Page 148 of Ironvine

Charles and Georgina and the Duchess descended the front steps of Ironvine, stopping at the coach. His pulse pounded in his throat as the three of them waited for the door to open.

At last, it opened.

The footman exited the coach and holding the door open, stood at the side. The Duke reached out and handed his wife a letter. “This is yours, my darling.”

She kissed his gloved hand and took the folded paper.

“What are you doing?” Amanda sputtered from within the coach. Her hair was loose, lips swollen, her face flushed.

The Duke lashed Amanda’s leg with a riding crop, and she cried out. “My wife and I have no secrets between us. The contents of this letter were not shocking. All this is well known to me. Do you really think their relationship would have occurred without my knowledge and approval?” His voice was biting.

“But you said…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, madame?” He held the crop under her chin.

Her eyes flared. “No, of course not.”

“We agreed, my pet, did we not?” He stroked her throat with the crop. “You tell the truth, and I shall send you to my home in Norfolk to await me.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. Tell them, just as you told me. Go on. It is what I wish of you.”

She took in a breath as she lifted her gaze to Charles, and the Duke took away his crop. “I went to see Hugh after the duel. When I got to the house, he was consumed with writing that letter at his desk. He was upset, and when he saw me, he grew angry. He very rudely told me to leave as if I were some street urchin interrupting him.

“I told him how I’d ensured that he was the victor, but he was only irate and annoyed as if I were wasting his time. He informed me he was engaged to be married and never wanted to see me again. I told him his being engaged did not matter to me, but that remark only fed his anger.

“I grabbed the letter from his desk and read it. But the letter was not addressed to his fiancée, explaining the duel, begging for her forgiveness and understanding. No, it was to his great love.” Her gaze shifted to the Duchess. “He’d never broken with her. Everything I’d done for him was for naught. Everything I felt all those weeks together. Everything I’d said to him, and he to me—such regard, such affections—all of it lies, puffs of air. False.”

“Had you really expected more from him?” said Charles.

“I expected our affair to continue. After playing the penitent wife for so long, Fortune had finally dealt me a stellar hand to play. Indeed, to win. Being with Hugh was thrilling, intoxicating. Did I not deserve this happiness after all the misery I had endured?

“At every ball, dance, and dinner party in London, all the mothers, and their young available daughters quivered around Hugh, and I enjoyed it immensely because I was the one who had him. Me.” She glared at the Duchess, at Georgina as she took in a deep, shaky breath. “But all that time he was looking for a bride with an intent to return to his mistress. What was I to him then?”

“Damn you, how the bloody hell did it happen?” Charles’s sharp voice made her head jerk.

“He shouted at me to put his penitent missive down as if I were sullying the very paper. We argued. I struck him. He laughed at me. Told me I was acting like a petulant child. I tried to reason with him, but he only pushed me away, and I threw a vase at him. He leapt out of the way, but in doing so he slipped on the marble hearth and fell back against the fireplace. Crumpled to the floor and did not rise up again.

Georgina squeezed his hand tightly, pressing her body against his.

“I rushed to him, and he revived, but in his gaze there still burned that loathing, that anger. His hands flew to my throat. With all my might, I managed to twist out of his hold, and I fell back against a small table. All the figurines fell over on the floor next to me, and I grabbed hold of one.”

“The bronze monkey,” said Georgina.

“Yes, it was small enough, easy to grip. He cursed violently me as he struggled to raise himself from the floor. Just like a man who isn’t getting what he wants. In my defence I rushed forward and smashed that figurine on his head, and he stopped his cursing. He…stopped.”

“Then you scurried home to play the grieving widow?” said Charles.

“I grieved for myself. Hugh was false. Betrayed my heart, played with my trust.” She averted her gaze. “He made me dream again, but suddenly in one quick, cold instant, I was hammered back down to the dirt of the earth.” She let out a small grunt. “I believed in him.” She glared at the Duchess. “But all the while his dream was you. Always you.”

“At last the truth,” muttered Charles.

Amanda folded her hands in her lap. “What are you going to do now? Make it public? You cannot prove it was me. You can’t. You already lied when you told the world William’s bullet killed Hugh.”

“Come now.” The Duke put a hand on her knee and squeezed, and she winced.

“I lied because I didn’t want suspicion and questions hanging over Hugh or our house in his death,” replied Charles. “I lied because I wanted a clean end to the mess my brother dishonoured us with.”

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