“Fine. I’ll be at Jonathan’s coffee house where there is lively conversation should you wish to join us.”
Not bloody likely. Tristan waved a hand to dismiss him.
Spencer looked back, a twitch to his lips. “Oh, and if you insist on not sharing your wife’s bed, there is a comely maid at the coffee house who is always eager to please. Maybe then your mood will be tolerable.”
The nightmare changed.
Tristan rolled to the side and tried to escape the fog of sleep, but to no avail. The images surfaced like cobwebs from deep within his mind.
He was in class at Oxford, but the visions blurred and then resolved themselves into something else, something in the present.
The Lord’s Chamber.
The faces of the robed and bewigged lords and bishops in the room were indiscernible, save one. Lord Dumfries. Soon, other faces came into focus. Lord Ware, Dumfries’s ally. The speaker. His cousin, Lord Jeffries.
“Here, here!” the speaker cried out, and all the members quieted. “The first to argue for the second reading of the Soldiers Bill will be the Duke of Keswick.”
All eyes turned to him. A humming began in the base of his skull and grew louder and louder like the swarm of bees around a destroyed hive. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he felt the dreaded panic seize him. His horsehair wig felt itchy and hot. His limbs felt heavy and useless.
Speak!
The speaker’s face melted and reformed into that of his mother. A cold, haughty look crossed the duchess’s face as she glowered at him across the chamber. “He is useless! A mute would be a better son.”
A different type of pain sliced through him. The rejection of a boy by the woman who should love him above all else.
Speak!
His lips parted, but the words froze in his throat, seizing him in a fit of pain and fear and the all-too-familiar feelings of humiliation.
The duchess’s face blurred and changed once again. This time, the beautiful features of his wife appeared.
Olivia.
Speak, dammit!
The words left his lips in a stumbled mess. He tripped over every word like he’d never stuttered before. The resounding laughter made his gut roil. Lord Dumfries clutched his stomach in mirth then pointed at him. Soon, others joined him until the entire chamber jeered and laughed, the sound rattling in his skull. Only Olivia stood silent, her green gaze watching him, disapproval and disgust stamped on her beautiful features.
Tristan woke and sat up in bed. He kicked off the coverlet, his chest heaving and his heart pounding. His nightmares had always been of his boyhood school days, never of the world he occupied as an adult.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. Time was supposed to subdue the memories. His throat was raw with unuttered shouts, and he knew the reason behind the disturbing dream.
Olivia.
He’d suspected it before, but now he was certain. She was the only change in his regimented life. Their shared kiss must have affected him even more than he’d thought. He was convinced, more than ever before, that he had to keep his distance.
…
“Would you like more tea, Your Grace?” the footman asked.
Once again, Olivia sat alone in the breakfast room. She’d stopped asking about the whereabouts of the duke. Why bother? She knew he was in his study. Whatever he accomplished there, he most certainly wouldn’t join her here.
Olivia set down her teacup on the saucer. “No, thank you.”
Could the footman read the loneliness in her expression? Her appetite gone, she pushed her plate aside. Had she really believed one kiss would change things? It may have for her, but not Tristan. Nothing would change him.
It would be hours before the Raven Club opened for the evening. Until then, she refused to stay inside and dwell on the state of her marriage. She’d go to the one place that had always calmed her. She stopped in the kitchens long enough to fetch what she wanted then headed out the front door and walked around the mansion to the mews. The scent of horse and hay drew her.
A young boy carrying a bucket of water stopped short when he spotted her. “Are you lost, my lady?”
He didn’t recognize her. She shouldn’t be surprised. A stable lad had no need to meet the lady of the house. “I am not. I am the duchess, and I am here to see the horses.”
His lips parted, and he offered an awkward bow. “Did they call for a carriage?”
“No. I want to see a certain horse. Atlas.”
The boy pointed to the stalls. “Last stall. But he’s a mean one.”
