Rules of Passion by Sara Bennett - Greentree Sisters 02 - Rules of Passion

and made his own fortune, although there had always been a bit of a smell about the whole thing. Max had asked, but his father would never discuss it. “Money is money,” he’d say testily, “who cares where it’s come from?”
    True enough, money was money, and it was money Max needed to keep himself afloat.
    He would have to sell his mother’s house in Cornwall. The thought was a bleak one. Blackwood had been in her family since medieval times, but he could not see how he could hold on to it and remain inLondon. Unless he left London altogether—why not, it was too painful here anyway, with so many reminders of his old life. Then he could retire to the isolation of Cornwall and live as a recluse.
    The image suited his mood exactly, even though he knew it was awfully indulgent. And he’d probably get bored doing nothing but brooding. Max sighed.
    “Perhaps something can be done,” Harold had said awkwardly, last time they met. “You know how rotten this makes me feel, old chap. Don’t do anything rash. I won’t let you go under.”
    “I can’t rely on you for the rest of my life, Harold.”
    “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me, old boy.”
    “It’s not your fault,” Max said, and it was true. It wasn’t Harold’s fault. Max’s mother had evidently been carrying him when she wed his father, and now the truth had come out. Max was disinherited, and as the eldest male issue of the duke’s brother, Harold was legally the next in line.
    A tragic tale, yes, but then again Harold was not to blame. Just as Max wasn’t to blame. One day he had been Lord Roseby, heir to a dukedom and an estate in Surrey and a fortune in funds—the world had been at his feet. And the next…Everything, his prospects, his position in polite society, had disintegrated like ashes in the wind.
    The deed had been done at Valland House, during a family supper to celebrate the new year. They had been chatting and laughing, his stepsister Susannah had been playing the piano, and then his father had risen to his feet and cleared his throat. He always made a toast at these gatherings, paying homage to the dying year and looking forward to the one to come. But this time he had not raised his glass, instead he had reached into his pocket and taken out a letter and begun to read. The letter had been written by the duchess some years ago, and Max did not want to believe that she ever expected it to be found and spoken aloud.
    That letter had destroyed his life.
    He hadn’t been able to remain in the room. His father hadn’t even looked at him as Max got to his feet and walked out, through the doorway and into the freezing night. He had walked in circles in the garden for hours, until Susannah and Harold found him and brought him in. But he had been numb, unable to speak or weep or rage. That had come later.
    Max sighed, pushing aside the bad memories, and remembering instead Marietta’s soft hand in his. If he closed his eyes he could recall the scent of her hair, and the sight of her blue eyes staring up at him so boldly. Even now, standing still in the laneway, he felt his body tensing at the thought of her naked in his arms.
    Blast it, he had been looking forward to spending the entire night with Marietta Greentree!
    The blow came out of nowhere. A crashing thud to his temple. Max saw lights and then darkness washed over him. And then nothing at all.
     
    Marietta’s head was nodding. It had been a very long day—Vivianna had begun her labor well before dawn and everyone had been in such a state of anxious anticipation they hadn’t been able to rest. Now, seated here in Aphrodite’s warm and comfortable parlor, she found herself slipping into sleep.
    She was remembering the first time she met Aphrodite, at Greentree Manor, shortly after Vivianna married Oliver…
     
    Beyond the windows in the drawing room the sun shone fitfully. Ominous clouds jostled on the horizon, where the moors rose bleakly to meet them. But here in the