Page 67 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“We’re going to my father’s. To Devon Lane,” she told the coachman after wiping her eyes with her hands like a child.
It didn’t matter anymore if her father could see her distress. It would be better if he knew what he was doing to her. More likely, he would not even care.
Ellen did not comment. She merely looked out the window with a frown on her face as people went about their day, unaware of what was happening inside the carriage.
“Don’t fret, Ellen. We won’t be staying with my father. That is out of the question. We will leave London as soon as I find out what he wants.”
Alexandra’s heart was breaking apart, and she couldn’t even admit it to anyone. After all, she had gotten what she wanted. She knew how to earn money. If things soured further with her father, she could simply run away and be her own woman.
Perhaps the proud Lord Hartwell was beyond saving. Perhaps everything that happened from her wedding up to this very moment was a mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“My goodness! Why do you look so ghastly?” his sister gasped in horror, her hands reaching for his face but stopping a few inches away.
Oliver was beaten bloody, his face swollen and tender. However, it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was that the house felt empty without Alexandra there.
He never thought he would see the day when he would want someone else to be in the house, aside from his discreet servants. He had been used to the solitary life at home and the chaos in Devil’s Draw. For a time, it had felt enough. It was a strange kind of balance that worked for him.
Now, he wondered if he could have handled the situation better. He still felt betrayed, but he realized he could have sat down with Alexandra and asked about her day instead of throwing a barrage of accusations at her. Ellen had told him about thecloaked man with the letter. His wife must have been shaken enough to make a colossal mistake.
If Alexandra cared for John Prescott more than a student would her music teacher, would she deny it? A part of Oliver still raged with jealousy, yet his more reasonable part concluded that his wife would speak her mind even if it hurt him. She would have said that she loved Prescott if that was the truth.
But Oliver was riddled with doubt. He never knew a time when he could simply say he was certain about anybody. For as long as he had been fighting at Devil’s Draw, he had seen darkness mirroring his own.
Even though he knew Alexandra was on her way back to the countryside, he wanted to avoid everything that reminded him of her. Staying in his London townhouse would only torture him with thoughts of whether he had made a mess of everything. There was only one thing he could do—he would go to Catherine’s.
His sister was indeed younger than him by a few years, but she seemed older and wiser. She had saved him once from his debts. Perhaps, she could offer some help now too.
But this time, the Duke of Westgrave didn’t want his sister to know that he needed saving at all.
Unlike his house, Catherine’s home was organized. The Duchess of Newden had ensured all her servants had the propertraining and manners. The butler opened the door promptly and announced Oliver’s arrival.
Oliver could only shake his head in amusement, though the action jarred the bruises on his neck and face.
Then, Oliver frowned at Catherine’s comment. Was it that bad? He remembered seeing a cut on his brow and a purplish tint on his left cheek.
Peter the Giant had lived up to his name. Would Oliver be fighting him again? If the opportunity arose again, he would. He had already felt what it was like to get beaten by the man and would love to see the giant on the floor for once.
It was a frightening thought that he would willingly risk his life again. What value did he place on it starting today? Nothing much. Alexandra would arrive in the countryside by nightfall and would begin a new life there without him. It was always what she wanted.
“Uh, boxing,” he finally replied, bowing his head and trying to hide the full extent of his bruises from his sister to no avail.
Catherine scrunched up her nose and shook her head in disbelief before fanning herself.
“You can’t be serious, Oliver. You look terrible. I thought you were done with that nonsense,” she scolded as she turned around and motioned for him to follow. “You’re a married man.”
“It’s nothing,” he muttered as he looked left and right.
His sister’s house was elegant and polished. His own house was, too, and because of Alexandra, it had looked more like a home than a sterile building to sleep in.
“Where is Alexandra, by the way? I thought the two of you had become inseparable. Has she seen your face?” Catherine asked as she entered the sitting room, where she flung herself on the sofa. She patted the space next to her.
Oliver sat down next to her. “She went to the country for a little break. The soirées and calls have taken a toll on her. You know that she had gotten used to the quiet of the countryside,” he explained, almost believing his own words.
“Hmm. Might she be expecting, Brother? You certainly were very attentive to her after you two had your little reunion. George would be happy to have a playmate.” Catherine clapped her hands together excitedly, her eyes sparkling at her own imaginings.
George was her three-year-old son. Oliver loved his nephew with all his heart. The thought of his own child running around with George made his chest tighten. He had never entertained the idea of having a child. He was the son of an unfaithful man and a dependent woman. He didn’t see romance going the right way. In fact, he’d just accused his wife of being unfaithful.