Picking up her skirts, she walked past the stalls until she reached the one she wanted. Atlas watched her approach. “Hello. Remember me?”
The large stallion jerked his head.
“We can be friends. Unlike the duke.” She held out a sugar cube in the palm of her hand. Hesitant at first, he watched her as he took the cube from her hand. “Want another?” The second time, he wasn’t as cautious.
She wanted to touch him. Even more, she wanted to ride him. Riding in the park would never measure up to riding through the acres of Rosehill, but it would have to do. She vowed that one day she would ride him.
“I had a suspicion I would find you here.”
Olivia whirled at the voice to find Antonia standing behind her. Dressed in an elegant walking dress of pale blue, she held her cane in her right hand.
Olivia was genuinely happy to see the dowager, and she sprang forward to hug her. “Antonia! It’s lovely to see you. What are you doing here?”
“By here do you mean London or the mews behind Keswick Hall?” Antonia asked.
Olivia laughed. “Both.”
“I’m not surprised to find you with the horses,” Antonia said. “As for returning to town, the country is pleasant, but I do enjoy the London Season.”
“Will you be staying with us?”
“Heavens, no. I have a lovely town home in Berkeley Square. Now shall we leave here and share a pot of tea and discuss my grandson?”
Soon after, they were in the drawing room with tea and scones. “Have you heeded my advice?” Antonia asked.
“You mean to seize what’s mine as a duchess? I have. I’m living at Keswick Hall,” Olivia pointed out.
Antonia stomped her cane on the Aubusson carpet. “That’s not entirely what I meant, and you know it. How are you faring with my grandson?”
Olivia shrugged a shoulder. “The duke is a puzzling man.”
Antonia chuckled. “Puzzling is a nice way to say stubborn.”
Olivia cracked a smile. “I suppose.”
Appearing satisfied, Antonia picked up her teacup and nodded. “I’m more convinced than before that Tristan has met his match. You should also know that I’m never wrong, my dear.”
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia reached up to be sure her mask was secure before setting foot on the casino floor. It was Saturday evening, the busiest night of the club, and Lord Jeffries should be here based on their plans. She’d thought long about meeting him after her confrontation with Tristan, but then her sister, Ellie, had written to tell her of another’s visit. Lady Ware was to attend this evening as well. Olivia was determined to help her stubborn husband, and she knew this night offered the perfect opportunity.
Olivia experienced a sense of excitement as she passed the whist, faro, and vingt-et-un tables crowded with men and masked women hoping to win at a game of chance. The crack of the dice across the green baize of the hazard table drew her eye then the sound of the roulette wheel as the little ball spun and stopped. The casino seemed alive, like a thriving beast with a pulse of its own. Gamblers shouted out in excitement, others groaned in loss, while servers with an embroidered R on their waistcoats rushed about delivering drinks to gamblers.
Olivia had never been one to sit back and let events dictate her life, not when she could have a say. The risks had never frightened her; only quitting had. By meeting both Spencer and Lady Ware, she would make tonight’s visit as most advan
tageous as possible.
She spotted Lady Ware by the roulette wheel in the back of the casino. Dressed in blue satin with a ruched hem, her mask was dyed the exact shade of her dress and slippers.
Ellie’s words returned to Olivia in a rush. Knowledge, not wealth, is the club’s most valuable asset.
Olivia was determined to use it to her benefit. Lord Ware may oppose the bill, but Lord Dumfries was his lackey. If she could not manipulate Lord Dumfries, then she would do the next best thing.
Olivia approached the table, placed her wager, and the croupier spun the wheel. Lady Ware’s gaze was riveted on the little white ball as it spun and spun then finally came to a stop.
“Red thirty!” the croupier called out.
Lady Ware pursed her lips.
“Perhaps you will have more luck in the ladies’ gambling room,” Olivia said as she sidled up beside the woman.
Lady Ware turned to her. “A ladies’ gambling room? I didn’t know one existed.”
