by Gill, Tamara
“And the ginger biscuits? How do they factor into all of this? Is there yet another secret you are keeping?" Evie asked, meeting her gaze.
Molly instinctively reached to cradle her stomach and the new little life that she grew there. A child made with love who would now grow up never knowing his or her father. Molly could only pray that it was a girl. To deliver an heir to the St. Albans line before she was certain their marriage was legitimate would be a disaster. After their cold parting, his declarations of love and affection toward her must not have been as sincere as she thought. There would be no second marriage to legitimize their union, even if she had wanted one, which she did not.
"The doctor has told me I'm enceinte. There are only a few weeks left of the Season, and I'm not showing a great deal. I do not think anyone will notice." Molly glanced down at her stomach, the small little bump hidden mostly from the material of her gown.
"Now that I know, I can tell, but the biscuits gave you away, my dear. Even so, you were married, and there is no shame in you having a baby by the duke. You must take up your position in the St. Albans townhouse with the belief that the marriage is legitimate. Your child will need to grow up in the homes he or she will inherit."
"I cannot go there. I would feel like a hypocrite. My family would never speak to me again should I take up residence there. In the home that has caused my family so much pain." Another tear slid free, and she dabbed at it with the back of her hand, annoyed she found herself in such a position. Her trip to Rome had been going so well, she had adored every minute exploring the country. For all of it to come to a dreadful end wasn't to be borne. The blow of leaving Rome was bad enough, nevertheless having to face the fact the man that she loved with all her heart had ripped hers from her chest and seemed perfectly content to let her leave without a by your leave.
How could he have let her go so easily?
"You must and soon." Evie paused, pursing her lips. "Has there been any communication from the duke or his steward regarding your position in society now?"
"His steward came here only a few days ago, notifying me that I may move into the St. Albans townhouse whenever I wish. No news from Hugh, however, but that does not surprise me."
"Why ever not? If you were my wife, I would move heaven and earth to be by your side. To try to win you back."
Molly lifted her lips into a semblance of a smile at her dear friend’s words. She sat next to her again, reaching over to take her hand. "I know you would, but you love me as much as I love you. Hugh obviously does not love me as much as I thought he did."
"How could he not? You're the most perfect person I know."
Molly nodded, wishing that were true. If she had been more perfect, she would not have married the enemy. Or taken part in a fictional marriage either. What a fool she was. "There are too many things between us to make our union work, no matter how much I enjoyed his company."
"You enjoyed more than his company. I can see it in your eyes that you were in love with him. You miss him, do you not?"
Evie had always been able to read Molly better than any of their other friends. Molly was closest to Evie within their friendship group, but she did wish she could not pick up on such nuances. The thought of not seeing Hugh again left a crater in her chest where her heart once beat.
For the small amount of time that they were together, she'd fallen in love with her husband. Had given in to his every wish, his every whim. One look from his piercing gaze, banked with a fire and need made her biddable and willing.
For the rest of her life, she would be without him, unable to hear his voice or his touch. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. There was a reason why, of course, that she had to remove herself from his life. He was a seducer of innocent women. A man who ruined the life of her cousin. She could not simply sweep the past away that had affected so much of her upbringing, simply because she loved him. She loved the man she thought he was, not the man who he actually was. Had she known he was the Duke of St. Albans’ younger brother, she would never have stayed at his Roman villa. Never have given him the time to get to know her.
"When is Ava coming to town? I need to speak to her. She cannot possibly know that the villa they offered to me while in Rome was Lord Farley's. Surely the duke would not have thrown me into the path of a man shadowed by a terrible scandal."
"Ava and Tate are not due in town for another week. They're holding a ball Thursday next. You should have to wait until then to speak to her, I should imagine."
Molly chewed her lip, thinking. "I suppose I should have to, but it does seem odd, does it not? I'm one of their closest friends. Surely they would not put me in such a difficult position."
"Did they know Miss Cox was your cousin?" Evie asked.
"No," she admitted. "No one knows that we were related, but they must have known that Hugh was involved. Unless they, too, do not believe the duke's brother and mother who accused him of the crime. They would not be so foolhardy, do you think?"
Evie picked up her tea and took a sip. "We shall not know the truth until they return, and I do not want you fussing over the answer to that question until you know the truth. Ava would never intentionally hurt you. I believe there is a simple explanation to your dilemma."
Molly hoped it was so. She slumped back into the settee's soft velvet, not quite believing that her life which had been going so perfectly well was now a complete mess.
"I shall talk to her at the ball, you're right. Until then, I will try to forget about everything."
"I think that is best, my dear. Now, tell me of the sights of Rome and the continent. I want to know everything."
Chapter 13
Molly had kept busy over the days leading up to the Duke and Duchess of Whitstone's ball by ordering a new gown and writing letters to her parents, aunt, and uncle, inviting them to London to stay with her.
If anyone had information regarding Laura and what happened that fateful Season, it was her aunt Jossalin. Surely they knew the truth or at least could help her in finding out what had occurred instead of hearsay.
