Thus, if Adam managed to call in the debt soon, De Villier would have his throat exposed. With no locomotive to back his promises, his adoring public would abandon him. He would have no means of paying off the debt, and Adam would own him at last.
Only one thing stood in Adam’s way: Curtis Billings.
Christ, it was just like his father-in-law to be a thorn in his side. Why couldn’t Billings just cock his toes and depart gracefully into the great beyond? But no, the stubborn bastard had to cling to life like a goddamned leech, rendering Adam’s options a great deal messier.
If Billings had just passed away, Billings Bank would have been under the control of Gabriella’s trust. Since the trustee, Isnard, was Adam’s puppet, Adam could have maneuvered the strings with no one the wiser. Now he’d have to go to his father-in-law, who detested him, and try to broker a deal.
He knew Billings would refuse. Not only to spite him, but because he would want to preserve his precious bank. That meant Adam might have to consider a radical move: to have Billings declared incompetent because of his illness. That would trigger the transfer of all of Billings’s assets, including the bank, into the trust…and, ergo, into Adam’s hands.
But what would that do to Adam’s marriage?
He’d arrived at his wife’s door. Pausing, he saw the light that seeped beneath, telling him that she was still awake. It was late, yet she’d waited up for him. He hadn’t seen her in nearly two days, the urge to be with her gnawing inside him. He yearned to leave the darkness behind and lose himself in her sweetness.
But that’s what caused this whole mess, a voice inside him sneered. You got distracted, got soft. That’s why De Villier’s gaining the upper hand.
His temples throbbed with frustration. He couldn’t deny that his feelings for Gabriella were muddying his thinking. As he’d contemplated the best way to get his plans back on track, he’d wrestled with his conscience. How would she react if he had her father declared incompetent? What would the implications to their marriage be? Would he lose her love forever?
She’s your wife. Her first loyalty is to you, the old, familiar voice in his head stated.
She loves her father, a newer voice argued. You’ll break her heart with this betrayal.
He dragged a hand through his hair, his eyes closing for a brief instant. The warring inside him was driving him mad. He didn’t even know who he was anymore.
Get a hold of yourself, man. Don’t be the weakling De Villier thinks you are.
Inhaling through his nose, he continued on to his own room. As much as he wanted to see Gabriella, he wasn’t in a good place to be with her. He needed time to align his thoughts and emotions, to regain control of himself and his life.
Entering his room, he dismissed his waiting valet and poured himself a whisky. Sipping meditatively, he couldn’t help but glance at the door that connected to Gabriella’s chamber; beneath it, light still shone through, which meant she was either awake…or she’d fallen asleep with the lamp on. With a pang, he remembered what she’d confided to him, that she’d been a restless sleeper until he started spending the night with her, and the impulse to go to her tore at his gut.
He didn’t know if he could trust this part of himself. It was one thing to have no limits in their sexual activities: he was all for that. Just thinking of stripping Gabriella of her inhibitions made him hard as rock. Emotions, however, were another matter.
He loved her, yes. More than he’d loved anyone.
But he couldn’t let himself be controlled by love.
He was about to pour himself another drink when the door to Gabriella’s room opened. His wife entered, and his exhaustion fled in the wake of rising lust. Given the success of her ballgown, he’d helped her to choose a new wardrobe, one designed to show off her magnificent figure. At present, she wore a sleek robe of sapphire silk. The garment revealed the deep crevice between her breasts and clung to her curves. With her fiery tresses cascading down her back, she looked every inch an exotic queen.
His prick throbbed with anticipation. Maybe what he needed wasn’t to stay away from his wife but to ride her good and hard. Maybe that would clear his head.
“I heard you come home. Why didn’t you stop by to say good night?” she asked.
Her tone had an odd edge to it…but he was tired. He could be imagining things.
“It was late, my dear, and I didn’t wish to disturb you.” He set down his glass with a click. Prowling over to her, he ran a finger over her shoulder, the beast in him savoring her shiver. “Since you are awake, however, I would be happy to entertain you.”
“We need to talk,” she said.
He dropped his hand. He hadn’t imagined it then. Gabby’s voice and expression had a hardness that was foreign to her nature and therefore impossible to miss.
“What about?” he said, with the wariness of a man who isn’t stupid.
“The fact that you’re bribing my trustee to do your bidding.”
Her words sliced like a scalpel. Shock bled through him. Cornered, he reacted on instinct.
“Where did you get that idea?” He shaped his lips into a quizzical smile. “Has your father been spouting his paranoia again?”
“I know about Mr. Isnard’s debts to you,” she said steadily. “I know that you want him to call in Mr. De Villier’s debts and destroy Billings Bank in the process. What you need to know is that I will not allow that to happen.”
Shock turned into something else. If she’d come to him in another way, if she’d asked him why he’d done what he’d done, he might have reacted differently. But she was confronting him, threatening him. Threatening to take away the one thing that he’d worked for his entire life, that defined him, that kept the chaos at bay.
His already tenuous grip on his self-control slipped. He responded how he always did to intimidation: he pushed back.
“How do you propose to stop me?” he asked with silky menace.
