Page 49 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
“Like you are?” Tabitha asked, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. “You could have given me a few minutes to explain at your mother’s ball, and I would have told you! I am so tired of you blaming me for every difficulty in your life!”
“You agreed to marry me.”
He stormed away, pausing only to retrieve his trousers from the floor. Tabitha pressed her forehead against her knees and tried to force away her sobs. They came regardless, wracking her body so hard that she trembled. She should have told him sooner but wondered if the result would have been any better. Would Matthew have confronted Cassius at the Dowager Duchess’s ball? Would Matthew still have left?
And most of all, Tabitha wondered if Matthew would become obsessive about finding his wife again. Even if she and Cassius had engaged in an affair, that did not necessarily indicate that Her Grace was still alive. It was entirely possible that Cassius had lied about some parts of his story.
Tabitha raised her head and took a shuddering breath, her eyes finding only the dark and empty room. She ought to retreat to her own bedroom, but she was so very tired. And a small, pitiful part of her longed for Matthew to return and apologize, to take her into his arms like he had just a few precious moments before and assure her that everything was well between them.
He did not.
Chapter 22
It was too late for respectable men or women to be about, but Matthew was. Although he and Lord Fatherton were barely acquaintances, Matthew knew the precise club the man liked to frequent. There was no guarantee that Lord Fatherton would be present at the club, but Matthew hoped he would be. He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth ached.
He stormed into the club, drawing no attention to himself. All the gentlemen were in their cups and playing cards. Several were indulging in the allures of their mistresses. It was a den of rakehells, precisely the place where a snake like Lord Fatherton thrived. Matthew curled his hands into fists, searching the room for the detestable man.
His pulse quickened when he found him. Lord Fatherton lounged against the bar, laughing joyously and gesturing with a glass of some amber-coloured spirit at a cluster of young, smiling women. Matthew remembered Tabitha’s chastisement—her insistence that he not do anything foolish—but her warning seemed very far from his ears. He crossed the room, forcing himself to show the smallest amount of restraint.
Lord Fatherton turned his head towards Matthew, and their eyes locked. “Your Grace,” he said, his easy smile wavering. “I have never seen you at this club before.”
Matthew’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He heard the beat of his own heart reverberate inside his head.
“Shall we pour you a drink?” Lord Fatherton asked.
Lord Fatherton’s continued ease made Matthew’s blood boil all the more. He scarcely thought about what he did. It was as if his body moved of its own accord. He pulled back his fist and punched hard. Matthew’s knuckles collided with Lord Fatherton’s nose. The man stumbled backwards, striking the bar. He dropped his glass, which shattered on the floor. The women shouted. All the sounds seemed faint and distant above the roaring of Matthew’s blood in his ears.
He seized Lord Fatherton’s jacket and heaved the man forward. “What are you doing?” Lord Fatherton asked. “Your Grace!”
Gentlemen hastened to their feet, their voices all rising in an uneven cacophony of unsolicited advice and commentary.
“Do not fight in the club!”
“What is the matter?”
“Let them fight it out themselves!”
Lord Fatherton cupped one hand over his bleeding nose; with the other, he tried to free himself of Matthew’s grip. But Matthew refused to relinquish his grip on the man’s jacket. He pulled him into the street, and Lord Fatherton stumbled against the uneven cobblestones of the street.
Only then did Matthew release him. He pulled back his fist and punched the man again, striking his jaw. Pain burst through Matthew’s hand and all the way up to his shoulder. Lord Fatherton swung wildly, landing a glancing blow to Matthew’s arm. Matthew moved into a fighting stance, prepared to fight in earnest. “What do you want?” Matthew snapped.
“Want?” Cassius growled, blood dripping down his face. “What is wrong with you? Did I upset you by speaking to Tabitha? I suppose she did not tell you about our little dalliance before you were married. If we had not been caught, I would have had your wife’s maidenhood.”
Matthew’s face grew hot. He wanted to pummel the man more. Lord Fatherton was slumped against the wall, trying to stop the froth of blood that poured from his nose, but it dripped consistently between his fingers, heedless of his efforts.
“How dare you speak of her in such a disgraceful manner?” Matthew asked tightly. “Even if you might have had her, you lost your chance. She is my wife now, and you will stay away from her.”
Lord Fatherton laughed. He smiled mockingly, his teeth stained with blood. The man looked feral and wild, but Matthew strongly suspected that Lord Fatherton looked more threatening than he truly was.
“I could agree,” Lord Fatherton said, “but let us suppose that Tabby Cat does not wish to stay away from me.”
“You will stay away from her,” Matthew said. “I will not have you making her doubt the validity of our marriage with these disgraceful rumours about Rosemary.”
“Rumours? Oh, I speak only the truth!”
“Rosemary is dead.”
Lord Fatherton shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “Rosemary is very much alive. Did Tabitha not see fit to tell you that little part of our conversation?”
