Page 44 of When her Duke Returns
“Not… you…” Antony ordered through gritted teeth. “Leave us!”With a sad look toward Harry, Cluett picked up his jacket and walked from the room.
“So, buggery is it?” Antony spat.
Mary jumped out of her skin at the crudeness of his words. “Stop,” she ordered. “You will not speak to him like that!”
“He should be glad I do not bash his head in,” he retorted then turned back to Harry. “That you would treat this estate like somemolly house, I—” Antony shook his head and breathed a laugh. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“You needn’t say anything, Harry,” Mary said—anything he uttered would only incriminate him further.
Harry balled his fists. “I have nothing to say. Not toyou.”
Mary stepped toward her brother, setting herself between the men. “How long, Harry? How long has this been going on?”
Harry snapped back to attendance, and his eyes welled with tears. “With Cluett? A few months...”
“And… when Cluett was not about?”
He inhaled shakily. “Forever.”
Mary let out a small whimper, dipping her head low. “Does Mama know?”
“No one knows,” he mewled and began to cry. “We had plans, I… I was set to escape to France with Victor and… I’m so sorry, Mary. I never meant for you to find out.”
“It’s all right. It will all be all right,” she hushed and brought her brother into a hug. “I will not say a word. You’re safe, Harry. You’resafe…” She turned to Antony then, Harry still falling apart in her arms. “Andyouwill not say a word. You must promise me.”
“It is not foryouto make demands of me,” the Earl retorted back. Very rarely did Antony display the true breadth of his character, but something of Harry’s circumstance had seemed to set him alight with anger.
“You would entrap us in scandal then?Worsethan scandal?”
“I…” the man searched, though he could come up with nothing worth an argument.
“Do not forget that by your hand alone, my family is to be your family,” Mary hissed, still caressing the back of her brother’s head.
“I agreed to be your husband. I did not agree to harbor a criminal nor to indulge him in any fantasy that would bring shame upon us.”
Mary shook her head, willing the conversation to its end—it was not to be had in front of Harry, not when he was beyond consolation. “They are one and the same, My Lord. What are a wife’s burdens, if not her husband’s? Much like everything else that is hers?”
Antony shook his head and grunted. “I will not say a word… for now.”
“That is all one can ask.”
* * *
Something about Cecelia’s words had sparked a fire within Alexander as if her indignation had brought to climax all of his grievances. Never before had his life seemed so terribly out of his control. He was a man—aDuke—yet felt much like a cornered dog, beaten bloody in the game of theton.
He barreled down the hallway then up the stairs to his chambers. His new valet, a man barely past boyhood, was arranging his affairs.
“Out!” he bawled, and the boy ran from the room without a word. Alexander slammed the door shut with all his might then paced around the room to quell his temper. Taken suddenly by the savagery that lay dormant within him, he tore apart his dresser, ripped the bedsheets from the bed, and slammed his hands into whichever surface was nearest. He picked up a paperweight and threw it aside. The shattering of glass sounded around him as he looked toward a now splintered standing mirror beside his bed.
He stepped toward it, catching sight of himself in the fractured glass, his reflection twisted and maimed in a way that felt fitting, then sank to his knees atop the broken shards of his life, welcoming the pain that shot up his legs.
He leaned for his bedside table, opening the second drawer with a firm pull. From within, he drew a small bundle of cloth—not cloth but an undergarment torn from Lady Mary in their most salacious rendezvous. It had become a shameful habit, one he would only indulge in times of strife and loneliness, but he feared he would not survive another fight with his betrothed, lest he allowed himself to dream ofher.
He knew not what he had become, nor how he had fallen quite so low—a monster in all but making. If Mary would not have him, if he could not have her, he knew there was naught else to do but suppress his heart once and for all and don the mask of a better man.
ChapterEighteen
“Istill cannot believe you have allowed him to come. I thought you had more sense about you. Sincerely, I did.”
