How to Capture a Duke
Page 18
“How much time? Days or weeks? If you are thinking the later, you may start to show. What will you tell him?”
…
Tristan arrived early to the House of Lords. It was the day of the committee stage, where the detailed line-by-line examination and discussion of any amendments to the Soldiers Bill would take place. Tristan had anticipated which amendments would be the most troublesome, and it was time to put all his hard work to the test. At last, he would speak on the floor. He’d apply the techniques he’d learned under the skilled tutelage of Horace Higgins, the same ones he’d practiced with Olivia.
He owed much to his wife.
Just the thought of her made his blood heat and his heart hammer. The memory of their one intimate evening together haunted him nightly. He’d learned just where to touch her to make her gasp and had memorized all her pleasure points as intimately as a musician knows his instrument, but he could not do what he’d wanted—to come deeply inside her womb.
It was his curse. His burden to bear.
The noise level in the room increased as more men arrived to take their places. Tristan turned his attention to the business at hand. He spotted Lord Dumfries with a group of gentlemen who were taking their seats. Lord Ware was not with Dumfries. Without his friend, Dumfries looked like a petulant child.
Excitement thrummed in Tristan’s veins when the speaker called all to attention and listed the items on the agenda for the day.
“The first member who added his name to speak for the bill is His Grace, the Duke of Keswick.”
Eyes turned to him. A hushed murmur came over the crowd. Tristan pushed aside his trepidation at the attention. The members were surprised, that was all. He’d never entered his name on the speaker’s list before. He controlled his breathing. He loosened his throat, his lips, his tongue, his jaw.
He stood and began. “I’d like to begin with the first proposed amendment, line fifteen, of the Soldiers Bill.”
…
Hours later, Tristan left the chamber and made his way to the Prince’s Chamber. His body positively hummed with the thrill of success, an elation for finally accomplishing what he’d dreamed so long of doing. He felt fully alive and gloried in the moment. Others might think it easy, but nothing about it had come easily to him. He’d overcome great odds, and all his hard work had paid off. He’d stumbled only twice, but rather than panic and continue to stutter more, he’d employed the techniques he’d learned and controlled his heart rate and waylaid the dreaded anxiety to successfully finish.
A hand clamped over his shoulder. “I do believe congratulations are in order.”
He turned to see Spencer. “I hardly believe congratulations are in order. I spoke as others have done for years. Voting is not until next month.”
“Do not downplay your efforts. You were very persuasive,” Spencer said. “It’s all everyone is talking about.”
Tristan stopped to look at him. “The fact that I listed my name on the Speaker’s list and argued in favor of a bill?”
“Not just that.”
“Then what?”
“You haven’t seen it?” Spencer pulled out a paper from his leather satchel, unfolded it, and handed it to him.
It was one of London’s gossip pages—the most popular of the rags, The Scandal Pages. At first, Tristan didn’t understand, but then a cartoon on the front page caught his eye. A man stood atop a bench in the House of Lords, dressed in a red robe and white wig, with one hand slapped across his mouth and a group of laughing gentlemen surrounding him. The face of the man was unmistakable.
His own.
Beneath the cartoon, the words read: “Even dukes need help speaking up.”
The rag went on to mention the Duke of Keswick’s meetings with Horace Higgins, a London charlatan who proclaimed he cured men who spoke like toddlers.
A low humming penetrated Tristan’s ears as he clutched the paper in his hands. He suddenly had a heightened awareness of the lords in the Prince’s Chamber, their glances darting to him, and their whispers to one another. Tristan’s gaze met theirs for a brief moment, sufficient for him to recognize the humor in their eyes, enough for a prickle of unease to travel down his spine and cause him to flash back to his past—back to his school days, back to when his professor had called on him and he’d had to answer—and the jeering and taunting of cruel boys. His only saving grace was that Dumfries had already left the building.
“You never told me you were receiving treatment,” Spencer said. “Although after hearing you speak so effectively today, I should have suspected.”
How did this happen? Once more, Tristan’s eyes returned to the caricature. It was so realistic, it made him want to howl in outrage. Perspiration beaded on his brow. The gossip rag only named one anonymous source.
Higgins was sworn to secrecy. The man had assured him their sessions would remain private. The article did not mention what occurred during their meetings, only that they had repeatedly met, and Tristan didn’t think Higgins could have been the source of the leak. It would be professional suicide. No one would pay for Higgins’s services if they believed he would reveal their identity. And Horace Higgins was smart enough to know not to betray a wealthy and powerful duke who could crush him.
Which led him to conclude that someone else had done the dastardly deed.
Tristan’s mind turned over the possible culprits. Could his wife be the anonymous source? No, he couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. But only two others knew of his association with Horace Higgins.
Olivia and her sister, Ellie, Lady Vere.
Had Olivia slipped by mistake? Mentioned something accidentally to another?
Or had Lady Vere told the gossip rag? It was no secret she’d disliked him from the beginning. Looking back, he couldn’t blame her. Her sister had been forced to the altar because of his deception, and then he had suspected his bride of the worst treachery. He hadn’t been kind to his new bride then, but things had changed. But Lady Vere wouldn’t know that, would she?