She was not looking forward to explaining her actions, of how her marriage to the Duke of St. Albans had come about or how much she'd loved him. Molly could well understand how her cousin had fallen for such sweet words and exquisite touches that Hugh could bestow for she had crumbled like a biscuit under his touch. Blotting the missive, she stared down at the parchment and prayed that her family would understand she had been blind to his past. That they would forgive her.
It never occurred to Molly that the one man who made her blood sing would be the very one they had cursed to the devil years ago. The very thought of confronting her aunt with her mistake made her stomach churn.
Later that evening was her first foray into London society. Evie and her husband, the Duke of Carlisle, had picked her up in their carriage, and it had taken minutes only to pull up before the Duke and Duchess of Whitstone's grand London townhouse.
The moment her name was announced, the room abuzz with conversation, music, and laughter noticeably quietened. Molly clasped her fan tighter, cooling her skin to stem from the never-ending sickness that ailed her. She raised her chin, not willing for any of them to look down at her or judge her choice.
Molly reminded herself they did not know that she was Laura's cousin, that the connection had thankfully never been made. It was only by chance that Lady Brandon had found out. She was certain no one else would know.
To imagine what they would think and say should they know the duke had married the cousin of the woman he ruined all those years ago sent a shudder of revulsion down her spine. The ton would then roar with ridicule, mock and criticize. She was not sure she could weather that storm as well.
"My darling, there is something that I need to speak to you about," Willow whispered to her as she joined them, pulling her toward where Hallie and Ava stood with their respective husbands.
Molly shot a look at Willow, not liking her taut tone. "What is i
t that you need to say? Is there something the matter?"
"There is news that you must know."
They came to stand before Ava and Hallie. She kissed them both in turn, greeting the dukes standing at their wives' backs, before turning toward the gathered throng. Willow worked her hands before her, glancing at the door. Hallie pulled her aside, and dread pooled in her stomach. "Willow, what is wrong?"
The hair on the back of her nape rose as the muttering of voices dimmed. The music fell as conversation quietened. Molly forgot her question to her friend and looked to see what had everyone so fascinated.
The booming voice of the major-domo bellowed out the name of the latest guest. "His Grace, the Duke of St. Albans."
Molly stilled, her body seized with panic. Hugh was in London. Willow clasped her hand, squeezing it a little. Molly searched him out in the crowded room, but she could not see him. Was it really Hugh? Was he back in London?
A small part of her mind screamed it was because he was here for her. That he'd come to repair their broken marriage, but there was little he could do. The past, no matter how many apologies one gave out, could not change what had occurred.
Unless he is innocent of the crime.
Molly pushed the unhelpful thought aside. He was guilty, had fled London to escape the ton's censure. No one innocent acted in such a way.
"That is what I wanted to tell you. Your husband has arrived in London, and from what I heard from Abe, he was at Whites Gentleman's club today with the Duke of Whitstone. His Grace was overheard telling Whitstone he was in town to win back his wife."
Oh, dear Lord. Did that mean all of society knew that they had a falling out? It was no secret what his scandalous past incurred, and now they knew she had scurried back to England from Rome. She could only imagine what the ton was saying about them both behind closed doors.
Heat rose on her neck.
"You've gone very pale, my dear. Are you well?" Ava took her hand, patting it a little.
Thoughts of what the Duke of St. Albans and his family did to hers rushed back into her mind and made the room spin. Of her cousin who had been courted and promised things during her coming-out by Hugh. How all of those things had come to nothing, not after receiving what he wanted all along. Her innocence and nothing else.
"Ava, did you know Mr. Armstrong was Lord Farley when you saw me off to Rome?"
Her friend's brow furrowed, a grim look on her face. "I did not, no, my dear. Tate has explained his absence to me since your return, and I know my husband, Molly, he would not lie nor support a liar. He believes St. Albans to be telling the truth."
"Did he see Hugh's brother demand he take the fall for him?" To have been a witness would at least clear Hugh of that offense.
Ava shook her head. "No, he read the missive that was sent to Lord Farley from his family."
Hope bloomed in her heart that perhaps Hugh could prove his innocence after all. "Well then, Hugh just needs to show me that letter so I can see for myself what was asked of him. Not that it changes the fact he went along with such a heartbreaking ruse."
"I'm sorry, Molly, but you cannot. So enraged was Hugh by the demand, the letter was burned that very night. You will not be able to read it, my dear. I'm so sorry." Ava stepped back, joining her husband, who looked sheepish at best.
She swallowed her nerves at facing Hugh again. There was nothing he could say that could change what she thought of his conduct. But blast it all to hades, he looked dashing.
She watched, along with every other woman in the room, as the Roman god of sin strode across the ballroom floor. Gone were his tan breeches and cravet-less shirt that he often wore in Rome, and in its place was a man made for ogling. For pleasure and all wicked, delicious things. His eyes bored into her, never diverting to anyone else, and for the life of her, she could not look away. She ought to run, her mind certainly screamed to flee, but she could not. A small part of her wanted to hear what he had to say. How he would explain away his actions. He'd tried in Rome, and he had failed. He would fail again here.
