Reaching the main landing, she turned and headed toward her room in the east wing, her pace increasing when she realized Rowan’s heavier footfalls followed closely behind her. If she could only reach her quarters, get inside, and throw the bolt, he would be denied entrance. She could quickly pack and be gone. If he refused her a carriage, she would walk the short distance to Tobias’s estate and throw herself upon his mercy to beg for transport. Putting the earl in the middle of things was not what she wanted to do, but these were desperate times.
“You will continue to write my mother?” His words traveled on a whisper that pulled her to a halt, her door only ten paces ahead; however, she did not turn to face him.
“I shall. At least for a time, until she learns of our deception. That is unless you forbid it.”
“Why?”
“Why would I continue to write, or why would you forbid it?” she asked, clutching her hands before her to dispel the urge to look at Rowan. “I can offer an answer for the first, but the latter is a question for you; though I suppose it is because, as a man of means, you would seek to hold on to the control you’ve become so accustomed to. The former, because, despite the ruse you’ve embroiled me in, there is genuine affection between the duchess and I. Dare I say, we have much in common?”
It was the longest civilized conversation she’d ever had with the duke.
And it would be their last if Marce had aught to say on the matter.
“I will collect my personal effects and will be ready for my carriage within the hour, Your Grace.” Her hands fell to her sides, and she kept her stare trained on her door—so close, yet so far away. Marce didn’t want to hurt the duchess, but it seemed inevitable. If she could extend the woman’s happiness for even another fortnight, she would.
“Stay, Marce,” he sighed. “At least another day. I will conclude my obligations here and see you safely back to London. Things do not have to end like this.”
Marce snorted. When had she ever felt safe in Rowan’s company? She’d never sensed herself in immediate danger, of course, but neither had she been comfortable or at ease while at Hadlow.
There was no reason to postpone their split. “We both knew this day would come…and here we are.”
“We did not know it would come to this,” he said. “My mother’s illness was severe after my father’s death. I only meant to give her a sense of comfort before she passed.”
“Your mother is blameless in all things, yet, it is only she who will be hurt.” Untrue, her mind screamed. Marce would not escape their arrangement unscathed, either. He stroked a need within her she’d been oblivious to before. Knowing the pain Rowan had endured in his childhood made it worse. Marce at least had her siblings, while Rowan was alone in his grief and sorrow. “What happened between Julian and my mother did not occur because of me, you, or your mother. Yet, you cast the blame on me for something I had no control over, just as you had no control over the way your father abandoned your mother.”
“But here we are.” The sarcastic bite of his words had her flinching.
“Yes, Rowan, here we are.” She started toward her door once more. “I must pack and be on my way if I hope to make it home—err, to London—before nightfall. As I stated, I will only take with me the things of a personal nature and will be gone from Craven House within a week’s time.” She paused, her hand on the latch to her door as she swung her stare toward Rowan. “That is unless you ban me from entering Craven House altogether.”
“Of course, I will not ban you from your home.”
“It is only a house. It is no longer my home.”
“But where shall you go?”
She ignored the softening of his tone.
“That is no longer your concern, Your Grace,” she hissed. “My family’s debt to you has been met. My whereabouts are my business alone.”
“Then there is naught left to discuss.” His boots clipped together and he issued a curt bow in her direction. “I will summon your carriage immediately.”
He pivoted on the heels of his Hessians and stalked off toward the grand staircase, shouting for Pelton, the butler, to attend him in the study.
She let out a ragged breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and slipped into her room to collect her belongings.
It was done. Over. A new day would dawn tomorrow, full of grand possibilities.
Why then did Marce feel more lost than ever before?
Chapter 18
“Have you lost what little sense you previously possessed?” Tobias growled, slamming his hand on the mantel above the hearth in the Cresthaven study. “I cannot imagine your mother will allow you to live long after she discovers her son made such lurid remarks—to a lady, no less. Do you think word will not get back to her?”
Rowan did not so much as flinch at his friend’s unusual outburst. Slouching lower in the overstuffed chair he preferred when visiting Tobias at his home, he swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler. There was nothing that could further impact his mood, either for the positive or the negative.
There was no denying that Rowan was an utter scoundrel. A blackguard. The least worthy of the title gentleman.
Since Marce’s departure, he had told himself at least that much.
For the last several days, his servants ignored him, and Pearl outright gave him the cut direct.
And worst of all, his mother continued in her contented ways, not knowing the fatal blow her heart would soon take when she learned of the duplicitous nature of those around her.
He was as alone as he’d ever been. Even coming to Tobias and admitting what he’d said and done had taken much from Rowan, especially when he’d openly accused Marce of dallying with Tobias behind Rowan’s back. Tobias was his friend, but in this moment, the earl was far more loyal to Marce. It was to be expected. Rowan actually believed she deserved Tobias’s friendship more than he did.
He sipped from his glass, stopping himself from draining the spirits and requesting another. Drinking was not likely to solve any of his problems. Of that, he was sure.