Had Lady Vere’s distrust festered and she’d seized the first opportunity to gain revenge for his treatment of her sister and humiliate him?
The paper crushed in his fist. He strode away from Spencer and out the front door.
He’d demand an answer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I’ve been searching for you.”
Olivia had been waiting for Tristan in the library. She’d chosen a book of Shakespeare’s plays, sat in one of the large armchairs in an attempt to distract herself, when her husband’s sudden appearance in the doorway startled her.
She set down the book and leaped to her feet to look at him expectantly. “How did it go? Did you speak at the House of Lords as practiced?”
“I did. I spoke, and the words came out like warm honey. I only stammered twice, but for the first time, I was able to recover and finish eloquently.”
She gifted him with a brilliant smile and clasped her hands to her chest. “We must celebrate! I’ll pour us a drink.”
She made for the sideboard and reached for a decanter when he stalked forward and pressed a hand on the table. “I’m not interested in joining you for a drink.”
She grew instantly alert. His harsh tone, combined with his physical presence looming over her, set off alarm bells in her head. “What’s wrong? All your hand work with Higgins has resulted in success.”
“Oh, I spoke eloquently, and Higgins would be proud. Everyone was silent, and I believed they were looking at me because I’ve never done so before. But I was wrong. Terribly wrong.”
“Why? What occurred to distress you like this?”
He slapped a paper on the sideboard. She recognized the Scandal Sheet. Every lady in London knew of it. Her eyes widened at the caricature and the bold black print beneath it.
Her heart thrummed in her chest. “How did this happen?”
A sudden thin chill hung on the edge of his words. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You said yourself that only three people knew. You, Antonia, and your sister. My grandmother has left town, and even if she had not, she would never do this.” He leaned forward another inch. “That leaves you or Lady Vere.”
An oddly primitive warming sounded in her brain. “You are wrong. I did not reveal it. Another must have learned of your association with Mr. Higgins.”
“I don’t think so. If not you, then it must have been Lady Vere. Your sister never liked me, and she let it be known the first time I met her.”
“And for good reason, but Ellie would never do what you suggest. I’m offended you would even think so.”
“Offended? After I was humiliated by that?” He jabbed a finger at the paper.
A cold wave entered the room, and she felt vulnerable in the face of his anger. “It was Ellie who found Mr. Higgins, remember? Why would she leak word of it to the scandal sheets?”
“Exactly. What better way to devise my humiliation?”
Her anxiety veered into righteous anger. Olivia tossed her hair behind a shoulder and glared at him. “Nonsense! First you accuse me then my beloved sister. I take both personally. Blaming her is as good as blaming me!”
Her temper flared. She had planned to tell him about the babe but not now. Not when he was unjustly accusing her family of a dastardly deed. Someone else was behind this treachery. How could he ever believe she or her sister were responsible? She glared at him. “After everything, you still do not trust me.”
His burning gaze didn’t waver. “You give me no reason to.”
She clenched her fists at her sides. “You are incapable of trusting anyone! That is the way you are, the way you shall always be. I thought I could overcome your past and that I could make you believe that not everyone is out to harm you. But it is an impossible task, and I have failed. You will never change, and there is nothing more I can do to earn your trust.” Head held high, she marched past him then sprinted up the stairs to her room.
Her anguish tore into her soul, and she knew she couldn’t stay at Keswick Hall, not one more day. Her marriage had been doomed from the beginning, hadn’t it? She was a fool to think otherwise, to believe anything else. One wondrous night could not change a lifetime of distrust. He’d never be what she’d longed for, a man who loved her above all else. A man who would be a wonderful father. She’d foolishly hoped he would change. She realized now it was an impossible dream.
He’d cruelly crushed her dreams and her heart. Eyes blurred with tears, she threw clothes into one of her trunks, not caring about the delicate silks and satins.
She couldn’t return home. Ian and Grace had Catherine. Could she stay with Ellie? No, Ellie and Hugh had young Alexander. Both siblings would welcome her, but things had changed, and she couldn’t return to her prior life and sulk in her old bedroom. Tristan may never change, but she had. She was no longer an innocent girl with dreams of happiness. Her sorrow was a huge painful knot inside her, and she doubted her broken heart would ever mend.
She needed a place to go to gather her thoughts and decide her future. Somewhere far away from Keswick Hall and the dominant male within. She thought of Antonia and her offer of refuge.
It was time to return to Rosehill.
…
The Raven Club was busy that evening. It was a few minutes past midnight, and the casino would be open until the early morning hours. Olivia had spent time packing her trunks before arriving here tonight. A small part of her had hoped that Tristan would knock on her door and apologize, but when he’d never arrived, she gathered her courage and fled Keswick Hall. She never planned to return and would send a servant for her belongings later.
She was careful to keep her mask in place as she headed straight for the ladies’ gambling room to find Ellie. She intended to tell her sister that she’d left her husband and planned to return to Rosehill. A country respite was what she needed. Her sister would understand. She always did.
