Raphe stared at Guthrie in shock. There was so much more at risk than he’d ever realized. “Ye’re playin’ with people’s lives.”
Guthrie shrugged. “Seemed a safe bet as long as I ’ad ye in me corner.”
“Christ.” Raphe slumped his shoulders, ran both hands through his hair. “There’s never a guarantee. Even if I were to fight, what if I lose?”
“Ye won’t.”
“How can ye be so sure?”
“Because if ye do, Bartholomew takes me place.” His expression hardened. “I might ’ave dabbled in gamblin’, contraband an’ a bit o’ gin distillin’ ’ere an’ there, but I’d never force women an’ children into sellin’ themselves against their will the way ’e would.”
Just the thought of it made Raphe’s stomach churn with disgust. “Then why’d ye make a deal with the devil, Guthrie? Ye knew the risk.”
Guthrie nodded, slowly and with a degree of sadness that conveyed more than words ever would. “All ye need to know is that ye ain’t the only one with their back against the wall.” Rising, he went to the door. “I’ll be in touch—let ye know when an’ where to show up. Once the fight’s over, I’ll let ye off the ’ook.”
Raphe stayed where he was for a long while after Guthrie’s departure, unable to move. How the hell had everything gone so horribly wrong during just one evening? It didn’t seem possible, and yet it was.
Feeling as though his life was being torn apart before his eyes, Raphe eventually managed to get himself to bed, collapsing fully clothed on top of the mattress. But when he woke the following morning, he soon realized that Gabriella and Guthrie were by far the least of his troubles.
Chapter 21
When Gabriella rose the morning after the Coventry ball, she got dressed and made her way downstairs with one sole purpose—to tell her parents that she meant to call off the engagement. Lord help her, she’d never been so furious with another person as she was with Fielding right now. How dare he do what he did?
Arriving in the dining room, she didn’t even bother wishing her parents and her aunt a good morning, saying instead, “I will not marry him.”
A rustling of paper and a clattering of china brought everyone’s attention to where she stood, cross-armed and rigid. “I beg your pardon?” her father asked.
“I said,” Gabriella bit out, “that I will not marry him.”
“Nonsense, dear,” her mother said, waving her hand dismissively. “Of course you will.”
Aunt Caroline gave Gabriella a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps she’s changed her mind.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Warwick growled. Folding up his paper, he set it aside. “Fielding is an excellent match, Gabriella. The very best match. You ought to be thrilled that he even bothered looking in your direction.”
Stepping further into the room, Gabriella glared at her father. “He forced my hand, Papa, announcing an engagement that I never agreed to.”
“A minor detail, since you would have done so eventually,” Lady Warwick said. She took a sip of her tea. “Now, if you’ll stop complaining about being the luckiest girl in London for just one second, I would like to discuss our plans for today. There are arrangements to be made now, after all. I thought we might—”
“No,” Gabriella snapped. “I am not going to plan for a wedding that isn’t going to take place.”
A hush fell over the room, and then Warwick slowly pointed to one of the empty chairs and said, “Sit. Down.”
His tone was hard—more terrifying than Gabriella had ever heard it. So although she didn’t feel like complying, she did. Albeit, with great reluctance. “Marriage is forever, Papa,” Gabriella tried, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Do you really want me to spend forever with the wrong man?”
The moment the words were out, she knew she’d said the wrong thing. Her father’s face tightened, reddening until it looked as though it might explode, and then he quite unexpectedly slammed his fist against the table, rattling the china and making his family jump. “I am tired of dealing with spoiled women!” Warwick narrowed his gaze on Gabriella. “First your sister, and now you.”
“Victoria married the man she loved,” Gabriella shot back.
“And almost ruined this family’s reputation in the process.”
