Page 101 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“I understand but I must go, Madeleine. I am sorry. It is likely nothing but?—”
“And last night at the ball?”
“I merely thought I saw somebody watching us too intently but I did not see anything in truth.”
“You worry me.”
“Do not worry,” he told her but his thoughts were too greatly fixed on the problem at the Raven’s Den to truly assure her. He pulled away far too quickly, giving her the barest kiss on her temple. “Bid your brother farewell for me.”
“Alexander—”
But he was already giving her one last apologetic glance before he slipped out of the door and onto his horse. He did not bother with having a carriage prepared.
Horace had only sent one letter, quick and demanding:Fights are escalating, friend. Come as quick as you are able.
If fights were escalating it meant that the patrons were getting braver and less concerned to be barred. Alexander found thatworrisome. It meant having to either stand for the fights and lower his club’s standards in order to keep the patrons, or risk them going elsewhere.
When he arrived at the Raven’s Den, he burst inside, he found nothing but a peaceful main hall. Several gentlemen glanced at him, frowning at his bursting arrival.
“Your Grace,” one lord called out to him in greeting. “How are you?”
“Well,” he answered shortly, striding past.
Another man stood up. “Your Grace, will you do me the honor of a game when?—”
“No.”
He did not look at anybody else as he took the grand staircase up to the higher level of the gambling hell.
He skirted around the long way around the balcony, ducking around the shadowed areas and slipping through empty curtained-off rooms to avoid detection by those who watched his quick, urgent pace.
When he was certain he was no longer watched, he approached Horace’s office.
“Horace, what is the meaning of your letter? There are no fights?—”
His words stopped dead when he lifted his gaze to find a man he had thought long dead.
“Hello, Silverton.”
The voice was a low, arrogant drawl, and it sent Alexander’s heart racing as he fought to remain composure as he looked the older man in the eyes, noting that Horace was nowhere to be found.
“Donald Cluett.” Alexander cocked his head, trying not to show his shock. “The last I heard you were very,verydead.”
“Yes, well.” Donald shrugged. “Death is a rather easy thing to feign when you know how.”
He picked a piece of invisible lint of a very fine jacket, one of deep red—red, just like the dress of Madeleine’s he had given away.
Alexander noted that detail with no small amount of anger that he bit back. His face was smooth, devoid of the harried look he had displayed during his last times at the Raven’s Den.
The rest of him was finely tailored and groomed. He looked…well.
“I will not waste your time,” Donald said, looking smug, “for I believe I wasted much of it already by sending you on a wild goose chase before you stole my wife.”
The accusation and possessiveness cracked through Alexander with grounding force. He clenched his fists, fighting back the rising anger. He stepped forward but Donald shook his head, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“Ah, no. Do not threaten me, Alexander. I will be listened to, do you hear me? Before you argue, youwillwant to hear what I have to say.”
“I have nothing I need to hear from you.”
