by Tessa Bowen
Izzy’s eyes darted around the room. Her panicked gaze fell on the paper sitting on a small side table. She remembered the promise she had made him, but the gnawing dread in her gut soon took over. She dove on the paper, leafing through it until she found a photograph of them leaving the church on their wedding day.
Her eyes scanned the “Tattling Talia” column.
DEVIL DUKE HOUSES BOTH MISTRESS AND NEW WIFE AT DEVOY
“The Devil Duke has such a voracious appetite he needs both a baroness and a duchess to service his sexual needs. The Baroness was seen setting up shop at Devoy while the bride and groom were on their honeymoon. The Duke’s young wife is in for a big surprise. How many others are there? He was spotted sneaking out of his honeymoon suite in Venice to be serviced by his Italian girlfriend, fashion model Elisabetta Fanjoni. It is said the gorgeous Duke has a mistress in every corner of the world…”
Heart in her stomach, Izzy stared hard at the snapshot of Trevor leaving their hotel room. The next photo showed him greeting a gorgeous, leggy brunette. Around his neck, he wore the sky blue scarf, tied in a jaunty knot—the very same one he had worn the morning after their first night together.
IZZY’S SMALL BODY SHOOK with anger as she stormed into the drawing room, clutching the rolled up newspaper in her hand. The Duke and the Baroness sipped cocktails next to the fire with two stodgy looking older men.
“Isabel, there you are.” Trevor set his drink down and came toward her, drawing back in confusion when he saw the tormented expression on her face. “Whatever is the matter?”
“How could you do this to me? You are friggin’ unbelievable!”
Trevor’s gaze fell to the paper she held in her trembling clutches. His eyes became glacial. “Ah—I see. What crime has the Devil Duke committed this time?”
The men chortled into their sherry while the Baroness raised a cool brow. Isabel threw the paper at his feet and fled the room. In her haste, she stubbed her toe on the side of a velvet settee, tripping across the rug. The Duke was there to steady her.
“Get away from me, you sicko freak!”
She fled the scene, running as fast as she could down the hall and out the front entrance. This was all too familiar. She was running from him again, constricted by a form-fitting dress and hindered by high heels.
He caught up with her on the lawn. His scalding grip came down on her wrist. “Thank you very much for the bloody scene,” he snarled. “I told you not to read that tripe. Now you see the trouble it causes.”
“Is it true?” she demanded. “Did you really see another woman in Venice? After we…”
“What are you bloody on about?”
Her black eyes flashed like lightning in a dark, thunderous sky. “That’s where you went that morning—isn’t it? You met that other woman—that model!”
“Is that what they’re saying?” He dropped her wrist and went rigid. “I will not defend myself against such slander.”
“You won’t defend yourself because it’s probably true! You met another woman for sex, didn’t you? Right after you had sex with me!”
“You will think what you want. You people always do.”
You people.
“The Baroness…why does she have to be here?”
“I didn’t bloody know she was coming here today. The timing is bad, I realize that but you must learn to control your emotions and act like an adult. You are behaving in a ridiculous manner.”
“You invited her to stay for dinner!”
“I have social obligations. Our families go back for years. You expect me to turn her out just to please you?”
“You’re probably going to invite her to get into friggin’ bed with us, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be preposterous.”
“You probably are a sex addict! You probably have threesomes all the time! And foursomes and friggin’ fivesomes! I wouldn’t know the first thing about ‘servicing’ the Devil Duke. How could I ever be enough to satisfy you—after all those models you’ve slept with?”
His expression softened and he took her by the shoulders. “Come now—you know I’m dreadfully bored with that lot.”
Izzy took a big step backward and jammed a thumb in her chest. “Yeah, and someday you’ll be bored with this lot too! I’m just some virgin from Nowheresville, after all, right? God, isn’t anyone safe from you?”
“Don’t play the part of the sullied maiden with me, you saucy brat. I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? I gave you the bloody Devil Duke.”
“I don’t want the Devil Duke anymore—I want Trevor.”
The Duke shifted his weight, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve had many women in my life—and in my bed. I can’t take that back now. I’m sorry I can’t be your shining prince, but you knew what I was when you asked for this.”
The words stung but she guessed they were true. She had asked for this, begged actually and now she was suffering the consequences.
“You said you would always protect me, no matter what happened between us.”
“Have I said anything to make you think otherwise?”
“You can protect me from everyone else, but who is going to protect me from you? You’re the worst kind of bad guy. You are one of those bad guys pretending to be a good guy.”
“I never pretended with you.”
“I may not know much, but I know how men like you work. You just want me to be a part of your harem or your stables or whatever!” Her hands fisted at her sides as she railed on. “I’m not an animal, you know!”
The Duke’s recoiled with horror. “I certainly don’t think I ever treated you like an animal, and I take great offense if you are stating otherwise. In fact, I’ve never given quite so much of myself to anyone before. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to satisfy you.”
His words fell on deaf ears. She was blinded by hurt. The image of him embracing the beautiful Italian temptress burned in her mind’s eye.
