The Infamous Duchess

by Sophie Barnes

  “There are numerous notes of a similar nature,” Hayes said, apparently choosing to ignore Steadford’s argument. “But I doubt we’ll even need them.” Hayes’s eyes hardened, and Henry straightened his back, preparing himself for whatever else the solicitor had up his sleeve. “I rather think Her Grace’s inferior background offers an excellent foundation on which to build an indisputable case.”

  “You forget she was legally married to the previous Duke of Tremaine and that he amended his will so it would include her,” Mr. Steadford said.

  “I forget no such thing,” Mr. Hayes insisted. “Indeed, I am counting on a good judge to be just as appalled as I am by Her Grace’s ability to snatch up a fortune that ought to have gone to the duke’s son and his relatives. So prepare yourself,” he added, pinning Viola with a glare. “I will pick your character apart until every aspect of it has been thoroughly scrutinized.” He paused for a second as if considering, then suddenly asked, “Who was your mother, by the way?” He leafed through some notes. “I don’t recall any mention of her identity during my discussions with Tremaine.” He glanced at the duke, who merely shrugged.

  Noting the sudden stiffness in Viola’s posture, Henry said, “I hardly see how that is of any concern to you. As you yourself have said, you want to contest the late duke’s will on the basis that his wife took advantage of him. To this end, questioning Her Grace about her mother is hardly going to supply the evidence you need.” He stood, eager to quit this room and this house. “If that is all, I will wish you both a good day.”

  “But—”

  “Come, Duchess.” He held out his hand to Viola and waited. She blinked, gazed up into his face with wide-eyed surprise and slowly placed her hand in his. Once again, a hum of energy flew up his arm the moment her palm touched his. Swallowing, he closed his fingers around her hand and helped her rise, acutely aware of the blush coloring her cheeks and the bashful look she gave him from beneath her long lashes.

  She was his. Regardless of what had transpired between her and Robert, Henry would make damn sure of it.

  Chapter 12

  Feeling as though the floor was tilting beneath her feet, Viola held on tight to Mr. Lowell’s arm and allowed him to escort her out of Tremaine’s study, through the familiar hallway beyond, past a vase that still stood where she’d placed it two years earlier, and into the street.

  “This must have been terribly distressing for you,” Mr. Lowell said. He released her arm, which made her feel oddly unmoored. “I’m sorry it didn’t go better.”

  “It’s all right,” Viola said, even though she didn’t feel like anything would ever be all right again. “I didn’t expect this to be easy.”

  “I need to be clear with you, Your Grace,” Steadford said when he caught up to them. “Your response to Mr. Hayes’s inquiry about your mother was telling. You’re obviously hiding something, and I promise you that whatever it was, Mr. Hayes will find it even if he has to hire a hundred people in order to do so.” He stared Viola down, increasing the sense of dread already coursing through her. “Your only recourse right now is to confide in us so we can defend you against the attack that is coming.”

  Glancing aside, Viola searched for an appropriate response. “My mother was poor and uneducated, but that never mattered to me or to my father. According to what he has told me, she loved me very much. Her greatest concern as she lay dying was for me and my future.”

  “As reassuring as that may be, it doesn’t provide me with the information I need,” Mr. Steadford said. His brows dipped until they met in the middle of his forehead. “Mr. Hayes is going to start selecting his weapons. He is going to dig deep in order to find them, so what I need to be completely sure of is that you have been as forthcoming with me as possible. The last thing we want is for that man to find some damning piece of information you neglected to share with me.”

  Even though her stomach had tied itself into knots, Viola managed to stand up straight and meet Mr. Steadford’s stern expression with resolve. “There is nothing damning for anyone to find.” No records remained.

  “Good.” Mr. Steadford touched the brim of his hat. “In that case I’ll begin working on your defense right away. We’ll be in touch.” He gave Mr. Lowell a nod and walked away, leaving them standing beside Lowell’s carriage.

  “He’s a good barrister,” Mr. Lowell said, “and he is on your side, even though I realize his manner might make it seem as if he’s not at times.”

  “I know.”

  He glanced at his carriage and then at Viola. “If I may, I would like to suggest a drink at my club. You look as though you could do with a little fortification.”

  As tempting as the invitation was, she knew she ought to resist. “Thank you, but—”

  “Viola.” His voice was calm. “I am asking you as a concerned friend who cares about your well-being. There is no ulterior motive,” he said, and suddenly smiled. Lowering his voice, he spoke with a hint of humor. “I am not trying to lure you into my secret lair of debauchery.”

  She couldn’t help the grin that followed or the flare of heat fanning out across her shoulders. “Does such a place truly exist?” And why on earth was she curious to know if it did?

  “Maybe.” He reached for the carriage door and opened it wide. “Maybe not.” Holding out his free hand, he waited for her to accept his invitation. “It does not signify since all I am offering you right now is companionship.”

  Hesitating, Viola stared into the depths of his dark brown eyes. He made her feel attractive, even though she knew she wasn’t. Somehow, against all odds, Mr. Lowell had turned her world upside down. For the first time since Robert had broken her heart, Mr. Lowell had made her look forward to spending time in another man’s company.

