since mastered the bored tones that drove his father to drink.

The marquess’s hands gripped the glass tighter. “You will marry Palmer’s daughter. The betrothal contract will be here in the week. You will sign it, and only then will I return your friend’s journal.”

Christian unclenched his muscles. He had known something like this was coming, but it still burned.

Bargaining for time and trying to sound as unconcerned as he could, Christian said, “I need to speak with Anthony, of course.”

“Of course, go speak with your friend. I expect you back here by three. Then we will discuss how things will be from now on.”

Christian made his feet take him toward the door and back to his room.

Kate looked up as he entered and moved toward him. “What is going on?”

Christian looked at her, and she placed a hand on his sleeve as if to comfort him. He pulled her close and hugged her to him, her arms automatically circling behind.

He had a lot of maneuvering to accomplish in a very short amount of time. He pulled back and lifted her chin. “Kate, I need you to stay here. I’m going to talk to Anthony, who lives a short distance from here. I’ll be gone for an hour or two.”

“May I come with you?”

He wanted her to, damn but he did. But this was something he needed to do himself. “No, but promise me that you will not leave this room. Promise me.”

She bit her lip and nodded. He gently touched her cheeks and kissed her. “I love you, Kate. Everything will be fine. I’ll explain later.”

She nodded again, and he hoped that the love he saw reflected there was enough. That she would continue to look at him that way in one year, in ten years. That he wasn’t doomed to be a disappointment to all those he loved.