“Mr. Connolly is a successful businessman who—”
“I know precisely the sort of man he is, Gabriella, but that doesn’t make him appropriate marriage material for an earl’s daughter. And it doesn’t excuse your sister from breaking her engagement to Bellmore just so she could run off and do as she pleased.” Shaking his head, Warwick expelled a tired breath. “If it’s Huntley who’s making you hesitant about marrying Fielding, then you ought to know that he isn’t who you think he is. I’ve had him investigated.”
“You’ve what?” Gabriella couldn’t hide her shock.
“What I have discovered so far is that he has not been living with relatives close to the Scottish border as he says.”
“I know,” Gabriella said. “He’s told me so himself.”
That seemed to shut everyone up. But only for a second.
“When?” Her mother asked.
“At Fielding House,” Gabriella blurted, thinking up an acceptable explanation as fast as she could. “When we went for dinner.”
Her father looked confused. “Why lie to the rest of us then? What possible reason can he have unless the answer is something completely unacceptable? If you know the truth about him, Gabriella, then I must insist you tell me what it is for all of our sakes. We cannot—”
“He is a duke, Papa!” She could feel a tension growing inside her, building up and threatening her control. It was the bumblebee all over again. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Not to me,” Warwick told her seriously. “Are you also aware that he has ties to Carlton Guthrie?”
A chill swept down Gabriella’s spine. Carlton Guthrie—an immigrant worker from Ireland whose accumulation of wealth could not be explained—was reputed to run all kinds of illegal operations, though he’d yet to be charged with any crime. She’d read about him in the Mayfair Chronicle, though the articles had been nothing more than speculation. Witnesses had apparently been hard to come by. People either denied knowing him, or disappeared before they could testify against him. If Raphe was involved with him somehow . . . She shook her head, unwilling to believe it.
Her father didn’t wait for her to answer. “My fear is that you will end up losing your chance with Fielding over this, only to be disappointed by Huntley.”
“Your father does have a point,” Aunt Caroline said, speaking up for the first time. “Tell me, do you think you’ve fallen in love with Huntley? Is that why you’re insisting on him?”
The question made Gabriella’s cheeks burn. She shook her head. No. She was not in love with him. Was she? “I like him a great deal.”
“And you’ve decided this after only a couple of brief encounters with the man?” her mother asked with marked disbelief.
Not daring to look at her aunt for fear that her parents would see the truth in her eyes—the fact that she’d spent more time with Huntley than her parents were aware of—Gabriella dropped her gaze to the table. “I will speak with him.” She would ask him to confirm or deny her father’s claim and hope that by doing so, she would discover the truth.
“You will do no such thing,” her mother warned.
Gabriella’s gaze snapped up, meeting her mother’s. “What will you do to stop me? Lock me in my bedchamber?”
“If need be,” her mother railed. “You obviously don’t know how to protect yourself or this family from scandal.”
“Enough,” Warwick said. “Nobody is locking Gabriella away. But, I would like to think that you have enough common sense in your head to do what is right,” he told her.
“Which is why I must speak to Huntley, if for no other reason than to know what my options truly are.” And to explain to Huntley that Fielding had trapped her with his announ
cement last night. Hopefully, he’d believe her when she told him this was not at all what she wanted.
Warwick stared at her for a moment as though considering the pros and cons. Eventually, he nodded, though with great reluctance. “Very well.”
“Are Lady Juliette and Lady Amelia at home?” Gabriella asked Pierson a couple of hours later. Standing on the front step with Anna by her side, she’d chosen a more direct path than usual.
The butler eyed her with a wariness that immediately caught her attention. “No, my lady, I’m afraid not.”
“You do not understand,” Gabriella insisted. “The matter I wish to discuss with them”—or their brother, rather, since it was him she was really there to see even though it would be improper of her to say so directly—“is of great . . .” Her voice faded to the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. A dark-haired man who appeared to be in his thirties, with troubled eyes and a rigid jawline, came into view. She recognized him immediately. “Dr. Florian? What are you doing here?”
