Forever a Lord by Delilah Marvelle Page A

wishes to see him.”
    One of the footmen squinted, clearly doubting his intentions based on not only the dagger but his appearance.
    He knew he should have brushed his hair. “His Grace is expecting me.”
    The footman hesitated.
    “The duke married my sister,” he added with hardened authority. “That makes me his brother-in-law. Now take your fancy prick of a wig and get him before I put your liver into your hand and make you swallow it through your nostrils.”
    “Stay here,” the man ordered, jogging down the corridor and disappearing into the ballroom.
    The line of footmen rigidly held their place but didn’t meet his gaze.
    He obliged them by doing the same.
    Hurried steps eventually made him glance toward the direction of the ballroom. The Duke of Wentworth darted out of the masses, followed by the footman.
    Dressed in full evening attire that made the man look strong and debonair, the duke waved aside the line of footmen. “Stand back. All of you.” He reached out and squeezed his arm, his aged face and dark eyes brightening. “By God. Atwood. You do us great honor.”
    “I wish I had come in better spirits.” Nathaniel set his shoulders and stepped outside of the duke’s reach, trying to stay focused. “Is my mother here?” He wanted to make sure she wasn’t.
    “No. She left a short while ago. She wasn’t feeling particularly well.”
    Nathaniel swiped his face. “Is she very ill? How serious is it?”
    “The doctors aren’t certain as to what happened, but one side of her face collapsed. The poor woman hasn’t the means to even smile and suffers from severe headaches.”
    Nathaniel’s shock yielded to fury. “Jesus Christ. And you’re letting her attend events?”
    The duke held up a hand. “She insists on attending them and is physically very able to do so. It brings her joy. Aside from mingling with guests, she wanders about the house and looks through Augustine’s belongings. I’m not going to keep her from visiting with whatever is left of her own daughter.”
    Glancing up at the ceiling to keep himself from submitting to emotion, Nathaniel asked tersely, “And my father? Is he still here?”
    “Yes.” The duke hesitated. “Don’t think the worst of me, Atwood. Your mother insists I include him in everything I do. She and your father have become exceptionally close since Augustine’s passing.”
    Anger spiked through him. His father was not going to live the lie. Not anymore. “Tell your footmen to let me pass.”
    The duke’s brows shot up. “Pass? To do what?” He wagged a hand toward him. “You are not about to intrude upon my guests looking like that.”
    “Why not? I bathed and I shaved.”
    “Atwood.” The duke grabbed his arm. “You cannot expect your father or people to accept you all in one night and dressed as you are. We have to slowly reintroduce you into society and allow word of your return to blow in. Now come with me. And heed that it is not a suggestion.”
    “Given you graciously insist.” Nathaniel followed the man down the corridor toward another section of a very impressive house that led into what appeared to be a study.
    The duke pointed to a leather chair. “Sit.”
    “No.”
    The duke shifted from boot to boot in what appeared to be agitation. “Might I at least inquire where you are staying?”
    “Limmer’s.”
    The duke blanched. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I wouldn’t even send the French militia there for a night. No family of mine is going to be living like a pauper. I have plenty of rooms. I will have a footman collect your belongings within the hour.”
    Nathaniel leaned toward him. “Just because we are bound through my sister’s memory doesn’t mean we are also bound to live in the same goddamn house. Don’t insist on something that isn’t going to happen or you and I won’t be getting along. Wherever I do live, it will be paid for by me for me. Is that understood?”
    The duke eyed him and eventually shook his head. “Pride