Page 65 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
She whimpered. “I don’t regret marrying you, Oliver. Not now. But…” Her eyes were fixed on his chest, not meeting his own, and he would not have that.
He took her chin and tilted it up. “Tell me now. Do you have feelings for John Prescott? I want to know.”
“Of course not!”
“You went to him. What did he look like? Was he dressed like a gentleman ready to mingle with the rest of Society? It was early in the morning, Alexandra.”
“It’s not what I’m feeling that you care about, Oliver. It’s what thetonwould say if they found out that your wife is meeting with a man in his lodgings without an escort,” Alexandra argued, pushing him back and slipping out of his little trap.
“Fine, Alexandra. You’re the one who broke a promise, and yet you are looking at me as if I’ve done you wrong. You can leave for the country. Send Prescott a letter if you want him to follow you,” he said bitterly, pulling at his cravat. It loosened with one tug, and he threw it on the floor.
Alexandra looked at him with wide eyes. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and her face reddened. Her index finger trembled as she pointed it at him.
“How dare you accuse me of that, Oliver? I’ve told you who I was and what I’ve done with John. How quickly has your mind jumped to infidelity. What do you think of me?” she asked, jabbing her fingers into her chest.
“You’re not doing yourself any favors by referring to him by his Christian name, Duchess. Perhaps staying in the country can keep you out of trouble. Take your maid and the coachman with you. I don’t want to see them here either. They had done enough.”
His voice was calm, but he was anything but. He could feel his wife slipping through his fingers.
Oliver turned his back on her. He no longer wanted to see her face. She couldn’t even ask him for help when she knew he could do it for her. Everything that the music master was doing. He had more means, more connections.
What if she was afraid he would buy the composition? He quickly dismissed the possibility.
“I’m not going there because you told me to, Your Grace. I’m leaving with Ellen because there is no more reasoning with you. I apologize for the way I’ve handled things,” she muttered, right before storming upstairs.
Oliver’s heart stuttered when he heard her apology, but it had also hardened. He had no hold on Alexandra. Her true passion was her music and independence. She didn’t trust him enough. She didn’t willingly tell him about being J. Lewis. Instead, he had to ask her about it. She was cornered and had to respond.
Today, she had proven that she would run to another man for help rather than ask her husband. It was over and shouldn’t have begun in the first place. Oliver blamed himself for his past transgressions. He had lived a terrible life of drink, gambling, and women. Now, he was paying for it.
The door slammed upstairs. There was a slight commotion as he heard footsteps going back and forth. Something was being dragged across the floor. Then, there were the banging noises asAlexandra and Ellen went downstairs, his wife stomping and the maid gingerly following.
Before Alexandra could leave the house, he opened the door and left.
He knew just where to go. It wasn’t right, but he needed something to dull the pain in his chest. He would rather feel his jaw crack or his fist sting.
Devil’s Draw welcomed him with its jeers and stench. It seemed some men had not gone home yet, and the establishment would not kick out those who had already spent so much money on its services.
“Back so soon?” a lord asked. “What happened to the wife? Got tired of her? Let me have a go, Your Grace.”
Oliver didn’t even think. He simply swung his fist at the man, who staggered backward and cradled his jaw in his palm. Oliver shook his hand. There was a little sting, yes, but it was not enough.
The other men looked at him warily, keeping their mouths shut this time.
“Who’s ready to fight?” Oliver bellowed.
Nobody seemed to want to fight an angry duke who just felled a man who tried to insult his wife. Everyone was curious, though.Oliver knew they were probably wondering why he was there. He was certain they had heard how his public appearances had been a success.
After a beat, a large man stepped forward. Damn. It was Peter the Giant. Oliver was taller than most men of theton, but Peter was even taller. He was also built like a tree trunk.
“Always ready,” he grunted.
“To hell with it all,” Oliver muttered and moved closer to what could be the death of him.
The happy people at Devil’s Draw would soon report that the Duke had held his ground and fought the fight of his life against a man much bigger than him.
“He didn’t fall more than once,” one said.
“He’s alive,” another quipped.