"I'm so sorry, Molly. I can only imagine what you are feeling." Evie clasped her hand, standing beside her and facing down the duke like a knight going into battle.
"Oh dear," Evie whispered, the words rushing from her the closer he came. "He is a marvelous specimen."
Molly's breath hitched, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. She took a calming breath, needing to compose herself for the inevitable confrontation. She had not thought to see him again. Had thought he would stay in Rome as he said he would.
The Duke of Whitstone and Carlisle stepped in front of Molly and came to greet Hugh. Molly watched them, the genuine accord and friendship shone through all of their eyes. Betrayal coursed through her blood. How could they be friends with a man who had caused her family so much harm? Molly reminded herself that they did not know Laura was her cousin. A fact she would soon amend.
Worse still, how could she still love that very man?
Molly blinked back the burn of tears. She no longer loved him, to do so would be the veriest perfidy. The three dukes, the highest nobles of the realm before royalty, stood together, laughing and talking as if they had not spent the past ten years apart. All the while, Molly felt the scorch of Hugh's eyes on her. His gaze slid across her person, from her head to her toes and back again like a physical caress.
Her breasts felt heavy and large in her gown. With every breath, her bodice's silk rippled across her nipples that were already sensitive from the child she carried in her womb. She supposed she would have to tell him that she was enceinte. So many things they needed to discuss, to plan on how they would continue this marriage apart.
A shadow fell before her, and she took her attention off the dancers and met Hugh's stare head on. He picked up her gloved hand, never averting his attention before kissing her. "Duchess." The title slipped from his lips like a caress, a declaration of fact, and one from the measured tone of his voice he intended to keep as truth.
"Your Grace," she answered, glad that her voice didn't wobble like her knees beneath her gown. She dipped into a curtsy, allowing him to keep her hand in his as he came to stand beside her. Had he stopped her from leaving Rome, they could have had this conversation there, worked out the particulars of their union. But no, he had to choose the very first ball that she attended in London to have it out with her.
"I've missed you." The whisper of his words tickled her ear, and she fought not to shiver. How could she be tempted by such a man? A seducer of women, and one who would let them suffer the consequences of those erotic actions. "We need to talk." His hand shifted to wrap about her waist, his fingers taking a long time to settle on her hip.
"What if I do not want to talk to you?" Molly did not dare glance at him. To stare at such beauty would only end with her being blind to his actions. She needed more time to compose herself and prepare for their confrontation. They could not have it here, at the Whitstone's ball. That would never do.
The sounds of a waltz started to play, and couples hurried out onto the dancefloor. The duke clasped her hand, pulling her along with them. Molly followed, not wanting to make a scene. She smiled, looking to all the world as a woman who was gleefully happy her husband was going to dance with her. The truth could not be more opposed.
He swung her into his arms, too close for her comfort. Molly tried to step away, put a little space between them, but she may have been trying to shift a limb of a tree for all the good her actions did. "You're holding me too tight, Duke."
His wicked grin made her countenance slip, and she narrowed her eyes. He chuckled. "So much fire in your veins. I have missed you, my darling love."
Her heart gave a thump at his words. Damn him and his sweet endearments. His playing with her was cruel and unkind. "You can no longer call me your darling love. I am not."
One brow rose with a disbelieving air. "Are you certain, my darling love? I know that my feelings have not changed from the moment you abandoned me
in Rome."
"I did not abandon you, I left you perfectly capable of looking after yourself with your staff. Has your memory failed you so miserably that you cannot remember why I left in the first place?"
"Oh, I remember, and I'm in London to ensure you believe the truth, if not from my lips, then from those who know what really happened."
Molly shot a look at Hugh, a little glimmer of hope taking light inside her that there may be someone who knew what really happened. As much as she wished she could believe him, her family had thought Laura's lover was Hugh. Why would anyone lie about such a thing? Her aunt and uncle would never have made up such a falsehood.
The dance pulled them into a couple of tight turns, and his clutch increased, keeping her locked against his person. Her body purred in response as if it remembered what he made her feel, wanting more of the same. She could not give in to his seductive charms. Not without knowing the truth behind his banishment. What she needed to do was speak to her aunt and uncle.
"I have ordered your staff to pack your things to move into St. Albans London house. Your place is with me."
She huffed out a breath—the audacity of the man. "I will not be going anywhere with you. As far as I still understand, you ruined my cousin and left without a backward glance. Agreed to funds over honor. I'm surprised that you're here in London at all. When I left Rome, I had the distinct feeling that I knew what my cousin went through when you let her go without a fight."
"I never ruined your cousin. Why will you not believe me?" She swallowed, sensing his visage of an aloof, sanguine gentleman was slipping. "It was not me who laid one finger on your cousin. It was my brother." A muscle worked in his jaw, and he stared at her, hard. Frustration burned in his stormy gaze.
Molly wished she could believe him, wished she had not lived for years, knowing another tale. Somewhere between the start of their dance and their conversation, they had stopped dancing. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see other couples continued to waltz about them. "I'm sorry, Hugh, but I do not know whom to believe."