“It’s already done.” She folded her arms over her chest; the belligerence that flashed in her eyes was a lightning rod to his own volatile emotions. “Mr. Isnard has been removed from his role as my trustee. That role now belongs to Harry Kent.”
Her words sunk into him like a knife between the shoulder blades. The betrayal momentarily cut short his breath, his vision turning red. His wife—the woman he loved and who professed to love him in return—had ruined his chances of achieving his life-long goal?
No bloody way would he allow that to happen.
“We’ll get it changed back,” he said through his teeth.
“You can’t. The deed is done, with three witnesses testifying to my father’s sound state of mind. Whether or not you like it, Mr. Kent is now my trustee, and he will take his direction from me, acting in my best interests. And you know as well as I do that you cannot bully or intimidate him into doing your bidding.”
Lungs straining with rage, Adam knew she was right. If there was one person in the goddamned world whom he couldn’t buy, it was Kent. Not only was the bastard morally incorruptible, he was married to the King of the Underworld’s granddaughter and brother-in-law to a host of powerful aristocrats. He was protected, out of Adam’s reach.
If this were a game of chess, Gabriella would have claimed checkmate.
Fucking hell, Adam had been beaten…by the person he had least expected to betray him.
But that was the best type of deception, wasn’t it?
Unholy fury blazed as he took in the tight seam of his wife’s mouth, her composed blue gaze. Where was the sweet, biddable wallflower he’d married? His adoring queen who’d pledged her loyalty to him? In her place stood a woman he didn’t even know.
Once again, he’d let love distract him, deceive him. Now he was paying the price: the woman he loved had single-handedly ripped away his control and demolished his life’s work.
That bastard De Villier got one thing right: only a fool lets himself be blinded by love.
The darkness in Adam swirled,
his vision blackening with wrath.
“Why did you do this? To preserve your father’s legacy?” Adam asked tightly. “Your first loyalty should belong to me, your husband. All your talk of love is meaningless otherwise, you traitorous bitch.”
“I’m the traitor?” The unfairness of his accusation fed Gabby’s anger. “You’re the one who betrayed our marriage by lying from the outset. You told me you didn’t care about my money, that you wanted me. But that was all a ploy so that you could get your hands on my father’s bank. To play out whatever Machiavellian schemes you have brewing in your moneylender’s brain.”
“You have no idea why I’m doing this, woman,” he roared.
“And I don’t give a damn.” It hurt to breathe, to live, to look at this man to whom she’d given her soul. “Nothing you could say would justify your deception, and I wouldn’t believe you any way.”
I’m tired of being a fool. Tired of wanting what I can’t have. Tired of hoping, always hoping…
“I don’t have to justify anything to you. I’m your husband. According to the law,” he said acidly, “I bloody own you.”
His words confirmed that it was futile to hope. During the course of her marriage, she’d accepted the ruthlessness in her husband’s nature as part of who he was, a product of surviving a childhood in the stews. Yet that acceptance had been tempered by her faith that he’d never be ruthless toward her. Even before the amnesia, when he’d been stoic about his feelings, he’d treated her with tenderness and care. After the amnesia, he’d convinced her that he truly loved her…
All of it lies.
Now her blinders were ripped off, and she was seeing her husband for the first time. Cold-blooded, callous, willing to sacrifice his marriage and family for more money. More power. The only things that mattered to him.
You mean nothing to him. You’re only the means to an end.
“Legally, you may own me but not my trust.” She saw her riposte hit home, his eyes burning with rage. “That was rather the point of my father’s planning. In truth, you have two choices, Adam. You can accept the reality that Billings Bank and my wealth are out of your reach, and we will find some way to muddle on in this marriage.”
“Or what?” he said dangerously. “You should know that I do not respond well to ultimatums, Gabriella.”
Refusing to be cowed, she marched up to him. She saw his gaze veer to the throbbing pulse of her throat and knew that she’d roused his darkest instincts. But she didn’t care because he’d done the same to her.
Gabby had never fought with anyone, didn’t know how to. All her life, she’d tamped down her hurt and pain, and now it exploded from her like a cannon. She was done with being nice. Anger took over her voice, her body, her every impulse. She, who’d rarely raised her voice in the past, now had a rabid desire to draw blood.
“Or it’s going to be war between us,” she said fiercely. “From here on in, I am taking charge of my future. I won’t let you—or anyone—take away my father’s legacy.”
His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. “You are making a grave mistake, Wife.”
“Actually, I’m rectifying the one I made when I married you.”
The muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Get out,” he said softly. “Before I do something I regret.”
“What could you possibly do to me, Adam, that is worse than what you’ve already done?” Her voice shook, but she held his merciless gaze. “For years, I’ve been telling myself stories about our marriage, making it seem like a faerie tale. Well, I’m out of stories. Out of faith. Out of love. Now I see what really happened: I worshipped you, gave you my heart, and what you gave me in return is as worthless as your honor.”
The muscle on his jaw stilled, standing out in stark relief. His muscles bunched, quivering like that of a beast about to spring.
“If you won’t leave, then I will,” he gritted out.
