Page 31 of From Duke Till Dawn
“Perhaps we should adjourn for the day, Your Grace.”
Alex’s gaze swung up to the concerned yet bland expression of Greene, his man of business.
“Yes, what?” Alex asked distractedly.
Greene merely gave Alex a pale, soft smile. “We’ve been going over the latest reports from your Northumberland estate, Your Grace. But, forgive me if I am importunate, it seems as though your thoughts lie elsewhere today.”
“Slept poorly last night,” Alex muttered, rubbing at his eyes, though he didn’t owe Greene an explanation. He didn’t mention that, since Cassandra had exploded back into his life, he hadn’t slept much at all. Every waking moment was spent either working, riding, or fencing as he fought to keep his angry, aching thoughts from her. The things she said. The things she’d done. When he did sleep, his dreams weren’t the place of restful refuge. Last night, after learning of her betrayal, his dreams had him chasing her across a shadowy plain, always just out of his reach, her laughter trailing like ghosts. He was never certain in those shadowy reveries what he would do if he caught her. Alex didn’t like any of his impulses.
That is what happens when you ignore my directives,his father intoned grimly in Alex’s mind.
That beautiful goddamn liar had played him false in Cheltenham. To make matters worse, she’d done it to him again two years later. He’d been so ensnared by her lies, he’d been a hairsbreadth away from asking her to be his wife. How many men had she enticed into bed for the prospect of money?
She was no different from a strumpet. Except he’d been the idiot who believed she actually desired him. She’d spread her legs for his wealth.
At least with courtesans, he’d known precisely what it meant to sleep with them. It was a simple exchange of money for sex. But Cassandra had used sex as a tool to get what she wanted: five hundred pounds. Half a thousand pounds was the price of one night with her. Did she charge more for the privilege with other men, or was he the sodding lucky bastard who’d been taken for such a sum?
Damnation.He was a fool. Brutal pain sliced through him every time he thought of her face. Whenever he revisited their kiss, their lovemaking. The tender look in her eyes that he’d mistaken for love. Rage soon followed, thick and hot and viscous as molten rock, leveling everything in its path.
“Shall I have tea brought in, Your Grace?” Greene inquired politely. “Wine?”
“Coffee.” Alex wasn’t the sort of man to drink himself into oblivion. That was a choice for cowards.
Greene rose and went to the bellpull. When he tugged on the cord, a liveried footman appeared moments later at the door. “Coffee and something to eat for His Grace,” Greene told the servant. “I trust that is acceptable, Your Grace?” he asked, turning back to Alex.
“Fine,” Alex answered with a preoccupied wave of his hand.
“Shall we conclude our business for today?”
He shook his head. He would not give Cassandra the victory of controlling him. She’d gotten five hundred pounds from him, but she wouldn’t get anything more. The money was inconsequential in comparison to his vast holdings and wealth. It wasn’t money he desired.
He wanted justice. Vengeance. Anything to take away this rage and hurt.
Not once last night had she said she was sorry for what she’d done. She’d been defiant the whole time, never groveling or asking for forgiveness. Those flashes of sadness or regret in her eyes had likely been more illusions.
On top of everything else, he deserved a bloody apology. He wanted to see her beg. Craved the sight of her humbled and repentant, pleading with him for absolution.
Which he wouldn’t give her.
“We’ll review the crop yield reports,” he said to Greene, trying to corral his thoughts. “Then we can move on to the petitions for repairs.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Yet the moment Greene began talking of corn and barley, Alex’s mind snapped free of its tether and ventured into dangerous territory.
There had to be some means, a sense of conclusion or retribution oranythingto ease the terrible ache and anger that threatened to tear him apart. The way things ended with her last night, nothing felt finished. All he had was the weeping furious wound of his pride and heart, with no physician or cure.
Alex forced himself to stare at Greene’s moving lips, though his heart thudded with renewed fury just thinking of Cassandra.
He needed to shove thoughts of her from his mind and body. Ellingsworth and Langdon teased him mercilessly over his discipline and control. He called on that self-restraint now. Each day would grow easier and easier, until all memories of Cassandra faded like a painting pulled off the wall and left in the sun.
A tap sounded on the door. The footman who appeared looked apologetic.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Grace,” the young man said. “A woman is here and insists on seeing you.”
“I’m not at home to visitors,” Alex answered.
The footman reddened. “As I told her, Your Grace, but she was most insistent. She had no card, but she told me her name was Miss Blake.”
