Seeing him so helpless made Dane question everything. His brother was a bitter man, and his marriage was loveless, but at least he was doing something to better the world with his charitable concerns. Or was that Sandrine’s voice in his head? Her soft voice had been with him the entire journey. That luscious kiss. What must she think of him for leaving so suddenly with no goodbye?
“Dane,” Roman whispered, his eyelids fluttering.
Dane bent over. “Yes, yes, I’m here. What is it, Roman?”
“Dane... the charity ball... Piety...”
“Yes?”
His brother’s eyes opened for one moment and then closed again, his head lolling to one side.
“You can’t die, Roman.” Dane gripped his brother’s hand. “If you die and Piety has another girl, then I’ll be the duke. You would never stand for that. Never. Doesn’t that make you want to fight harder to live?”
“I’m having a boy.” Piety entered the room, her hands wrapped over her large belly. She stopped beside the bed, and Dane rose.
“Piety.” He inclined his head in greeting.
“You’ll never be the duke.” She was practically spitting, her hazel eyes lit by ire. “Roman hated you more than anything in this world.”
He knew it was true, but to hear her say it still had the power to hurt him. “I don’t wish him ill, Piety. I want him to live.”
“You don’t!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You want to be the duke so that you can squander the fortune on carriages and courtesans. You would cast me and my children out in the streets if you had your way.”
“That’s not true. How can you think that?” But he knew the answer already. Roman had poisoned her mind against Dane just as he’d influenced their father to hate him. “I swear to you, Piety, that you have nothing to fear from me.”
“I don’t want you here. He wouldn’t want you here.”
“He was asking for me. He said something about the charity ball, and he said your name.”
“He spoke to you?” She flung herself down,laying her head on his chest. “Roman, speak to me, not your brother.” He made no response. “It wasn’t like you to drive recklessly, Roman. Lord Dane is the reckless one.”
She didn’t have to say the words. They echoed throughout the room.
You should be the one to die in a carriage accident instead of Roman.
“You’re a vulture, hovering over his bed wanting him to die.”
“That’s not true, Piety,” Dane said forcefully. “I want Roman to live as much as you do. And I want your child to be male. Trust me, I don’t want to be the damned duke.”
Dr. Sneath reentered the room. “Your grace.” He bowed to the duchess. “My lord. Let me examine him.”
Dane attempted to help Piety rise, but she pushed his hand away.
The doctor bent over Roman, listening for his breathing, then felt his wrist for a pulse. “He’s gone,” he said solemnly, laying his hand over Roman’s eyes.
“No,” Piety wailed. “He can’t die without telling me who’s to blame and what to do.”
“Who’s to blame for what?” Dane asked.
“Nothing,” she snapped. “Please leave me alone with him. Go to your club and drown yourself in brandy, for all I care.”
“Good-bye, Roman,” Dane whispered, a weight descending on his chest. Dane was now the heir presumptive. He was suddenly bone-weary from the journey and filled with grief. “I’ll go to myapartments and have a rest. I’ll be back in the morning, Piety.”
“And I won’t receive you,” she said, head held high.
“Something’s different about you today, Sandrine,” said Mrs. McGovern. “You have an air of satisfaction, like a cat who just caught a field mouse.”
Sandrine smiled. It had been two days since Danny had kissed her, and her body and mind still hummed with the newness and thrill of those heated moments. Her head was firmly in the clouds, dreaming of all the extraordinary possibilities that kiss might open up.