“It’s private. No men are permitted. I believe the odds are better at the women’s tables.”
The lady gave her a curious sidelong look as she gathered her winnings. “Please show me the way.”
Olivia took her arm and steered her away from the roulette table to the corner of the casino and through the hidden panel that opened to the other room.
The room was painted an inviting pale gold with luxurious blue silk curtains that appeared like a waterfall. Olivia knew there were no windows in this room or on the main casino floor. She’d once heard her brother say that if there were no windows in the casino, then gamblers would lose track of time and stay longer and empty their pockets and reticules on the tables. The same trick had been used when Ellie had decorated the women’s gambling room.
All tables of chance were here as well: faro, hazard, whist, and roulette. The servers were a mixture of men and women, but their uniforms were of a different color than those on the main casino floor.
Lady Ware circled the room and her lips parted in fascination. “If I had known of this private room, I would have attended sooner.”
“I have a confession. I’m the owner’s sister.”
The woman whirled to her with wide eyes. “I’ve heard rumors the club has partners. Some say the Earl of Castleton.”
Her brother had owned the establishment. It was now run by her sister and her husband, but Olivia didn’t confirm this fact.
“Yes, I consider myself fortunate.”
“How thrilling. My family is oddly boring compared to yours.”
“Would you like a private tour? I can arrange it at a later time.”
Lady Ware’s eyes shone as she warmed to the subject. “I’d love one. But I must ask, why bring me here and why offer a tour?”
Olivia schooled her features and tried to appear nonplussed. “I like to help women.”
Lady Ware watched her then nodded. “I am happy for it. But I must ask your name.”
Olivia took off her mask. “I am the Duchess of Keswick.”
The lady’s hand flew to her chest. “My God! I had no idea the duke had married.”
“We recently married in the country in a quiet ceremony. Now that you know, will you come to Keswick Hall for tea?”
Lady Ware’s eyes widened even further. Olivia knew the temptation would be great. Ellie had told her that Lady Ware had married up from her lower station and was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. She had been denied a voucher at Almack’s when she’d been a debutante. A kiss of death on the marriage mart, but she’d been fortunate enough to attract the attention of Lord Ware. No doubt her father’s wealth had much to do with the match. Her dowry had been substantial. But the lady had a deep-seated desire to be fully accepted by the beau mode. An invitation by a duchess would surely aid her cause.
“Yes, yes, I’d love to come to Keswick Hall.”
Olivia knew of her other secret. The lady had significant gambling debts to the Raven Club. Her husband, Lord Ware, had yet to learn of the extent of her habit.
Olivia smiled. “Wonderful. I shall look forward to your visit.”
The trap had been set.
…
“I never thought I’d see the day that you couldn’t focus on your dreary ledgers,” Antonia said.
Tristan had been sitting behind his desk with his ledgers scattered across the blotter. Rather than working, he’d been glancing at the moon outside the window when he’d turned in surprise to find his grandmother standing in the doorway of his study. “When d…d-d you return?”
“Is that anyway to greet your grandmama?”
Tristan rose and kissed her cheeks. “Are you well?”
“I missed the Season. And truth be told, I wanted to see how you are faring.”
Rather than answer, he walked to the sideboard and poured two goblets of wine.
“Ah, that bad, is it?” Antonia asked.
He handed her a goblet and sipped his own. “If you know, why a…a-sk?”
She raised her glass with a smile. “This is good news.”
“How?”
“It means your wife has gained your attention.”
Olivia had caught his attention, for certain. But not in the way his grandmother wanted. If he couldn’t have his wife, and he had no desire to be with a willing bar maid at a coffee house, then he was in a bad way.
“If you keep ignoring her, my boy, I’m afraid others will not.”