Why he’d thought Tobias would lend an ear without chastising him was still a mystery. Is that not what true friends did? Chastise you when you did something reckless and foolish?
“Mayhap I should return to Hadlow and tell my mother the truth,” Rowan mused before bringing his lips to the rim of his glass once more and—throwing caution to the wind—draining it. “At least then I can depart for Scotland. When I return in a few months, her anger should have subsided.”
“You think it is anger she will feel?” Tobias scoffed. “You have larger issues to contend with than I thought, Ro.”
“I was surprised Marce requested a coach back to London and didn’t flee to Cresthaven immediately after our argument.” Rowan set his empty tumbler on the table beside him, focusing his sightless stare on the flames in the hearth.
“Why in heavens would Marce come here?”
“Because the two of you are involved.” He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin falling to rest on his open palm. “I know it was preposterous of me to take offense that you found comfort with her. Even if the affair was behind my back.”
“Are you hearing the words coming out of your mouth, or are you spouting nonsense just to hear your voice?” Tobias snatched Rowan’s glass from the table and refilled it, returning it to his elbow.
“It is fine, Tobias. Marce did not deny my accusations when I confronted her with them.”
“There was no reason for her to deny such ludicrous and insulting claims,” Tobias said, slumping into the chair next to Rowan and facing the warmth of the fire. They sat in silence for a few moments—so long that Rowan thought his friend was so bored with the conversation that he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he said, “I have never had an interest in Marce beyond friendship. You brought her to Kent, forced her to pose as your wife, and all but left her to fend for herself when in residence. That was not fair.”
“I know that now.”
“I am aware.”
“She is beautiful…beyond the classic beauty favored by the ton.”
Rowan reached out blindly and collected this drink. “There is no question about that.”
“You stole her chance at a normal future.”
Rowan could only shrug. He’d done what Tobias accused him of. There was no reason to deny it.
“You blackmailed her into acting as your wife for eight years,” Tobias growled. “Do you think this scandal will not make its way to London? The gossips may have been kept in the dark about your charade up until now, but once you take possession of Craven House, the scandal sheets will have their way. Marce will be ruined. And not only that, she gave up all these years to you. Years she should have been searching for a husband who truly loved her. Years where she could have had her own family. All for what? To satisfy your animosity toward your father?”
“She is but the proprietress of a brothel,” Rowan countered. “How many prospects did she think to have? I allowed her to keep her family home. Her siblings had a roof over their heads because I did not walk in and cast them all from the property my dukedom rightfully owns. If anything, she should thank me.”
“If we were not longtime friends, and you did not have nearly six inches on me, I would demand retribution for your words.”
“Those are the only reasons?” Rowan prodded, glancing at this friend from the corner of his eye.
“Those, and I would hate for your mother to be disappointed with me.”
“Something I obviously have no qualms about.”
“I do not believe that to be true.”
Rowan chuckled bitterly. How could Tobias still think there were redeeming qualities to him? “Mayhap I deserve to be called to account for my behavior.”
“That will solve nothing, and likely injure us both,” Tobias mused. “What would better serve would be for us to discuss your plans to fix this. After what you did to Marce, and her brother’s betrayal before you, she will surely never trust a man again.”
“What of her brother?” Rowan crossed his legs at the ankle, refusing to alert Tobias to his piqued interest in the change of topic. “I have heard they are close.”
“Not Lord Garrett.” Tobias shook his head, staring down into his tumbler as he swirled the liquid. “Her eldest brother. Buckston.”
“The Marquess of Buckston?” Rowan’s neck heated, and his pulse increased. “I was not aware that Marce’s mother was Buckston’s mistress at one time.”
“Not mistress.” Tobias’s voice echoed in the room as if he’d shouted it. “Wife. Marce’s mother was the Marchioness of Buckston, the former Lord Buckston’s second wife. Marce and Garrett were born of their marriage.”
“That would make her the current Lord Buckston’s half-sibling. She’s Benton’s sister?” Rowan stood, fleeing the fire’s warmth as his skin heated past the point of being tolerable. “Davenport. I never suspected that she was from that Davenport line.”
“Not many do.”
“But how did Sasha, a bloody marchioness, come to run a brothel?”
“Benton cast the lot of them from their home after his father’s death. Left them with only the measly funds his father had earmarked for a dowager allowance.”
“That blackguard!” Rowan paced the room, needing a way to expel his irritation. “And she accused me of possessing a black soul.”
“Oh, your soul is still black as night, my friend. Do not think that learning any of this absolves you of your misdeeds. Marce may not be here to hold you accountable, but I am. You did to her exactly what her brother did.”
It is not the same at all. Rowan couldn’t bring himself to utter the words aloud…because it was a lie. Yet another falsehood compounded on the many he’d already told himself, his mother, Tobias, and Marce.
