Chapter Thirty-Two
“You’ve been trying not to be a marquess ever since I met you when we were, what, eight? Nine years old?” Wickford asked.
“Eight. We met when we were eight,” Jamie reminded him.
“Right. I remember it. The headmaster called you Lord Rossburke, and you shouted at him that you were not the marquess. Your name was Jamie Douglass, and he’d do well to remember that!” Wickford burst out laughing again. This time at the memory of the bold, angry little boy Jamie had been.
“I’d just lost my father,” Jamie explained.
“I know,” Wickford said, sobering up quickly. “I know, and it was terrible, I’m sorry. But still, you have never wanted to be the marquess, and now that you’re not—at least in the eyes of the duchess and her protégé—you want to be.” Wickford leaned forward toward