  “Truly?” Recalling his touch as he’d taught her how to play billiards, the mischief shining in his eyes when he’d beat her at cards and the kindness with which he’d offered his assistance the moment she’d required it, she suddenly knew that she wanted a whole lot more. She wanted him. And as frightening as that prospect was and as much as she knew she could never risk a romantic liaison with anyone, it seemed to right her lopsided world. “You will not attempt to seduce me?”

  He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring while he stared back at her with dark intensity. “Not today,” he murmured.

  Disappointment raced through her, which was of course ridiculous since she wasn’t really looking to have an affair. She was a reasonable woman who prided herself on her respectability, and that respectability had to be maintained at all cost if she was to stand a chance of winning in court. One wrong move would give Mr. Hayes additional ammunition to use against her. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to feel desirable.

  She’d spent the last two years dedicating herself to her goals, to making an old man happy and then to saving the sick. And she’d told herself that this was enough, that she never wanted to fall prey to passion again. Now, placing her hand in Mr. Lowell’s, she realized she’d been wrong.

  His fingers closed around hers, and Viola’s breath caught.

  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try tomorrow,” he murmured, his silky voice following her up into the carriage, instilling in her a sense of excitement, the likes of which she’d never experienced before. This was a game, she realized—a very complicated one in which the players would either surrender or walk away unfulfilled. It occurred to her that they’d been playing it for a while already, ever since he’d woken up at St. Agatha’s Hospital after undergoing surgery, and she’d been the nurse who’d tended to him.

  Climbing into the carriage, he shut the door, lowered himself to the opposite bench and knocked on the roof so the driver would know they were ready. Lounging against the corner directly across from where she sat, he stretched his legs out at an angle. His large body shrank the interior and made her feel smaller than usual.

  “Will you tell me what’s really between you and Robert?”

  In spite of his
leisurely tone, a chill curled around Viola’s spine and a knot formed in her throat as her eyes began to sting. Of all the things they might discuss on their way to The Red Rose, this was the one that appealed the least. And yet, Mr. Lowell’s searching gaze was inviting her to be honest. He cared about her answer, and as upsetting as she feared it might be to him, she knew it would be a mistake not to tell him the truth when he was so boldly asking to hear it.

  “I made a terrible mistake where Robert was concerned,” she quietly murmured. The knot in her throat tightened. Blinking rapidly, she tried to stop the tears from falling, but it was pointless. They spilled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her cheeks. “He was such a fixed part of my life growing up. Whenever my father and I would visit Peter, Robert was there, except when he was away at Eton and later at university.” When Henry said nothing, she continued as if her voice was detached from her body. “In the years that followed, I grew up, from a girl into a young woman. And then my father died and the world as I knew it crumbled around me. But Robert was there. He acted as though he cared, as though I mattered to him, and I gradually fancied myself in love with him, even though I have later realized it wasn’t love at all, but merely a childish infatuation.”

  “How young were you when you realized you’d developed a tendre for him?”

  “Sixteen.” She dropped her gaze to her lap as she thought back to who she’d once been. “When I asked him if he loved me in return, he told me he did.” An indelicate sob tore its way past her lips, embarrassing her so completely she wished she could flee. But that was not an option. Not when she was confined to a carriage and not when she had to face this and put it to rest. “It’s the reason why he so easily manipulated me into doing what I did, because he told me that’s how men and women prove their affection for one another. He said, ‘If you love me like you say you do, you’ll enjoy this.’ And then he . . .” She laughed as if the world was coming apart at the seams, with raw despair and anguish. “He hurt me, but I told myself over and over again that this was the price to pay in order to win him.”

  “Jesus, Viola.”

  “When it was over,” she gasped, her body shaking in the aftermath of her revelation, “he told me he’d had better. And then he walked away and left me.” She drew a deep breath and held it, counted to three and quietly exhaled. “That’s when I realized that every kindness he’d shown me had been a trick—a deliberate effort to use my vulnerability against me. Later that day, I learned that he was engaged to Lady Beatrice. It wasn’t until I married Peter that I discovered he’d been made aware of what Robert had done to me. I’m not sure how he found out, but I do know it’s why he sent Robert away, and I also suspect it’s the reason he left as much as he could to me instead of to his son.”

  “I hardly know what to say.”

  Viola winced. “I expected as much.” She swiped at her eyes.

  “No.” He was suddenly beside her, enfolding her fingers with his. “You misunderstand me.” Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. “I don’t know what to say because I’m afraid I will frighten you with my anger, not at you but at him, Viola. He wronged you most grievously, took advantage of a girl who was barely more than a child. He used your love for him as a weapon to make you submit and to steal from you in the worst possible way.”

  “So you . . . you do not resent me for what I allowed him to do?” She could scarcely believe it.

  Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. “You are still the kind, generous woman I know and you did what you did because your heart was pure—because you believed the best of a man who wasn’t to be trusted.” He kissed the top of her head while she pressed her face to his chest, taking comfort in the wonderfully familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot.