He responded with a tight smile, but refused to answer her question. Instead, he addressed Pierson. “Have the cook prepare a strong chicken soup with plenty of onions and garlic in it. And chamomile tea with honey for when she’s not eating. I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow afternoon.” He then gave Gabriella a courteous nod, accompanied by a polite greeting before hurrying past her.
Gabriella blinked. “Pierson. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s best if you stay away at the moment,” the butler replied. He began closing the door.
Placing her palm against it, Gabriella held it open. “Maybe I can help? Maybe—”
“Gabriella!” It was Amelia who drifted into view with a silent tread. “Please, do come in.”
Pierson gave her a look that clearly indicated some breach in protocol, but Gabriella decided not to question it. Instead, she stepped inside the grand foyer of Huntley House and asked Anna to wait for her there before following Amelia through to the parlor. “Is everything all right?” she asked the moment they were alone. It was then that she noticed the tight lines on Amelia’s face.
“It’s Juliette,” Amelia said. “She retired last night with a headache, but this morning when her maid went to tend to her, she found her flushed with fever.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry!” Seeing the anxious look in Amelia’s eyes, Gabriella quietly asked, “Is there any indication of what might be causing it?”
“Florian mentioned influenza, but he says it’s too soon to be certain.” Amelia wrung her hands in her lap. “Of course Raphe blames himself.”
“But it’s not his fault,” Gabriella told her adamantly.
“He allowed the outing that probably subjected us to the illness in the first place. We can think of no other time when it might have happened.” She shook her head with a bleak sense of hopelessness. “We lost Bethany like this. If we lose Juliette as well, Raphe will never forgive himself.”
Feeling her bones turn to ice, Gabriella asked. “Is he with her right now?”
When Amelia nodded, Gabriella told her firmly, “Then take me to her room. Let me see her.” The thought of Raphe having to deal with Juliette’s illness alone was distressing. It was the sort of burden that required support.
“He won’t let you in,” Amelia said. “He’s too afraid of contagion.”
“Nevertheless, I would like to try.”
Choosing not to argue with her, Amelia showed Gabriella upstairs in spite of the protestations made by Pierson, Humphreys and Richardson, whom they passed along the way. “He’ll have our heads, my lady,” Pierson begged.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Gabriella promised him. Hurrying after Amelia, she allowed her friend to lead her down a long hallway.
“This is her room.” Amelia said when they reached the third door on the left.
Gabriella instinctively raised her hand to knock, caught herself, and lowered it again. She stared at the door, then looked at Amelia. “You should return downstairs. Let me handle your brother.”
Amelia hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“He told you to stay away from Juliette’s room, didn’t he?”
Amelia nodded. “He doesn’t want to risk my health.”
“Then let’s respect his wishes.”
A look of uncertainty crossed Amelia’s face, but then she nodded and stepped back. “Good luck,” she whispered before leaving Gabriella alone in the hallway.
Facing the door, Gabriella drew a breath. Knocking would be the polite thing to do, but it would also warn Raphe of her arrival, and give him the chance to send her away before she even made it inside. She dropped her gaze to the door handle. Would it be locked or not? There was only one way to find out.
Placing her hand on the handle, she carefully pushed down. The door gave way, opening to a dimly lit room. Without pausing, Gabriella stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“What the—” Before she could manage to get her bearings straight, he was there, towering over her, with murder in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
It was difficult to stay calm when faced with that much anger—except it was more than anger. Anger would be too simple a word to describe the emotion that filled Raphe’s face. There was also pain and fear and the worst kind of hopelessness Gabriella had ever seen. “I came to see you,” she told him simply.
His jaw tightened. “Get. Out!”
“No. I will not let you deal with this on your own.” He’d done so before, had lost a sister doing so.
For a second, she saw appreciation, but it was quickly gone again. “Fielding won’t like that,” he spat. “And if you get sick, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“We’ll get to Fielding later, but, the way I see it, you have been carrying too much responsibility on your shoulders for far too long. You shouldn’t have to carry this too. Not on your own.”
