Page 80 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
“Well, of course, you are at perfect liberty to do that.” Rickard placed something hot and steaming in front of Adam. “But I brought you some coffee. I am no expert on the matter, but I’ve heard the bitterness helps.”
Adam had never been one for coffee. The popularity of coffee houses had waned in recent years, and he had always found the bitterness unpalatable. At the sight of this, his stomach churned.
“No,” he said shortly. “I disagree.”
“Try it. Then we will talk.”
“About what?”
Rickard sat on the chair—wooden, plain—at the other side of the room. “Drink up. Perhaps then we might be able to have a civilized conversation.”
Swallowing a curse, Adam practically scalded his tongue with the coffee, but he eventually drank half the cup, and although he did not want to admit it to anyone—and especially not Rickard, with his smug face and sense of righteousness—it did settle his stomach.
Nothing stopped the pounding in his head, though.
“Well?” he said, finally removing the hand from his eyes. “I hope you have a good excuse for coming in here. Is it to confess that you had something to do with William’s death?”
“No,” Rickard said. “But it is to report that I went back to your house—before you remind me I should not have done so, let me apologize—and while I was there, I saw Nicholas.”
Immediately, thoughts of Emmeline flooded Adam’s mind. He could barely go a few minutes without thinking of her, and missing her, and wishing he had not been so hasty in sending her to her parents’ house. They might have disagreed, but surely there was a solution.
Surely they could find a way through if only they tried.
He thought then of Nicholas and the odd way he had responded to news of Emmeline’s accident, the way he had enquired after her as though he had known there was something the matter with her.
His thoughts sharpened at last. “You saw him at the house?” he asked.
“Yes. None of the servants were aware he was there, but I am certain I saw him.” Rickard leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I thought there was something suspicious about the secrecy of it all.”
“Did he see you?”
Rickard shook his head. “He did not.”
“I see.”
Was it possible that Emmeline had not been hallucinating? Was it possible that she had not been confused? Was it at all possible that his old friend had pushed her down the stairs?
Rickard looked around. “Where is Emmeline? I thought she would have put a stop to this behavior long ago.”
Of course, the man knew and was forcing him to say it. Adam was aware of the fact, but his stomach still lurched unpleasantly. For once, it wasn’t a side-effect of his bloody hangover.
“She is with her parents,” he said, forcing the words past his stiff lips. “We thought it better to spend some time apart.”
“Why?” Rickard shook his head. “Anyone could have seen that you doted on her.”
“She did her best to get away from me—I thought it only right that I give her the opportunity to accomplish that.”
Rickard gave him a pitying look. “If I may be frank, Your Grace, that is a piss-poor excuse, and you know it. What kind of cowardly husband sends his wife to her parents instead of fighting for her?”
“Should I not have respected her wishes?” Adam demanded. “Should I have kept her with me when I knew she didn’t want to remain?”
“And did you ask her such a thing?” Rickard asked, folding his arms. For a younger, meeker man, he certainly had steel in his spine. “Did you ask her directly what she wanted, or did you just assume?”
“I—” Adam thought of the servants and what they had said. Then he remembered what she had said at the ball to her parents—she had defended him.
And yet shehadattempted to persuade him to send her away. He knew that for a fact.
Women would never fail to be a mystery to him.
