An Heir of Deception by Beverley Kendall Read Free Book Online Page B

blue of the Mediterranean Sea. How apropos she’d returned and resumed where she’d left off—wreaking havoc on almost everything in his life. But this time he was prepared. He’d not be fooled by her bewitching innocence that had so entranced him before.
    Alex could tell by the dispirited look in Lord Cranford’s brown eyes that the man would like nothing better than to be able to change his mind. “You won’t find another better than my Mary,” he warned, as if Alex had just turned down the treasure of a lifetime. “Your mother said as much.”
    Then perhaps my mother should marry Lady Mary herself.
    “I shall consider that my loss.” Lady Mary was lovely if somewhat frivolous and would have made an adequate wife, carrying out the duties of a duchess with aristocratic aplomb. But many others could fill the role just as nicely. He’d have to select someone after he’d concluded the whole affair with her .
    “Mary is still young. Perhaps—”
    “With all due respect, Lord Cranford, but on this matter, my mind is set.”
    “Your parents—”
    “My parents do not have a say in who I choose to marry,” Alex said, hardening his tone.
    The earl stared at him and then as if realizing the futility of his mission, sighed and making full use of his cane, rose slowly to his feet.
    “Very well. I shall take my leave. I have taken up enough of your time.”
    Alex stood, relieved the visit was at a close. “Then I shall bid you adieu , my lord.” Alex turned to one of the footman who never ventured far when he entertained guests—although that itself was a rarity—and now stood framed in the opening of the drawing room. “Please see the earl out.”
    With a nod to Lord Cranford, Alex quietly departed. He then made his way to his study, a place where he could bar the outside world from entry. But he didn’t bar the door, he merely closed it, instinctively crossing the room to the sideboard. He pulled himself up with a vigorous shake of his head just as his hand reached for the crystal decanter, the fingers of his other hand already curved in anticipation of the glass.
    The decanter was empty. The glass was naught but a decorative piece of etched crystal. Both had gone unused for two years. Alex abruptly dropped his arms, curled his hands into fists and strode over to the black leather armchair.
    Memories of why he sought comfort in this particular room assailed him. It was in this very room he’d so often found solace—oblivion—at the bottom of a glass of rum. When all the rum was gone, he’d start on the whiskey. He had spent hours in a day—days on end—sinking deeper and deeper under its spell.
    But not anymore. But damn, he needed a drink.
    Damn her!
    Tugging off his necktie, Alex pushed himself back into the sloping pocket of the high-backed chair. The duke would think he’s been handed heaven on earth when he learned about Nicholas. A living replica of his late beloved son would be like a dream come true. His mother, in her own dramatic fashion, would clutch her hands to her chest and cry copious tears. The ton , of course, would not only relish the scandal, they’d all but wallow in it. Something else to befall the future Duke of Hastings whose misfortunes had begun even before he’d been jilted at the altar. They’d practically rub their hands in glee.
    Damn her!
    This time, Alex refused to allow it to get that far.
    “Alfred!”
    Seconds later, his butler appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
    “Where is Conrad?” Alex inquired of his steward.
    “He’s—”
    “Never mind that. Instruct him to arrange a meeting for me with Mr. Reynolds on the morrow. Tell him the matter is urgent.” Bloody hell, at the moment not only did he require the counsel of a solicitor, he needed a vicar. Not to mention a constable to prevent him from wringing her deceitful, lying neck the next time they met, which would be soon enough.
    “I shall inform him directly, sir,” Alfred replied, but made no move