Page 29 of The Duke of Ruin
"I can't," she cried, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts, "I won't let you take this away from me."
"Take what?" Ruan's voice was laden with sarcasm. "A drafty boarding house in the back-end of nowhere?"
"No -my freedom," she replied, trying to steel herself against the ridicule she knew that he would pour on that statement. When he remained silent, she stole a look at him, and saw that his eyes were thoughtful.
"When you asked me why I married you, I said it was because I wanted a wife who challenged me," he said, with a hollow laugh. "Be careful what you wish for, isn't that what they say?"
"What about the lot that I landed? A husband I did not wish for at all," she retorted. She needed him to leave, soon, because despite her protests that he was not what she had wanted, now that he was here, she was filled with a need she had not known existed. Not until he kissed her.
"I'll show you to the door," she said, smoothing down the front of her dress, as much to calm her nerves as to straighten the material.
"I won't leave."
His voice was like thunder filling the room, and for a moment Liv felt genuine fear, until the door was pushed open and Polly came storming in. She held a pistol and her hand was steady as she pointed it directly at the Duke of Everleigh.
"I believe the Duchess asked you to leave, your Grace," Polly spoke mildly as if she was attending a tea-party, though she did not lower the weapon in her hand, despite the pleasantness of her demeanor. Liv stifled a cry of shock with her hands; she was sure that Ruan would lunge for her friend, but instead, the Duke gave an amused chuckle.
"Is this any way to greet your employer Miss Jenkins?"
Polly glanced sideways at Olive, her eyes full of apologies, before she replied; "You employed me to protect your wife, your Grace, and at the moment you are the biggest threat to her wellbeing. I do hope you understand."
"Oh, I understand completely," Ruan's blue eyes were resigned as he glanced at Olive, who stood rooted to the floor her mind reeling from the revelation that Ruan had sent Polly to spy on her. "I will take my leave tonight; but rest assured Olive, you will see me tomorrow."
With that he donned his hat, gave a small bow and swept angrily from the room, startling the ladies in the hallway, whose gasps could be heard from the drawing room. Olive ignored them and instead focused her attention on the woman standing opposite her, the woman who had purported to be her friend.
"You lied to me," she whispered, her eyes fixed on Polly's hand, which was gripping the pistol with a casual elegance that suggested more than a passing familiarity with holding fire arms.
"Aye," Polly gave a sigh, that seemed to encompass the weariness of the whole world. "I did, your Grace, and I apologise. But I can explain, if you'll let me."
"Why should I? You have betrayed me Polly; I don't think I can forgive you that."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Polly's voice was determined, and she sat down on the divan and gestured for Olive to sit in the chair opposite her. "I want to explain exactly what happened the night that Catherine Ashford died --and maybe then you can decide if you still wish to send the Duke away. For he is one of the most selfless men I have ever met, and I cannot leave until I plead his case with you."
Despite her reservations, Olive sat down, her curiosity to know more about the enigmatic Duke overpowering her anger.
"This had better be good," she said with a sniff, placing her hands primly on her lap as she waited for Polly to begin.
"It is," Polly held her gaze, "It's the true story of how your husband came to be known as the Duke of Ruin, and why that title is totally undeserved."
"You're back?"
Lord Deveraux was well and truly in his cups when Ruan stormed into the library of Jarvis House later that evening. He and Lord Payne were still sprawled on the chairs drinking brandy, and the only difference that Ruan could discern since leaving them a few hours ago, was that the decanter of alcohol was now nearly empty.
"Yes, it would seem I have to impose on your hospitality a bit longer, Deveraux. I hope you don't mind?"
Ruan could have returned to Pemberton Hall, which lay some thirty miles away, but he wanted to remain close to St. Jarvis --close to Olive. With a small nod of thanks, Ruan accepted a tumbler of brandy from Lord Deveraux, and sat down on a nearby chaise with a sigh.
"No luck then?" Lord Payne questioned, again displaying his utter lack of tact. If Ruan was the type of man who was easily offended, the young Lord's overly familiar tone would have grated on his nerves. As it was, it took a lot to offend Ruan, and there was a boyish charm about Lord Payne, that made one overlook his lazy manners.
"I was ordered out of the establishment at gun point," he replied shortly, earning a guffaw of amusement from Lord Payne.
"Lud," he put down his drink, and shook his blonde mop of hair in bemusement. "And I thought I had the worst luck with women, but you seem to be beating even me Everleigh. That's quite an accomplishment!"
"Glad to be of service."
If Payne had noted the dryness of Ruan's tone, he ignored it; instead he launched into a long tale of woe involving a mistress in Belgravia, a dressmaker's bill so extravagant it made even Ruan wince, and a black eye delivered in a fit of passion by a fiery actress, the traces of which still lingered on Payne's face.
"Having a mistress is supposed to be a resting activity," Julian snorted, as Payne's sad tale came to an end. "Not a pastime which leaves you battered and bruised."
