Page 90 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He ducked out of the office, muttering about what he had seen. Alexander shook his head.
“Are your employees overworked?” It was meant as a tease but it came out more serious than intended.
Horace sighed. “Some have been asking for extra hours lately. It seems the ones who helped us with information about Donald told others about a bonus. Now they all want to try and give tip-offs.”
Alexander groaned. “Wonderful. Who knows what other rumors they will stir?”
“I trust them. They’re a good group.”
Alexander nodded, sipping his drink. “I believe I must return to my wife.”
Horace smiled at him tightly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. Alexander made a note to check accounts with Horace more often, to share some of the load. The man was older than him, and Alexander did not want him worked to the bone.
“Give my regards to Her Grace,” Horace called as Alexander left.
Once he wound through the Raven’s Den, he was much more aware of how eyes followed him, and whispers echoing Lord Hargrove’s sentiments snaked around him.
He supposed it was better than everybody discovering he was the true owner of the Raven’s Den and potentially losing his good social standing by having a dukedom and a business.
But still, he did not like being branded a gambler, one of many slippery-handed aristocrats.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What have you been doing?” Alexander asked.
When Alexander returned to Silverton House that evening, he found Madeleine in the parlor. She wore a paint-splattered apron over her dress, and he cocked his head.
“Painting!” she answered happily. “Attending the exhibit inspired me. I used to paint in Kinsfeld House. Nobody really knew about it, of course. I liked painting whatever I saw out of different windows.”
Alexander paused, taking in the smear of paint along her chin, on her hands, and the apron she wore. Biting back a laugh, he recalled why he wished to speak with her.
“Madeleine,” he began, “I wondered if you would sit with me over tea?”
His wife paused, frowning. “You sound very formal, suddenly. Is something wrong?”
He sighed. “I do not know.”
He had known that his request for her to be patient with him hadn’t been entirely fair. He knew she had questions, and Lady Bastian had not helped matters, but Madeleine had questions of her own, regardless.
He walked over to her and took her hands. “You have been patient with me, and I am very grateful, but now there is something I must speak with you about. It is something I fear you will not understand at first, but if you will hear me out to the fullest then I can explain.”
“Alexander, you are scaring me.”
“I know. I am sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “We shall forgo the tea so I may speak.”
She nodded, pulling him to sit down on a settee. “Speak to me.”
After years of locking up his thoughts, his secrets, his grief and pain, Alexander found himself utterly silent for a moment. Completely, utterly still and thoughtless.
Until soft hands wrapped around his, and his wife’s eyes met his own.
“The walls are hard to bring down,” she whispered, “I know they are. But you are not alone. Whatever it is, I will try to understand. Let me tend to your wounds, Alexander.”
So he tried.
And he began with the least painful secret. “Do you remember the time we saw one another at the Golden Hand? I told you that your husband had debts. Specifically, to the Raven’s Den.”
Madeleine swallowed, and he saw her brows twitch when she realized just what she might need to be understanding of.