Something in her tone made him alert, and he looked at her. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only this.” She reached into her skirt pocket to pull out a piece of foolscap and hand it to him. “I had the good fortune of finding this in your wife’s room. I hadn’t planned on spying, mind you, but it was open on her escritoire. I immediately recognized Lord Jeffries’s bold script, and my interest was piqued. It appears your cousin seems fit to take your place.”
Tristan unfolded the note and read it to himself.
Olivia,
I shall be at the Raven Club tonight, as discussed. I look forward to our games of chance. What shall we wager?
Spencer
Like hell. He’d told his cousin not to meet Olivia at the Raven Club, not to play games of chance with her, yet Spencer was ignoring his demands.
What was his cousin thinking? On second thought, he knew exactly what Spencer was thinking. Olivia was a beautiful woman, and Tristan had repeatedly told Spencer that he had no intention of bedding his wife. Worse still, his cousin had a weakness for the fair sex and had dallied with more than one married lady in the past.
Anger, combined with a sense of urgency, twisted low in Tristan’s gut.
“If you hurry,” Antonia said, “you may catch them.”
…
“I’ve been looking for you.” Spencer, Lord Jeffries, settled in the empty chair at the vingt-et-un table and leaned close to whisper in Olivia’s ear.
Olivia adjusted her half mask and gave him a sidelong glance. The faint smell of whisky and cigar smoke wafted from him.
“You promised me a game of vingt-et-un, remember?” Jeffries said.
Olivia’s lips curved in a smile. “I remember.”
With a slight incline of her head, the croupier dealt the cards. Olivia was swift at counting, and she tapped the table with a finger to indicate that the croupier should deal her another card. Spencer was just as comfortable with the cards. They enjoyed a few hands, both equally matched. A server delivered crystal glasses of amber-colored alcohol. Olivia shook her head while Spencer accepted a tumbler and took a drink.
“You know I’m my cousin’s heir,” he said.
Clearly, he had been previously drinking to broach such an indelicate topic. “Oh?”
“Should you not have a child with the Duke of Keswick, of course,” he added.
“Of course.” Her blood ran cold, but she kept her eyes on her cards. He spoke the truth, but still, the thought of never having a child, of spending a lifetime bound to Tristan as his wife without
ever sharing intimacy, left a desolate ache in her stomach. For someone who’d wanted to marry for love, to have at least four children, it was a horribly depressing thought. Motherhood was important to her, and she’d looked forward to having her own children for as long as she could remember.
“I told Tristan that’s not what I wanted of him, but he is stubborn,” Jeffries said.
Questions arose in her mind, sharp and jagged. She already knew Tristan didn’t want children, but she wanted an explanation. All titled men needed an heir. What made her husband different?
She’d seen him with young Catherine. The child had taking an immediate liking to him, and he’d seemed more comfortable spending an evening in his study with a five-year-old girl than with her family in the dining room.
Another server walked by, and Lord Jeffries placed his empty glass on the tray and replaced it with a full one. Perhaps if he continued to drink, the whisky would loosen his tongue and she could learn more. She desperately needed to learn more, to understand.
She touched his sleeve. “Tell me something else.”
He lowered his glass and met her gaze, his blue eyes glassy. “You look lovely this evening.”
“Not that. Something about the duke.”
His gaze shuttered for an instant, and she feared he wouldn’t speak.
“What do you want to know about my cousin?”
Olivia took a breath and asked the question that had been on her mind. “Why doesn’t he want children?”
He shrugged, sipped his glass. “I told you he was taunted as a child.”
“So?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
No, it isn’t.
At her silence, Lord Jeffries lowered his glass. “He fears his offspring will be just like him, will stammer like him.”
Olivia stared at him in shock. The room spun, and her heart dropped. The varying sounds of the casino dimmed in her ears, and the kaleidoscope of color blurred in her vision. She’d never once considered Tristan felt this way or believed it to be true. There was no reason to believe his child would have the same difficulty speaking. Didn’t he see that?
“Does anyone else in his family have a similar condition?” she asked.
How to Capture a Duke Page 10