His entire body seemed to strain beneath that statement. “I have to save her.” His voice broke and he averted his gaze. A dark strand of hair fell haphazardly across his brow.
Reaching up, Gabriella placed her hand carefully on his arm. “I know,” she whispered. “Please let me help you.”
Silently, he turned away from her and walked across to the four-poster bed where his sister was lying, propped up against thick pillows. “The doctor says it’s probably influenza,” Huntley said as he carefully touched his fingers to Juliette’s cheek.
Following him over to the bed, Gabriella looked at the sleeping face of the young woman she’d come to know. She appeared so frail and delicate. No wonder Raphe was worried. Gabriella was too, seeing her like this, her breath rasping past her lips with each inhalation she took. Steeling herself for Raphe’s sake, Gabriella asked, “Shall we see if her compress needs changing?” With a fever, it would probably have to be done often.
Nodding solemnly, he carefully gathered the piece of linen from Juliette’s forehead. “It’s warm.” He moved toward the washbasin and proceeded to soak it with cool water. “I just changed it before you arrived.”
“I’ll prepare another,” Gabriella said. She was determined not to let Juliette’s dangerously high fever deter her from her task. The last thing Raphe needed was for her to show signs of distress. She must be strong and practical now. “That way we’ll be able to switch them without leaving her without one.”
Raphe didn’t respond, which Gabriella took to be a sign of approval. So when he went back to Juliette, she began preparing another compress. They exchanged the two until a maid arrived with the chicken soup the doctor had ordered, and then for a long while after, until a knock eventually sounded at the door.
Muttering an oath that Gabriella had never heard before, Raphe went to the door and opened it just enough to speak with whoever happened to be on the other side. “I thought I asked not to be disturbed.” His voice was cool and tight with restrained anger. “What is it?”
“There’s a message from the Ear
l and Countess of Warwick.” Gabriella recognized Pierson’s voice. “They demand to know what you have done with their daughter.”
Although she could not see Raphe’s expression, Gabriella knew from his sudden change in posture that he was about to explode. She stepped hastily forward and nudged him aside so she could speak to Pierson directly. “Bring me some writing equipment and I shall prepare a note for them.” She should have done so earlier when she’d decided to stay, she reflected, but the urgency of Juliette’s illness had made Gabriella forget about everything else.
“Perhaps you ought to return home,” Raphe said once Pierson had gone to do her bidding.
“I will not leave you,” Gabriella told him stubbornly. Glancing toward Juliette, she shook her head with increased determination. “Not like this.” It didn’t matter that her actions were just about as inappropriate as they could possibly be for a young unmarried woman who’d just gotten engaged to someone other than the man whose company she was choosing to keep. She could not bring herself to abandon Juliette or her brother, for any reason. Not until she was absolutely certain that they would both be well. If incurring her parents’ wrath would be the price she’d have to pay, then so be it.
Which was precisely what she wrote in her missive to her parents after Pierson returned with paper and quill a short while later. Handing the letter over to him, she closed the door once more. A dry cough resonated through the room, drawing Gabriella’s attention. Turning, she saw that Juliette’s eyes had opened, and that Raphe was standing over her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he gently placed his hand against Juliette’s cheek.
“Like I’m—” Juliette coughed again, the effort shaking her slim body with a violent tremor. “Like I’m burnin’ up.”
“Do you think you might be able to eat something?” Gabriella asked, moving closer.
Another cough wracked Juliette, and then another, and another. “Maybe later,” she eventually managed. Her eyes fluttered as if she was struggling to keep them open. “Thirsty—”
Grabbing the pitcher that stood on the bedside table, Gabriella poured a glass of water and held it to Juliette’s lips. “She needs handkerchiefs,” she told Raphe. “Her nose is runny.”
A Most Unlikely Duke Page 20
