Page 69 of The Duke of Spice
“No,” she cut him off. There would be no talking. There was nothing he could say that would make any of this right. Whisky-addled oblivion was the only thing she cared about. RobertbloodyTolley. ThebloodyDuke of Saffron Walden. ThebloodyDuke of Spice. ThebloodySpice Pirate. Every single one of them could go to the devil.
She set the decanter down on the table, then picked up a bottle of brandy. She filled the other glass with it and handed it to Robert. “I’ve seen enough bullet wounds from hunting trips in Scotland to know that Doctor Gibb is going to have to dig deep to get the shot out. You might want to start drinking now.”
She made for the door, whisky bottle in hand. Her destination, the tiny sitting room off the library. A private sanctuary with a large sofa, cushions, and blankets. If the housekeeper had kept to her usual routine, the fire would’ve been banked, and it would only take a little work to have it roaring again.
He followed her to the doorway of the library, then stopped. “Are you going to help get me settled in our bedroom for when the doctor arrives? I don’t think I can get my coat or shirt off by myself.”
Victoria pushed open the door of the sitting room with her foot. She shook her head, then stepped inside. Placing the glass and the bottle of whisky on the small occasional table, she went to close the door behind her.
When it was still barely a foot open, she met his gaze. “Just pretend you don’t have a wife and do it yourself. You don’t seem to have an issue with letting me deal without servants in town, so quid pro quo. Oh, and here’s a bit of advice—you might want to get used the idea of not being married, Your Grace. Because if you think that I’m going to stand by your side while you continue to live this way, you have another think coming.”
She shut the door and locked it.
It was a long time before the sound of a muffled voice and then retreating footsteps reached her ears. What he could have possibly been thinking while he stood and stared at the sitting room door, she didn’t want to consider. Tonight had broken them. And only he could put the tiny, shattered pieces back together.
Victoria’s gaze fell on the whisky bottle as the awful moment she’d shot the East India Company agent dead replayed in her mind. She raised the glass to her lips and downed its contents in one go.
Any hopes she’d began to hold for a happy, settled life with Robert now lay dead, along with that poor man on the roadside.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
He was tempted to take a leaf out of Victoria’s book and find solace in the bottom of a bottle, but Robert knew it was best if he were sober when the doctor arrived. He needed a clear mind to be able to deal with the pain of having a bullet removed.
For a long time, he’d stood in the library staring at the door behind which his wife had sought refuge. Refuge from him.
He’d been so close to turning the page and starting a new chapter of his life. If he had found the courage to actually do it, Victoria might never have known anything about any of this, but now she knew it all.
When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to open the door and talk to him, he’d loudly grumbled, “We will have to talk about this at some point. Neither of us can avoid it.”
And then he’d left, making his way to his study where he somehow managed to get out of his coat. Dropping it to the floor, he attempted to unbutton his vest. Every movement was agony. Blood was soaked into the front of his vest, and it stuck to his shirt.
Robert gave up and huffed. “If they have to cut it off me, then so be it.”
A tap at the door announced Jasper’s arrival. His steward took one look at the state of Robert’s clothes and quickly closed the door behind him. Between them, they managed to get the vest off, with Jasper apologizing every time Robert moaned or sucked in a sharp, painful breath. A tear rolled down Robert’s cheek as his steward gently teased the shirt away from his skin.
“It looks like the bullet is still in there, but I think he might have only got flesh,” observed Jasper.
“It damn well doesn’t feel like just flesh. More like he put some shot through my soul. Are you sure he didn’t hit bone?”
Jasper lay a hand on Robert’s arm. “Take a deep breath and hold it, Your Grace.”
More tears streamed down Robert’s face as Jasper poked around inside his broken skin. He clenched his teeth, but nothing could dull the agony as fingers pressed against his wounded flesh.
“By some miracle it appears to have missed your collarbone. Once the shot is out and the skin stitched, you should have full use of that arm. But it will take time.”
He stepped back, and for the first time, Robert noticed the leather satchel Jasper had placed on the desk. “What’s that?” he asked.
Jasper nodded at the bag. “I retrieved that from the wagon our friend had brought with him. To no one’s surprise, it seems he was an agent of the East India Company. There are several letters in his bag, all addressed to the directors of the EIC. I opened them, and while he didn’t specifically mention you by name, rather he called you ‘our noble friend,’ it’s clear he believed he had found his man.”
Robert closed his eyes. The Honorable East India were on to him. Hiding the evidence, and even burning the agent’s body, wouldn’t save him.
When he opened his eyes once more, he lifted his gaze and stared up at the ceiling. The ornate plasterwork was a thing of beauty.
This is my home. Her home. If they bring war to my doorstep, I might lose it all.
Things that had been mere notions in his mind were now going to have to become hard decisions, and quickly. Where there was one agent of the company, others would surely follow. Who was to say others weren’t already circling?
And when news of this particular agent’s mysterious disappearance eventually reached London, the outraged directors of the East India would no doubt shift to a full war footing. This was an organization so powerful that they had brought entire countries to their knees, so a troublesome English nobleman wouldn’t pose too much of a problem for them.
