Page 73 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“Pride. You want to be as brilliant as your mother,” Lord Hartwell said, a hint of sadness breaking through the arrogance. He seemed to have chosen not to hear the part about him drowning in debt.
“I won’t help you anymore, Father. I am leaving. The townhouse. You. Your debts. I did what I could do, and I know I did well.”
“Whether you are staying here or leaving, Alexandra, you will pay off my debts,” he insisted, his voice now menacing. He sounded like one of Lockwood’s men, not her father.
“I won’t. I’m leaving,” Alexandra said, folding her arms over her chest and staring at him defiantly.
“I will send your husband a letter revealing who you really are. I heard that he thinks J. Lewis is nothing but a coward hiding in the darkness, afraid of criticism!”
Alexandra laughed with derision.
Her father’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “He knows?”
“Yes, he does. Didn’t I remind you that I am married? It’s a real marriage, Father. As for you, you must learn what it means to be a true father. All you are right now is a beggar.”
Lord Hartwell roared with anger, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. It was probably his drink-addled brain. All the brandy and the gin, as well as the smoke and dark corners of Devil’s Draw, had stripped him of the last bit of his humanity.
“You will still pay off my debts, Alexandra,” he said, the muscles in his face twitching. He reached for his daughter as if he was trying to reach for her neck.
Alexandra did not step back.
“I might, but I can’t promise I can pay for everything. The last composition sold well, but your debts are still greater, Father. I am not trying to say no because I don’t want to. I came to London to help you. I left my quiet life in the countryside for you.”
“If you don’t, thetonwill find out who J. Lewis truly is!”
“You wouldn’t dare! I can tell them you have fabricated evidence! Oliver will help me!” Alexandra shouted, clenching her hands into fists.
Even as she said those words in anger, she realized she believed them. Oliver would come to her aid, even if she wasn’t his favorite person at the moment.
“Fabricated? Well, I have stronger proof that you are J. Lewis,” Lord Hartwell said, grinning widely as he rubbed his palms together.
“No, you do not. Who will believe a drunk and gambler over a duke and his duchess? If you had been listening to theton’stalk, you would know that we are well-liked among our peers,” Alexandra declared, her hands on her belly as she tried to muster as much courage as possible.
“I do. Let me call for a friend. He will certainly tell you that he will support my claim—no, it isn’t even a claim. It’s a revelation. Oh, how thetonwill be shocked to learn that their beloved J. Lewis is nothing but a young chit playing duchess!”
Alexandra choked back a sob, not because she was afraid of being discovered. She was devastated that Devil’s Draw had turned her father into this monster.
“Who? Who can it be? Nobody else knows about—” She faltered as she thought of the only two people who knew her secret.
And no, Oliver would never go to her father and reveal her identity.
Her lower lip trembled as she realized that she had been betrayed by someone she had always trusted—someone her husband thought she trusted better than she did him.
“Yes, I know that you know, Alexandra. Come out from where you’re hiding, Prescott!”
Chapter Thirty
“John?” Alexandra squeaked in disbelief. “How could you?”
John Prescott walked into the parlor, looking paler and gaunter than Alexandra remembered him. He was in his late thirties, but it almost seemed like he had recently developed a hunch.
Her words hung in the air between them. His eyes didn’t look like they belonged to someone who had just betrayed her. How did he not look like a villain?
Damn him.
“Y-Your G-Grace,” John stammered, not daring to meet her eyes. It looked like the hunch was more of a bow—or simply a manifestation of his guilt.
“Did you give my father my financial records?” Alexandra asked, hoping for a different answer. Perhaps he was being blackmailed.
