“That bastard! I’ll kill him.”
Startled by the violence of his reaction, she came to her feet holding up both hands. “No! Please! You don’t understand. Charlie was upset that’s all. He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d never hurt me intentionally.”
“The bruises on your arms say otherwise.”
“I told you, it was an accident.”
His tone turned sharp. “Why are you so quick to defend him?”
“He’s my friend.” She walked to the bed. “You wouldn’t understand.” She turned down the covers, hoping he’d get the hint. It was too late for lengthy explanations. All she wanted to do was sleep.
“I hate to be the one to tell you, but your loyalties are sadly misplaced.” Hunter let go a mirthless laugh. “He may have been your protector once but he isn’t anymore.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that Charlie had never been her protector—if anything she had protected Charlie, but he was already striding for the door.
When the door closed behind him, she let her ruby gown slide to the floor. Tomorrow, when he’d had time to cool down, she’d bargain for a reduced sentence with the information she’d wheedled out of Herrington. Perhaps then she’d finally get some of her own questions answered—like what was in that cursed letter Charlie was looking for.
***
Kay froze in the doorway of the dining room, brought up short by the sight of Hunter’s American friend.
He rose from the table where he’d been tucking into a plate of eggs and sausage. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning.” She smiled back at him, reluctantly charmed by his infectious goodwill. He looked quite the gentleman in his finely cut blue frock coat and grey waistcoat, but past experience had marked him much the rogue. She couldn’t help but feel a tad wary. “Do you know of the whereabouts of my husband by any chance?”
“He’s down at the docks, haggling with a buyer. The poor fellow already had the look of a beaten man.” Alex laughed. “By the time he’s done, Hunter will have him coughing up double the price for those Persian rugs. I wanted to stay and watch, but hunger got the better of me.” He indicated with one hand the full plate before him. “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
“No. You’re most welcome, Mr. MacIntosh.”
“Alex.”
“Very well, Alex.” Kay walked to the sideboard to begin filling her plate, all the while uncomfortably aware of his attention behind her. She wondered as she lifted the lids of the silver dishes what he knew of their hasty marriage—of the whole intriguing mess she was in.
As Hunter’s closest friend, and having been with him in Paris, she assumed he knew her situation better than anyone. But, like the Duke’s right arm, she dare not trust him. When she joined him at the table, to avoid any embarrassing questions, she decided to ask a few of her own. “How long have you known my husband?”
He set his linen napkin down on the table beside his silver-rimmed plate, then leaned back in his chair. “Since he saved my life.”
Her fork stilled in midair. “Ohh? I assumed you fought on opposite sides during the war?”
His tone darkened. “We met on the British ship I was pressed into service on.”
Her startled gaze met his across the table. “I remember my uncles discussing it at the time. They were strongly opposed to the practice. I understand the Americans were treated abominably, half starved, whipped for the slightest offence.” She stopped, then coved her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Many people were opposed to it, but that didn’t stop the British navy from following the practice.” A shadow of bitterness passed over his handsome face then disappeared. “Hunter was one of the few people who had the guts to stand up for his convictions. He couldn’t stop what was happening, since his captain deemed it just and British law supported it, but he turned a blind eye to our escape. I owe him my life. It’s not something I’ll ever forget.”
This was a new side of her husband she hadn’t expected. “I’m happy someone has benefited from his strong convictions.”
He smiled. “He’s a hard man if crossed. But his heart is in the right place.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She could not keep the dryness from her tone. “I haven’t seen his heart.”
“Galloway should never have tried to trap him into marrying his daughter. Hunter isn’t the kind of man you force into doing anything.” Alex voice oozed distain. “I’m only sorry you had to be dragged into it. If it’s any consolation, I advised him against it.”
“It isn’t.”
He grinned. “No, I don’t suppose it would be. He wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures if Hartley hadn’t died so suspiciously. Hartley was his alibi in this whole mess and when he ended up dead, well, let’s just say it didn’t look good for the Galloways.”
Kay wanted to ask more.
But he rose from the table with an apologetic smile. “If you’ll excuse me I promised to look over some contracts Hunter left for me in his study.”
Kay watched him leave with a mixture of regret and relief. She sipped her tea thoughtfully. What had he meant when he said Lord Galloway had tried to trap Hunter into marrying Phelia? Had Phelia concocted the entire scandal to catch herself a Duke? It seemed a little extreme even by her standards—but not impossible. Fabian and Fergus certainly believed it was true or they wouldn’t have consented to her marrying him.
