Page 61 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
He heard a soft knock and spun on his heel to find his coachman standing in the doorway, looking as though he were about to put his head on the chopping block. “Your Grace, I waited far longer than I should have and I apologize for that. Eventually when the lady didn’t come out, I knocked on the door only to be told by that small gent that the lady wasn’t about. I decided it best to let you know. The rain slowed my journey.”
“We’ll be going back out in it.”
“I suspected as much, sir.”
She had broken the terms of their agreement. He should not have been surprised, but he was not going to let her get away with such treachery. He was well within his rights to seek her out, demand an explanation and the return of his money.
Even though in truth he didn’t give a damn about the money. He wanted retribution for yet one more deception. She would have to give him a month this time, a month without an afternoon trip to her residence.
As he journeyed through the streets, rain pelting his coach, he held on to his anger, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment because she was untrustworthy, because she would leave him so easily. He despised himself for enjoying her company so much, for worrying about a possible mishap. How many times would he fall for her lies?
His carriage had barely stopped in front of her residence, when he leaped out. He barged up the steps, threw open the door, and strode in. The little man—Merrick, as he recalled—stepped out of the parlor.
“You can’t just come in here,” he stated.
“I pay the lease on the damned place. I can do anything I want, including kick you out into the street. Where is she?”
He jutted up his chin. “Went for a stroll.”
“In this weather?”
“She favors the rain.”
It occurred to him that perhaps whoever it was she needed to see this afternoon didn’t actually live in this residence. That she was delivered here and then snuck out to go wherever it was she wanted to go. He started off down a hallway.
“See here now, you’ve got no right to be going through our home!” Merrick shouted.
He did and he would. He realized it was the first time he’d been inside her residence. It was not lavishly furnished. No portraits, no paintings. Nothing in the hallway. He paused outside a dining room. No sideboards, no hutches, nothing save a small square table covered in a white cloth. It sat four.
He carried on down the hallway until he spotted another door. He closed his fingers around the handle.
“You can’t go in there.”
He glared at Merrick. “It would give me unbridled pleasure if you try to stop me.” He didn’t know why it was imperative that he saw every inch of the dwelling. Jerking open the door, he marched into what was obviously the library. A dozen or so books adorned shelves. A large desk and chair occupied a space near a window. A sofa rested before the glass, and he imagined sunlight streaming in over Rose as she sat there. A comfortable sitting area was arranged in one corner near a fireplace. On the opposite side of the room was an immense bed, neatly made. Did the giant sleep here? No, it wasn’t long enough for him. It was more suited to a man Avendale’s size. He’d ask Merrick but the indignant fellow hadn’t followed him in. He doubted her man would tell him anyway.
Slowly he walked through the room, trying to get a sense of it. He noticed a tall stack of papers on the desk. As he neared he could see ink bleeding through but the paper was turned so he couldn’t make out the words. A rock, like one might find in a garden, was on top, as though that were enough to keep anyone from prying.
Avendale was too angry with Rose to respect the privacy of anyone living here. Setting the rock aside, he turned over the first page.
The Memoirs of Harry Longmore
Who the devil was Harry Longmore? Why did he live here? What was he to Rose?
Moving that page aside, he began reading the second.
My story is as much Rose’s as it is mine. We were inseparable ...
Clenching his jaw with the thought of another man having such importance in Rose’s life, Avendale wanted to crumple the paper, set it afire. Instead he very carefully returned it to its place before striding out of the room. He took no satisfaction in the knowledge that he had separated her from this Harry Longmore. She obviously cared for him or she wouldn’t come here every day. Once her time with Avendale was done, she’d continue to carry on with this beastly fellow, leave the city with five thousand quid, and laughter echoing between them. What a fool he was to give in to this damnable craving he had for her.
“Happy now?” Merrick asked as Avendale started back down the hallway.
“Hardly.”
A commotion in the entryway, door closing, voices, had him quickening his pace, lengthening his stride until Merrick couldn’t keep up.
“It’s all right, my dearest,” he heard Rose’s voice say sweetly, encouragingly. He could not make out the words that followed but they were deeper, obviously male, and his anger boiled anew at the thought of her with another man. She might have been a virgin, but she obviously had a love. He was more than ready for a heated confrontation that might even involve fisticuffs. He stormed into the entryway—
Staggered to an unsteady halt as though he’d slammed into a stone wall.
