The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [133]
“Irrelevant! You may have rubbed noses a few times as children, but that wouldn’t stop you from sleeping with her.”
“I can’t.”
For the first time, the duke looked a trifle sympathetic. “Dora is no beauty. But all women are the same in the—”
“Do not say that,” James snapped. “I am already appalled; I don’t wish to be disgusted.”
His father’s eyes narrowed and rusty color rose in his cheeks, a sure sign of danger. Sure enough, Ashbrook’s voice emerged as a bellow. “I don’t care if the gal is as ugly as sin, you’re taking her. And you’re going to make her fall in love with you. Otherwise, you will have no country house to inherit. None!”
“What have you done?” James repeated through clenched teeth.
“Lost it,” his father shouted back, his eyes bulging a little. “Lost it, and that’s all you need to know!”
“I won’t do it.” He stood up.
A china ornament flew past his shoulder and crashed against the wall. He barely flinched. His father was given to fits of temper, and James had grown up ducking to avoid everything from books to marble statues.
“You will, or I’ll bloody well disinherit you and name your cousin Pinkler my heir.”
James’s hand dropped from the door handle, and he turned around. He was well aware that he was on the verge of losing his temper. While he’d never had the impulse to throw objects at the wall—or his family—his ability to fire cutting remarks was equally destructive. He took another deep breath, trying to curb the fire in his belly. “While I would hesitate to instruct you on the legal system, Father, I can assure you that it is impossible to disinherit a legitimate son.”
“I’ll tell the House of Lords that you’re no child of mine,” the duke bellowed. Veins were bulging on his forehead and his cheeks had ripened from red to purple. “I’ll tell ’em that your mother was a light-heeled wench, and that I’ve discovered you’re nothing but a bastard.”
At the insult to his mother, James felt his fragile control snap altogether. “You may be a craven, dim-witted gambler, but you will not tar my mother with sorry excuses meant to cover up your own idiocy!”
“How dare you!” screamed the duke. His whole face had turned the color of a cock’s comb.
“I dare say only what every person in this kingdom knows,” James said, the words exploding from his mouth. “You’re an idiot. I have a good idea what happened to the estate; I just wanted to see whether you had the balls to admit it. And you haven’t. No surprise there. You gambled our lands on the Exchange. You invested in one ridiculous scheme after another. The canal you built that was only seven feet from another canal? What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“I didn’t know that until it was too late! My associates deceived me. A duke doesn’t go out and inspect the place where a canal is supposed to be built. He has to trust others, and I’ve always had the devil’s own luck.”
“I would have at least visited the proposed canal before I sank thousands of pounds into a waterway with no hope of traffic.”
“You’re nothing more than an impudent ass!” The duke’s hand tightened around a silver candlestick standing on the mantelpiece.
“Throw that, and I’ll leave you in this room to wallow in your own fear. You want me to marry a girl who thinks I’m her brother in order to get her fortune . . . so that you—you—can lose it? Do you know what they call you behind your back, Father? Surely you’ve heard it. The dam’fool duke!”
They were both breathing hard, but his father was puffing like a bull, the purple stain on his cheeks vivid against his white neckcloth.
The duke’s fingers flexed around the silver piece.
“Touch that candlestick and I’ll throw you across the room,” James said, adding deliberately, “Your Grace.”
The duke’s hand fell to his side and he turned his shoulder away, staring at the far wall. “And what if I lost it?” he muttered, belligerence underscoring his confession. “The fact is that I did lose it. I lost it all. The canal was one thing, but I thought the vineyards were a sure thing. How could