acknowledged they were hardly definitive proof. As Atwood had said, papers could be forged. The one remaining letter he had in his possession had been written by his mother the morning before she died, but it was more a puzzlement than proof. For though she wrote about him, the child she and the duke had created together, on the final line she admitted that she had misled the duke and she asked his pardon.
Not understanding what that could mean, Roddy had attributed those words to her illness, putting no credence in them. When he had so innocently given the duke those letters all those years ago, he had held this one back. Though it proved nothing, he could not destroy it, for it was all he had left of his mother.
How would this all end? With each mile closer to Town, Roddy began to realize that if this final attempt failed, he must somehow find the strength to live in the shadow of rejection. For if he did not…Roddy shook his head. The consequences did not bear thinking.
Dark clouds glowered overhead, suddenly threatening rain. Dorothea looked at Carter. His face was stony. She tried to imagine what he was thinking, feeling, but it was impossible.
“Do you think it is true?”
His voice was flat, emotionless. She inhaled deeply to steady her own rioting emotions. “I think it could be true. There are too many pieces that fit so neatly together. But more importantly, the major emphatically believes that the duke is his father and he is hell-bent on hearing those words fall from the duke’s lips.”
Carter grimaced. “Unfortunately, I agree with you, though in my mind I cannot credit such a tale. My father has always been so straitlaced, so proper. Having an affair with a governess? It smacks far too much of melodrama to be believed.”
“What shall we do?”
He slowly let out a breath. “Go to London and speak with the duke. And then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
Dorothea’s heart ached as she watched the shadows move and shift across his handsome face. “I’m coming with you.”
Something in Carter’s chest twisted. He knew he should tell her it wasn’t necessary, that he would handle the problem on his own, as he always had done. She deserved to be here, with her sisters, sharing in the happiness at the birth of the new babies.
But the words wouldn’t come. Carter swore. He needed her. At this moment in time, when his world was turning upside down, Dorothea was the one constant in his life he could rely upon, the one individual he could trust to be honest and forthright.
She loved him. And he was a heartless rogue for taking advantage of that love, but he couldn’t help himself. It was the only thing keeping him sane and focused at the moment.
While Dorothea gathered her things and said goodbye to her sisters, Carter went to the stables to arrange for their carriage to be made ready. He snapped at the stable hand when the man helpfully suggested it might not be best to drive in an open carriage in this threatening weather, then scowled at the sky as the dark clouds thickened.
“I’m ready!”
He glanced over his shoulder. Dorothea came bounding down the steps, her smile bright and full. She was dressed in a deep-blue traveling gown with a matching pelisse a shade lighter than the skirt. The ribbons in her bonnet sported the same shade of blue. The ache in his heart eased slightly.
They had driven a little over an hour when the first fat raindrop splattered on his shoulder.
“We should turn back,” he said, as the drops began to fall steadily. “Or stop at the nearest inn.”
“Nonsense.” Dorothea shook her head emphatically. “’Tis only rain and might yet let up.”
“If you catch a chill, I’ll never forgive myself.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Goodness, Carter, I’m not that delicate. And although you deem me to be a sweet, fluffy female, I assure you I will not melt in the rain.”
The carriage dipped into a puddle, spraying water everywhere. He tightened the reins, but did not slow the pace. More drops of rain began to fall. The brim of his hat kept the rain from obstructing his vision, but if it kept falling at this rate they would be forced to stop.
He heard not a word of complaint from Dorothea. Not when her pelisse was so wet it turned a darker shade of blue, not when the rain trickling off the edge of her bonnet fell onto her already sodden skirt. She merely clutched his arm and huddled closer, trying to conceal the chattering of her teeth.
He looked over at her. She smiled with encouragement, her eyes warm and comforting, her lashes spiky with rain. Cursing beneath his breath, Carter stopped the carriage in the middle of the road. He handed Dorothea the reins, then jumped down from the curricle. His boots sank in the mud as he walked to her side.
“Why have we stopped?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
A muscle bunched in Carter’s jaw as he swung his cloak off his shoulders. “Here, take this,” he insisted, enveloping her in the damp garment. “Your gown is nearly soaked through.”
She shivered and shook her head. “But you’ll freeze without it.”
“Better me than you.”
He meant it. She was his to hold and keep, to protect and care for, and he would do that as best he was able, as long as he had breath. The encounter with Roddington had left him feeling confused, powerless, yet with Dorothea beside him the weight pressing down on his shoulders did not feel as heavy. The least he could do was to see to her comfort, since he’d been enough of a fool to bring her out in this weather.
The rain had ceased falling by the time they arrived at the duke’s London home. Soggy, tired, and cold, they trudged upstairs to their suite. Carter insisted that a hot bath be prepared for Dorothea, then he retired to his own bedchamber to change.
He untied and pulled off his cravat, tossed off his coat and waistcoat, then yanked his damp shirt over his head. Dunsford, hovering near, fetched clean, dry garments from the wardrobe even as he clucked his tongue and lamented the condition of Carter’s ruined clothing.
The sound of a feminine giggle and splash coming from behind the closed connecting door captured Carter’s attention. He smiled. Dorothea must be in the tub. He imagined her luscious body, naked beneath a mountain of frothy bubbles, her cheeks flushed and warm from the steaming water. The urge to join her in that tub was a powerful enticement, but instead he toweled himself dry and dressed to meet with the duke.
Carter felt drained as he walked into his father’s study, rather as if he had reached London on foot instead of riding in the carriage. It was as if a strange lethargy had taken over his body, making it hard to think, hard to concentrate. Visibly shaking off the mood, Carter strode forward. The duke was reading some papers when he entered, which he promptly put aside when he saw Carter.
“Damn, it took you long enough to get here.”
“My horse threw a shoe. It took a while to make other arrangements.”
“No matter. You are here now.”
“Yes, as you commanded.” Carter cleared his throat. This was harder than he expected it would be. “Major Roddington came to the Barringtons’. He’s told me everything. I assume that was the reason you summoned me home?”
The duke gasped, paled. “He repeated those filthy lies to you? Damn it all to hell, I’ll have him arrested for slander and thrown into jail!”
Carter felt impatience rising inside him. “Is Roddington lying?”
“Yes!”
“He seems very passionate, very certain,” Carter replied, the emotions storming through his head. He should have felt relief at hearing his father’s denial, but though it was said with great conviction, to Carter’s ears it lacked a ring of truth, a ring of certainty.
“I cannot account for the man’s delusions.”
“But why you? There must be some reason Roddington has drawn this conclusion.”
The duke flicked a nervous glance at Carter, then shot to his feet. “Apparently his mother was employed by Lord and Lady Alderton.”
“Yes, as a governess. Do you recall ever meeting her?”
The duke crossed his arms and stared haughtily down at his son. “Why would I be introduced to a governess?”
Carter shrugged. An excellent point. If anyone would have met the woman, it might have been his mother, for