“It’s disgusting what you do, hopping from one bed to another. I won’t let you ride me like a horse until I’m broken and dead!”
The Duke’s nostrils flared. “I told you that story in confidence and now you’ve used it against me. That wasn’t well done of you at all, Isabel. And as for bed hopping, yours is the only bed I’ve hopped into lately.”
“What about the Baroness?”
“What about her?”
“Haven’t you…?”
“No, she’s been after me bloody long enough too—claw’s drawn—wanting her piece. It’s a miracle she hasn’t shredded the drapery. It seems I’ve been distracted by a horse of a different color, or hadn’t you noticed. The woman I met in Venice was an old acquaintance of mine. I only visited with her long enough to tell her I was otherwise engaged. I haven’t laid a hand on anyone else since you came here. Besides, if I remember correctly you hopped into my bed—and quite literally I might add—not the other way around.”
Isabel stared at her feet as her heart soared high.
The Devil Duke had been faithful! To me—the spazz of the friggin’ century!
“I’m sorry…” she faltered. “The Baroness said—”
“I don’t care what she bloody said.”
Izzy flew at him, spreading passionate kisses over his neck and jawline. “I just don’t want to share you. I want you to be mine. All mine...”
He uncoiled her arms from his neck. “I am not accustomed to such possessiveness, and frankly, I am not sure I like it.”
“I just can’t stand the idea of you sleeping with other women.”
“I’ve never been with just one woman. You must know that. The entire bloody world knows it.”
“Well, you were married, weren’t you?”
“We had an arrangement.”
“I don’t want it to be an arrangement—I want it to be different. I want it to be just you and me!”
“It was just you and me, you idiotic girl. Didn’t you realize that? I hope you’re happy—now that you’ve gon
e and spoiled it.” He straightened his cuffs, drawing his mouth in a cold, fixed line. “If this is what monogamy is like, it certainly won’t work for me. Excuse me—I have guests to attend to.”
With those parting words, the Duke stalked off into the darkness. The Baroness waited on the front steps for him. He curled his lip when he spotted her. “Honestly Abigail. Isn’t it enough to be one of the most sought after women in Western Europe? Do you really have to come here and stir up trouble?”
“You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”
“Don’t be absurd. You know I don’t do that sort of thing.”
“I’ve never seen you look at a woman the way you look at her. It’s finally happened. That ungainly child has won the prize.”
Trevor thundered into the house. “I’m no bloody prize—or haven’t you read the papers today?”
Chapter Eighteen
And just like that she had lost him.
He was cold and distant once more—gone was the gentle, playful man she had bared her soul to in Venice.
“We have business in town,” he told her curtly. “We will attend an auction at three o’clock. I expect you to be ready at noon.”
He rattled off the information as an employer would to an employee and Izzy supposed that is exactly what they were now.
“We will make our first public appearance as a married couple. Although I don’t know what the bloody point is. Obviously, this little plot of ours has done little to improve my reputation with the press—so much for bloody damage control. ”
Archibald fretted over some papers while Izzy stared out the window in sullen silence. He didn’t want her. He had rejected her love. She could scarcely breathe—how would she ever face the public?
“You will manage affability today, is that understood? We will let them gawk at us for an hour or so then we will leave. Damn, but I’m tired of this charade.”
“I suppose what we did in Venice was a charade too, wasn’t it?”
The Duke leveled her with a chilly look. “This isn’t the time or the place, Isabel.”
Sir Archibald cleared his throat, attempting to cut the tension in the room. “Will you take lunch in town, Your Grace?”
“No, let’s get in and out as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“No doubt the press will mob the place. Have security clear the parking garage, we will exit from the back.” He turned his attention back to Isabel who pouted on the couch. He cast his disapproving gaze over her casual attire. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you that you’re a so-called duchess now and are expected to dress the part. They want to see Cinderella dressed in her finery.”
It was as if the clock had turned back and he was talking to her like she was subhuman again. How could he forget the passion they had shared? He was a swan—just like his beautiful baroness that was how—cold, elegant, beautiful and cruel. She was the plain, drab, dumb-ass duckling that had fallen for his slick moves.
“If I were you,” she shot back. “I would be less worried about what I’m going to wear and more worried about how I’m going to conceal the truth—that I think you’re a giant friggin’ asshole.”
She stormed out of the room, leaving Archibald to deal with His Grace’s black mood.
THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF DEVOY arrived at eight King Street at 3:15 in the afternoon. A large crowd had formed outside Christie’s auction house. The streets were roped off and policemen guarded the perimeters. The paparazzi pushed to the front of the crowd, cameras poised and ready.
“I didn’t realize there would be so many people.”
“They have come to catch a glimpse of the new couple,” Archie told her from the opposite seat.
The Duke gave a haughty sniff. “And a glimpse is all they will get. Let’s give them their blasted headline, shall we?”
Izzy stared at his hard profile. His eyes were a flat, flinty grey. They matched his perfectly tailored flannel suit.