“Marce was thrown from her home at the age of seven,” Tobias sighed. “Lady Buckston’s friends turned away from her and offered no assistance after she was shunned by Buckston’s son and heir. She did what she had to do to support her family, much as Marce has been doing all these years with her siblings.”
It was too much to comprehend. Rowan longed to escape the room and return to his home. Or, even better, leave Kent altogether in an attempt to distance himself from the truth he’d blinded himself to all these years.
“What have I done?” Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Besides make an utter ass of yourself?”
“Tobias, you are not helping my predicament.”
“Oh, I was unaware you sought me out for assistance. I thought you merely came to accuse me of dallying with your wife.”
Rowan stomped across the study and sank back into his chair. “She’s not my wife.”
“For all intents and purposes, dictated by my code of honor as your friend, and as a gentleman, Lady Marce Davenport has been your wife for eight years. Therefore, off-limits to men such as myself. Never would I jeopardize our friendship and the perfect set of my nose by crossing that line. And it would be highly inappropriate to involve Marce in such a scandalous situation.”
“Who do you count as friend?”
“Can I not pledge my undying allegiance to you both?”
“I am not certain that will work in this situation.” Rowan swallowed, hoping to keep his baser motives from being verbalized. He needed a friend in this moment. No, not just a friend, he needed his closest confidante to be there for him—with him.
“Then I choose Lady Marce.” Tobias’s flippant reply bore deeply into Rowan’s already injured pride.
“What? Surely you jest.” Rowan glared at Tobias. They’d shared tutors in their youth and traveled all over England together for business. “Why is she more deserving of your loyalty than I?”
“Simple.” Tobias stared back at him, his eyes wide and his speech slow as if Rowan were a mere child and incapable of understanding. “She has never demanded I choose between the pair of you. And if I were doomed to spend the rest of my life with one of you, it is her I would pick.”
“Because of her beauty?”
“Heavens, yes,” Tobias gasped. “But also because she possesses a wit unparalleled and would make certain I am well cared for.”
Wit. Rowan hadn’t noticed if Marce was indeed in possession of wit—dry, sarcastic, or otherwise. For not the first time in the last several days, he was envious of Tobias. As far as Marce’s caring nature, that was evident in the sheer amount of time she spent with his mother. He’d never demanded that they grow close or that she correspond with the duchess when she was away from Hadlow.
“Do not appear so surprised, Ro,” Tobias continued. “There are facets to Lady Marce Davenport you have yet to see—and much you do not deserve to witness.”
The room fell silent as Rowan pondered everything he’d learned. Tobias relaxed into his chair, his eyes closing.
He took no offense to the man’s turn to slumber. It meant that he would have some peace from his friend’s accusatory tone and pitying glances.
How had he been so oblivious to Marce’s past—and even her present circumstances?
The daughter of a marquess…a proper lady, made to live like a pauper. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the gossips, inquired after Marce’s past where it pertained to him, yet he’d been so focused on her present circumstances—her debt to the Harwich dukedom—he’d neglected to learn more about her. And in the years that’d passed since, his only need was to keep her at arm’s length. If she did not know about the pains of his past, then she could not use it against him.
Instead, he’d relegated her to a place she didn’t belong, much like that scoundrel Buckston.
He hadn’t been jesting when he stated his desire to punch Buckston in the nose for allowing his sister to live in such an unbefitting manner. She should have been raised a lady with proper tutelage and everything else the upper crust
of London was afforded. The fact that she’d been raised above a London brothel infuriated him, yet he was responsible for perpetuating the abuse she’d experienced at her half-brother’s hands.
Rubbing at his eyes, Rowan bid his aching head to calm. “She said that we—she and I—were innocents hurt by my father’s and Madame Sasha’s infidelities. Even my mother was a casualty of my father’s betrayal.”
“There is much sense in that,” Tobias said, his eyes drifting open as he stared into the dying embers of the fire. “Beauty, wit, and smarts.”
“I was so angry with him.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that your father’s love could have extended to both Sasha and your family?”
“He abandoned Mother and me,” Rowan retorted. “He remained in London much of the time. He rarely journeyed home for holidays, and if I hadn’t gone to Hadlow each Season, Mother would have suffered alone.”
“Who says your mother suffered?” Tobias asked.
Rowan’s gut tightened. They’d never spoken of the duke’s absence. It had been Rowan’s own rage at his father that had kept him silent regarding his father’s activities. The hurt and heartbreak from yet another failed childbirth had been enough to convince Rowan that he should bury the secret, but it’d been impossible to forget…or forgive.
That rage had only burrowed deeper as the years passed and Rowan saw the way his father ignored his family. So much so that when Julian died before Rowan had the chance to confront him, Rowan had only thought of punishing someone. That person had been Marce, the only link remaining between Julian’s and Sasha’s families.
“How is Leona doing with Marce’s sudden absence?” Tobias cast his arm over his eyes and stretched out his legs before him. “Does she suspect that anything is amiss?”
The Madame Catches Her Duke Page 14
