Susan Carroll by Masquerade Page B

ruined everything?"
    "Only that I'd hoped eventually to present
you to Armande in style, once I'd brought him around to the
notion."
    "Notion? What notion?"
    "Of marrying you, you dunderhead. D'you want
to be a widow the rest of your days?"
    Her grandfather's words struck her like the
blunt end of a cudgel. Phaedra scrambled to her feet. "Good Lord!
You could not be possibly thinking that I and-and Armande de
LeCroix-"
    "And why not? He's a marquis, m'girl, with
money. That makes him as good as a duke in my books."
    "You don't even know this man. He's
dangerous, secretive, and ruthless."
    "Hah! So he is." Weylin seemed pleased by her
description. "A much more likely specimen than that milksop
Grantham."
    Phaedra forebore to remind her grandfather
that it had been he who had schemed to make Ewan her husband.
Weylin's fascination with nobility and titles bordered on madness.
It had been the chief reason he had delivered her into Ewan's bed,
for her grandfather had felt nothing but contempt for her late
husband. But this time Sawyer Weylin's obsession for raising his
family into the ranks of the aristocracy had taken a far more
dangerous turn.
    "By God," she said, "I think you would drive
me into the arms of the devil himself if he had a patent of
nobility."
    "So I would," the old man growled.
    "I greatly fear this devil has other plans,
Grandfather. He could be an impostor for all you know of him. I
find certain aspects of his behavior most odd. Only just this
morning, he-"
    Her grandfather smacked his cane against the
floor, his jowls trembling with outrage. "D'you take me for an old
fool, girl? I've been spotting sharpers since before you were born,
aye, before your own father was breeched. I guess I would know
whether or not this marquis is the genuine article. "
    "It scarce matters if he is. Ewan was bad
enough. I will not be caught up in your marriage schemes a second
time."
    "You'll do as I bid you." Weylin expelled his
breath in a snort. "You can scarce afford to be particular, my fine
lady. Thanks to your witless father." Her grandfather's face
darkened with that bitter expression he always wore when speaking
of his only son. He launched into what to Phaedra was an
all-too-familiar and hated refrain.
    "Never knew how I came to sire such a cursed
ungrateful dolt. Good for nothing but poking his nose in a parcel
of Greek books, dying too young with nothing to show for his life
but a pert daughter with red hair and a heathen name. But that's
what comes of running off to a godforsaken land like Ireland to wed
some slut."
    "You will not speak of my mother like that!"
Phaedra warned.
    "A poor papist slut," Weylin repeated with an
ugly sneer. She winced as he dug the tip of his cane into her ribs
for emphasis. "The witling couldn't even find one with money."
    Phaedra rubbed her side, eyeing him with
loathing. At times like this, she hated her grandfather. "My mother
was a lady born. Of far better breeding than a coarse old man who
smells of gin." Weylin's features suffused with an alarming purple.
He raised up his cane and for one moment Phaedra thought he meant
to strike her with it. She glared back, defying him.
    He abruptly yanked his gout-ridden foot off
the cushions. As his face contorted with pain, he managed to lean
upon the cane and struggle to his feet.
    "It was gin and small beer that put this
fancy roof over your head, missy," he panted when he could get his
breath. "And you'd best learn more respect if you wish to remain
here."
    "I don't," she cried. "I'll take passage on
the next boat crossing the Irish Sea."
    "And good riddance to you, you baggage."
Shoving her aside with one thick hand, he huffed past her. "Go back
amongst your savage Irish relations and rot there."
    "It might interest you to know, Grandfather,
that most of those savage Irish relations despise me as much as you
do, now that my mother is dead. Only they hate me for being
English."
    "Then hold your tongue, girl, if you don't
want me to toss you