Even Simon straightened from his position in the corner, a whispered, “Bloody hell,” drifting across the room.
Tired from lack of sleep, Drake shook his head. “Pardon? Could you repeat that?”
Stratford’s ice-blue eyes met Drake directly. “I agree to the marriage. But, do not misunderstand. I don’t like it. You may have elevated your status from groom to a duke’s man of business, but you’re still not good enough for her.” He paused, his lined face showing his age. “But I love my daughter. I presume you’ve spoken with her?”
Drake allowed his body to fall into the chair. “Yes, sir. She has accepted my proposal.”
Stratford narrowed his eyes. “What about the Weatherby chit?”
“Miss Weatherby released me last night.BeforeI asked for Lady Honoria’s hand.”
Stratford ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. “Although it pains me to admit, you’ve always been a man of honor. However, you should know I released Honoria’s dowry to her a few months ago. It’s a substantial sum. I expect you to do right by her on that account. Make sure she wants for nothing. And if you should need financial assistance, come to me.”
“That won’t be necessary, and Honoria can retain her money. I don’t want it.” He tapped the papers in front of him, pushing them toward Stratford. “Simon has laid it all out in the marriage contract.”
“Simon?” Stratford frowned. “Who is Simon?”
A cough from the corner drew Stratford’s attention, and Simon raised his hand.
“Why would a duke be drawing up a marriage contract? And why do you call him Simon? Such disrespect! I expected more from you, Merrick.”
Drake barked a laugh. “From our recent encounters, I wasn’t aware you expected anything from me, other than to be a fortune-hunting nobody. However, reading the contract should enlighten you.”
Stratford continued to eye him as he picked up the papers. Then he began to read.
Ah! There.
The precise moment the truth became known, Stratford’s head shot up. “What is this? A joke? If so, it isn’t funny.”
Drake rose, hands pressed against the desk, and leaned forward again, confidence flowing through him. “It’s no joke, my lord. So tell me. Would a duke be good enough for your daughter?”
The sliceof toast sat before Honoria, half-eaten. Why had Burwood asked to speak with her father?
Something was wrong. Where was Drake?
She pushed the plate aside and strode toward the door.
The footman blocked her way. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m under orders to keep you here.”
“I will not be kept in here like a prisoner. Now, stand aside.” Honoria had never before spoken harshly to a servant, and the man flinched at her raised voice.
Dread seeped under her skin, burrowing and taking root like black tar. Something was wrong.
Much taller and broader than she, the man refused to budge from the doorway. “I’m under orders.”
“You’ve said that.” She pushed at the man’s arms, but he remained steadfast.
“Stand aside, sir, and allow my daughter to pass.” Her mother’s voice, firm but calm, broke through Honoria’s anger.
The footman turned. “But my lady?—”
“The duke himself has requested me to retrieve my daughter. If you value your position, you will stand aside.”
As if her mother waved a magic wand, the footman removed himself from the doorway, and Honoria hurried past lest he change his mind. “Mother, I thought Burwood was with Father.”
Her mother gestured her forward. “He is, dear. In his study. Come, come, don’t delay. There is wonderful news!”
“What is it? Where is Drake?”