Grey like his stone heart.
“Hold onto my hand,” he directed her in tense, clipped tones. “I’ll get us through this blasted gauntlet.”
A member of the security team opened the door and the sounds of the crowd rushed into the car. Izzy took a deep breath and placed her hand in his. She was immediately blinded by the flash of the cameras. Following his lead, she waved to the press.
“Give your new bride a kiss for the cameras, Your Grace!”
She dug her nails into the flesh of his palm. “Don’t you dare friggin’ kiss me.”
“I wasn’t bloody planning on it,” he hissed between his teeth.
Bodyguards stood in formation outside the building, closing the door tightly behind them. The auction was in full swing. The energy in the room was frantic. The auctioneer stood on a dais, a black backdrop behind him. He paused, placing the gavel on the podium as the Duke and Izzy took their seats in the reserved section.
“His Grace, the Duke of Devoy, has been kind enough to donate these exquisite pieces from his personal collection. His Grace is generously bequeathing the complete earnings of today’s sale to a charity of his choosing.”
The Duke looked very uncomfortable when the crowd applauded. He shifted in his seat, giving his cuffs a telltale tug.
There was a photograph of an antique sofa on the screen overhead. Izzy couldn’t make sense of the numbers that were projected on the wall. The program listing the items for auction meant nothing to her. The words blurred as she tried to read them.
“Sold for eighty thousand pounds!”
She jumped when the gavel came down with a crash. She wasn’t sure how much that was, but it sounded like a lot.
And for a couch!
She wondered which charity the Duke’s money was going to.
Probably some lame ass supermodel training camp in Africa.
Her eyes darted around the room. She made out a few swans who craned their necks prettily for the Duke. The next photo to go up behind the auctioneer was one of an ornate wooden bed.
“Shall we begin the bidding at 50,000 pounds?”
How many of these women has he had in that bed? No wonder he wants to get rid of the friggin’ thing.
“You should just have them burn it,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s probably sullied beyond repair.”
Izzy fidgeted in her elegant coat. She could wear the clothes of a swan but she would never be one. The more money they raised the more her rage swelled. She had been one of many. Their time together had meant nothing. Just like the furniture, he had used her and now he was casting her off. The room began to swim around her. Her swan’s clothing felt tight.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she told him. “Like, now.”
The Duke saw that she was having a hard time keeping her composure. Her face had gone as pale as her ivory outfit. Brusquely, he led her out of the room and into the lobby.
“What’s the matter with you?”
She erupted with fierce passion. “How could you look at me the way you did in Venice—with love in your eyes? And touch me as though you cared for me? You should win a friggin’ Oscar for that performance!”
He took her by the wrist again and dragged her out the side exit into the empty parking garage. They both heard her sleeve rip when she pulled away.
“Don’t touch me! I don’t ever want you to touch me again! You touch people, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’ve certainly made up your mind about me, haven’t you?”
Isabel was beyond reason. She wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. “You don’t care about anything or anyone but yourself. You never stop to think about other people’s feelings. You have contempt for the people that love you—the crowd out there waiting in the cold to catch a glimpse of you, they worship you and they mean nothing to you.”
“Don’t be naïve. I am a commodity to them—nothing more—a way to sell more magazines.”
“The people who read about you in
those magazines love you and you don’t give a crap about them.”
“They’re silly young girls with nothing better to do.”
“I’m one of those silly girls and you don’t give a crap about me either—you never did!”
“Get in the car, Isabel. We can talk about this when you’ve calmed down.”
“I’m not going to calm down. This is what happens when you break somebody’s heart— they get upset. All the other women you hang out with are carefully coiffed cyborgs who hide their feelings. Well, I’m not going to hide how I feel. You are just going to have to deal with it!”
“Get a hold of yourself.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you? You should be ashamed of yourself. You have so much money, you just toss it around without a thought—it’s disgusting. You don’t care about the charities you give money to. You don’t care about anything!”
“The money I gave may not mean anything to me, but it will mean something to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you would stop berating me for a moment and read the bloody program, you’d know what I was talking about. Go with Archie, I’ll find my own way back. I can’t bear the idea of riding in a car with you. In fact, I think I’d rather stick forks in my eyes.”
“I’m sorry you can’t beeeeeaaaaaarrrrr it,” she mimicked rudely. “And I wish you would stick forks in your eyes. Why don’t you make ’em friggin’ pitch forks!”
“I’m likely to strangle you if you keep talking to me this way.”
He stalked off, making a call on his cell phone. Izzy stalked off too, slamming the car door so hard Sir Archibald winced.
“What the frig is he talking about?” she fumed. “What does the program say? Why would I care where his money goes?”
“Well, naturally you would care, Miss De Luca. Today’s auction raised over a million pounds for a Miss Shiflett of Harper Woods, Michigan. His Grace tells me you had fond memories of the place—when you were in foster care there.”
Isabel fell back against the seat. “Holy Crap—I’m an idiot.”