Her nervousness about telling Tristan about the pregnancy had vanished after he’d accused her sister of revealing his sessions with Higgins. Why would Ellie do such a thing after she’d found Horace Higgins in the first place? Why couldn’t Tristan see reason?
But he’s incapable of trusting anyone.
He hadn’t changed from the man who’d first confronted her in Rosehill’s stable. Only she had changed and had loved him—loved him still—and that was the most painful of all.
She made it to the hidden doorway when a large guard opened the door. At second glance, she realized it was Brooks, the main guard of the Raven Club. “Olivia?”
“Hello, Brooks. I need to see my sister.”
“She is not here tonight.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped. She’d been certain her sister worked this evening. She must have chosen to stay home with Alexander.
“Shall I summon Lord Vere?” Brooks asked.
“No.” Her brother-in-law could not help her. She’d have to leave the club and go to her sister’s home.
She turned back to the main casino floor and wove her way past gamblers, croupiers, and liveried servers carrying trays. She was halfway to the door when a hand landed on her arm.
“Olivia?”
She looked up to see Lord Jeffries.
“I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here,” he said. “Would you like to play another game of vingt-et-un?”
She returned his smile with a weak one of her own. “No, thank you. Perhaps another time.”
Goodness, she was in tumult, and her head started to ache. She needed to leave this place, needed to see her sister and confide in her and then leave London.
“You look pale. Are you unwell?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“No.” Yes. The slight pounding in her temples increased. As she looked up at Spencer, her conversation with Tristan crept into her mind. Perhaps it would be nice to talk with someone who understood her husband. “A word alone, please.”
“Of course. Come with me and tell me what is amiss.” Taking her arm, they walked to the far end of the casino floor. A servant carrying a plate of steaming food passed, and her stomach roiled at the smell.
Dear God. Not here.
She swallowed, took deep breaths, and the nausea retreated. Spencer looked down at her. “Are you certain you are well? I can escort you home in my carriage.”
“No, I need to talk to you.”
He led her to a spot behind a potted palm in the corner. “Tristan told me what occurred this afternoon at the House of Lords.”
Spencer’s brows formed a V. “Ah, he told you, did he?”
“He placed the scandal sheet on a sideboard before me and said you showed it to him.”
“I did.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Good heavens, why?”
“I thought he had a right to know. To be truthful, I was hurt he never confided in me about his tutelage.”
“My husband is a private man.”
“You knew.”
“Yes, I did. Who was the anonymous source that told the reporter?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
“His grandmother knew. As did I. He blamed me then my sister.”
“Lady Vere knew?” His brows shot into his hairline. “Did everyone know but me?” At Olivia’s silence, his expression tightened.
“Please do not take offense,” she said. “Tristan did not want to seek help. I convinced him to give Mr. Higgins a chance.”
“Whatever you did worked. His speech was inspiring, and his arguments regarding the amendments to the Soldiers Bill were convincing.”
She wrung her hands. “I’m glad to hear it, but nothing changes our difficulties. He will never overcome his distrust of me or my family.”
“My cousin can be a hard man. Because of his past, he never forgives a slight against him,” he said.
&n
bsp; A coldness settled in her chest from his words. She’d already come to accept this. Tristan would never truly forgive her for her “deception” regarding their marriage and never, ever forgive the humiliation he experienced today. His fragile trust in her regarding Mr. Higgins was forever shattered.
How was she to tell him about the pregnancy? He’d believe she’d trapped him again, and if the child did stammer, then he’d never forgive her. “What am I to do?” she whispered.
He put his arm around her. “All is not lost. You have been getting along.”
She was distraught and felt a sickening panic well in her chest. Spencer would understand her plight like no other. He knew Tristan better than anyone else. “No. You don’t understand. I’m with child.”
Startled, he dropped his arm. “That’s wonderful.”
“You know as well as I do Tristan’s view regarding children. He fears his son or daughter will speak like him.”
“He has no choice now, does he?” He gently took her arm once more. “Come, I will take you home.”
“No! I do not wish to return to Keswick Hall. I packed my bags and don’t intend to return.”
“You plan to leave him?”
She raised her chin a notch. “Yes. I need to speak with my sister now.”
“Then I will escort you to the marchioness’s home.”
She nodded, and he led her out the door and into his carriage. He took a moment to speak with the driver then climbed in and sat across from her.
“Are you sure about the babe?” Spencer asked.
“Yes.”
“And you have not told him?”
“I had planned to, but then he angrily burst into the dining room and tossed the gossip rag on the table. I hardly had a chance.”
“Of course. I’m not blaming you. What will you do?” Spencer asked.
“I must tell him everything about the baby, of course. Things cannot be any worse between us.”
He patted her hand. “Things can always be worse, but they will get better for all of us soon.”
His choice of words was odd, but she couldn’t read his expression in the dim light of the carriage. All she could see was his fair hair against the blackness of the padded seat. She glanced outside and noticed they were traveling on the wrong road.