  “Over the years, I have realized how lonely I was back then. My beloved father was gone, Peter was old and I had little company besides Robert. I suppose what I really wanted was proof that I mattered.” She tilted her head back and looked up into his steady gaze. “Instead I got the opposite.”

  “If only we’d known each other then, Viola. How different your life might have been if I’d been there to give you the love and protection you needed.” His throat worked as if he was having some trouble getting the words out. “But I’m here now, and I am not leaving your side.”

  She scarcely knew what to say besides “Thank you.” But that seemed so insufficient when compared to his kindness and support. So she chose to say nothing at all and just hold him as he held her while savoring the comfort of his embrace.

  He released her before she was ready. But rather than return to his side of the carriage, he stayed beside her, simply holding her hand.

  A companionable silence filled the carriage until Mr. Lowell suddenly asked, “Who’s your favorite poet?”

  Viola blinked, momentarily thrown off balance, but then she gathered her wits and said, “To be honest, I’ve never really enjoyed poetry. I prefer a good novel—a story with an exciting plot and compelling characters.”

  “Why?” He sounded genuinely curious.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose I like all the wonderful experiences available to me in a pile of bound paper.”

  Allowing herself to look at him, she found his eyes illuminated with equal parts curiosity and wonder. When he spoke again, it was with the utmost softness. “Then allow me to ask a different question.” The edge of his mouth lifted. “Who is your favorite author?”

  “Jane Austen, but I also enjoy the occasional Daniel Defoe and Henry Fielding.”

  “I think Jane Austen matches your personality best.” His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together before adding, “There’s softness inside you and playfulness too. You seek to help people, which means you have tremendous kindness and love in your heart. I can see you reading something romantically uplifting with a touch of wit.”

  His smile settled more firmly into place. “Which of her novels do you favor?”

  Heat warmed her cheeks as she gazed back into his eyes. “I would have to say Mansfield Park.”

  “Of course.” There was no doubt in his mind that she would identify with Fanny Price and her ability to rise above her inferior birth. “It is a lovely story.”

  “You know it?”

  “Is that so shocking?” He could see that it was because of the charming way her bottom lip dipped in the middle and the inquisitiveness with which her brow rose. “I have also read Emma, Pride and Prejudice and Northanger Abbey.”

  Expelling a breath, Viola sank back against the squabs. “I confess I would not have thought it.”

  “Because I’m a man?”

  Her mouth hitched a little at one corner and her eyelids lowered ever so slightly. It was enough to convey some small measure of discomfort. “I suppose so.”

  He grinned, pleased by her honesty. “That’s fairly biased in light of your own involvement with medicine, a field dominated entirely by men.” The carriage turned a corner and slowed. “Not that I disapprove,” he said when he saw she was getting ready to argue, “for indeed I believe what you have done and what you continue to do is really quite splendid.”

  The carriage halted and Henry opened the door, alighting in one swift movement so he could offer Viola his assistance. She placed her hand carefully in his, sparking a flame where both their palms met.

  “You have a peculiar interest in curiosities, Mr. Lowell.” Her gaze met his, and he saw in the depths of her eyes a desperate need to be understood and accepted for who she was. “Am I like your automaton? An oddity for you to marvel at? Is that the reason for your sudden interest in me?”

  “No.” He knew he had to tell her the truth even if she wouldn’t believe it. “You are someone I greatly admire, a woman whose company I do not take for granted but seek because you are more than most people aspire to be.”

  She stared at him, her hand still resting in his. And then she licked her lips and Henry applauded his restraint, since every cell in h
is body now screamed for him to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  “I had advantages, first because of my father’s profession and then by meeting Florian. His open-mindedness has allowed me to involve myself in St. Agatha in a way no other physician would.”

  Henry released her hand and offered his arm so he could lead her inside The Red Rose and toward his office. “You said you helped him extract the lead ball from my shoulder. Does he also allow you to operate on your own?”

  “Sometimes, with his supervision and when no one else is there to see. But mostly I assist him and finish up with the sutures.” She suddenly smiled. “He says mine are neater.”

  Henry’s chest tightened. Although his brother was now happily married and had never implied he’d been involved with Viola, he had to ask, “Is there any truth to the rumors about you two?”

  Having arrived in his office, Henry gestured toward a chair and crossed to the sideboard.

  “You mean the ones about us being lovers?” She gave him a look that seemed to say he was cracked in the head for asking. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It is common knowledge that you have a close working relationship, and with you being a widow, it would not have been a preposterous idea while Florian was still a bachelor.”

  She laughed quite suddenly and shook her head. “Why on earth would your brother have an affair with me when he could have had any woman he wished for? It makes no sense.”

  Her inability to see her own beauty was heartbreaking. Knowing that altering her perception would not be accomplished in the space of five minutes or even in a day, he gestured toward the selection of decanters he kept at the ready. “Do you prefer brandy, sherry or claret?”

  “Sherry, please.”

  He handed it to her while reveling in the knowledge that she and his brother had never been intimate.