“Go ahead and leave,” she said bitterly. “I’m used to being alone in this marriage anyway.”
With a look of impotent fury, he stalked out, the slam of the door shaking the walls.
35
It took a bottle of whisky to calm Adam’s rage. And even that wasn’t enough to bring about the oblivion he craved. Hours later, he was still wide awake, sitting at his desk in his office, watching the cool grey light of morning blanket the city below.
Usually, the bird’s-eye view of the city gave him pleasure, a symbol of the heights he’d achieved, but now all he felt was bleakness. It was as if all he’d worked for, all his triumphs and successes…meant nothing. It had taken the whisky and hours of brooding contemplation to understand why.
I’m out of stories. Out of faith. Out of love.
If he lost Gabby’s love, he lost everything.
Since the age of nine, he’d taught himself to think that revenge was the only thing that mattered. That love only brought disappointment and pain. Perhaps all that had been true—until Gabby had burst unexpectedly into his life.
From the start, his heart had known what his head had been afraid to believe. That there could be more to life than an eye for an eye…that there existed a kind of love so pure and beautiful that it would never let him down. That would give meaning to his existence, explain the suffering and pain, and conquer the chaos inside him in a way that no amount of control ever could.
His wife had given him that love.
In return, he’d given her duplicity.
She was right: he’d betrayed their marriage first, by not being honest about his intentions regarding her father’s bank. In his fury last night, he hadn’t even told her about De Villier, hadn’t corrected her erroneous assumption that he hadn’t deceived her for money and power, but for...his honor. The honor she accused him of not having.
Perhaps she was right. He hadn’t been honorable toward her, had taken her love and devotion for granted. He closed his eyes briefly, the heat of remorse prickling his eyelids. Tears he hadn’t cried since age nine.
A knock sounded on the door, and he quickly swiped his sleeve across his eyes.
Clearing his throat, he said hoarsely, “Come in.”
Murray sauntered in, looking as fresh as a damned daisy in his grey suit and yellow cravat, his bronzed hair gleaming. He sprawled into the chair on the other side of the desk and flicked a glance at the empty whisky decanter. “Looks like someone dipped too deep last evening.”
The chipper tones made Adam aware of his splitting headache.
“For God’s sake, keep your voice down,” he said tersely.
“That’s your pickled brain shouting at you not me.” The other slid a silver flask across the desk. “Here, try this.”
Taking the flask and uncapping it, Adam grimaced at the released fumes. “What is it?”
“A personal remedy that I keep handy at all times. Wickham Murray’s Cure for All Ails—or Cure for the Cure of All Ails, rather. Drink up like a good lad.”
Adam would have refused the cheeky bastard, but he needed to clear his head. He needed to find a way to fix things with Gabriella. But what if she couldn’t forgive him for his years of neglect, for the secrets he’d kept, for scheming to take over her father’s bank? His gut clenched. If he tried to explain to her why his retribution was important to him, would she understand? What if he had lost her trust and her love for good?
“For God’s sake, it’s the hair of the dog, not a visit to the tooth-drawer,” Murray said, clearly misinterpreting the cause of Adam’s expression.
Adam downed the concoction; it blazed through his system.
“I’d wager your head feels better already, doesn’t it?”
He coughed, surprised when fire didn’t come out of his mouth. “Only because the hole your ‘remedy’ burned in my throat is distracting me from the headache.”
“Whatever works, I always say.” Murray studied him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About why you’re wearing yeste
rday’s clothes and clearly spent the night at the office getting as soused as a sailor on leave.”
Adam managed a quelling stare. “Mind your own bloody business.”
“Fine.” The other man shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to come to the obvious conclusion. The one that every single clerk in the office has also arrived at.”
“What conclusion is that?” He wondered if he had the wherewithal to strangle the other.
“That you’re in hot water with your lovely wife.”
The accuracy of the statement struck Adam like a flaming poker to the chest. He was in more than hot water, he thought with burning despair. He was drowning without her.
“Holy hell, how bad is it?” The humor faded from Murray’s voice, his hazel eyes turning serious. “Did she really kick you out of the house?”
“What part of ‘mind your own business’ don’t you understand?”
Christ, he wished Murray would stop prying. He felt as if his self-discipline had abandoned him. He needed to be left alone, to think things out. How was he going to satisfy his honor without losing his wife?
“When have I ever minded my own business? Admit it, my nosiness is part of my charm, and why I’ve grown on you despite your futile efforts to find me annoying.”
“Who said my efforts were futile?”
Murray smiled, but his gaze was earnest. “I should hope that, after all these years, you know you can trust me.”
In the stillness that followed, Adam realized that the other man had earned his trust. Despite Murray’s raffish ways, he had proved himself a good business partner, had never let Adam down, and had always been true to his word. Hell, he’d even had the bollocks to confront Adam about the visits to Mrs. Wilde’s, to try to make Adam see what a gift Gabriella was.
Adam was used to keeping his own counsel. But look at where that had gotten him. Maybe another’s opinion might help him figure out what he needed to do.
Regarding the Duke Page 28