If it were true, Hunter had good reason to hate the Galloways, especially if it had caused the estrangement between him and his father.
But, it didn’t excuse his ruthless behavior toward her. It might explain it, but it didn’t excuse it. Guilt by association was hardly a logical conclusion, and being the victim of such reasoning, she wasn’t willing to forgive and forget his actions just because he’d earned Alex’s undying respect.
When Hunter returned, he closeted himself in the study with Alex.
Kay was forced to postpone the negotiation of her sentence. She prowled around the house, going over her strategy.
In the afternoon, her gowns arrived from the dressmakers. She and Cora spent the remainder of the day examining them.
Cora gasped with delight as each box was opened, chattering excitedly, running her hands over the rich silks and satins. It was a bitter sweet task for Kay since Hunter had insisted on purchasing all of her clothing. Beautiful or not, they would have to be left behind.
When the gowns were safely tucked away in the wardrobes, she sent Cora downstairs to see if the Duke had emerged from his study. Cora returned directly to inform her he’d taken himself off to his club.
“Rot!”
Would the suspense never end?
She was this close to reducing her misery and he’d slipped off to carouse with a friend. If not for the humiliation, she had a mind to storm through the doors of their male sanctuary and demand he listen to what she had to say.
Instead, she was forced to wait.
She ate an early supper on a tray in her room, then took a leisurely bath, letting the hot scented water ease some of her tension. Still, she felt like a bullfrog adrift on a lily pad.
By the time the clock by her bedside struck twelve, she’d resigned herself that nothing could be accomplished on that day.
She was just drifting off to sleep when the uproarious muffled laughter of Hunter and Alex in the hall had her grinding her teeth.
Feckless rogues!
Had they no consideration?
Still, out of curiosity, she listened to their drunken horseplay. She’d never heard Hunter laugh with such abandon. It was hard to imagine what was taking place beyond the door of her bedchamber to inspire such hilarity.
When she heard a loud thump against the wall, she waited for the crash that would follow. When none came, she sank back down beneath the covers.
She rolled under the quilts with a huff, hoping her husband wasn’t too under the weather come morn.
She intended to strike a bargain for her early release whether his head was over a basin or not.
Chapter Seventeen
Kay gave a firm knock on the study door. It was well past noon. She assumed her husband had recovered sufficiently from his night of debauchery to spare her an audience.
“Come,” he commanded.
She sailed into the room with a confident lift of her chin.
He raised his head from the papers strewn before him on the massive rosewood desk. After giving her a fleeting glance, he returned his attention to the documents before him.
Her hands squeezed into tight fists. She had the over-whelming urge to tap her slippered toe on the polished wood floor. She might have been invisible for all the attention he paid her. He regarded her no more than the sober green wallpaper adorning the walls or the dark paneling beneath it. The care she’d taken in choosing the bishop blue gown now seemed pointless.
Her words came out sharper than she intended. “Well, are you or are you not interested in my interview with Lord Herrington?”
“Have a seat, Kay.” He offered an absent wave. “I’ll be right with you.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to stand. This may not take very long, as what I have to say will depend on what you have to offer.”
He replaced the quill in the inkwell. Then, very slowly and casually he leaned back in his chair. A wry smile hovered over his lips. “You could be right. What I learned last night is enough to convince me Herrington is up to his neck in it.”
Kay could barely control her disappointment. “Does that mean you’re not interested?”
“I’m not saying I’m not interesting. I’m saying, I may already know what you have to tell me.”
“Very well.” With a cool toss of her head, she headed for the door. She had done her part in good faith and now having completed the task, he’d casually rejected her efforts. The man was unconscionable—aggravating to the extreme. If he wasn’t willing to bargain then she’d be damned if she’d breath a word of what she’d learned.
The next thing she knew he was in front of her with his hand on the door. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what it’s worth to me.”
She folded her arms across her heaving bosom. “Very clever, but as you’re aware, I grew up in a household of gamblers. It isn’t wise to show your cards until the money’s on the table.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Tell me what you found out last night,” she said as sweet as honey, “And, I’ll tell you if I have anything of value to add.”
“I’m not certain you’ll want to hear it.” He tilted his head to one side. “It’s a bit raw for your tender ears.”
Gad! He sounded like her uncles. “My tender ears, as you put them, can handle more than you give them credit for. If they begin to smoke and draw flame, I shall clap my hands over them to put out the fire.”
“Very well, have a seat.”
Kay took the chair across from him at the desk, then folded her hands in her lap expectantly.
“Your friend Charlie was rather loose-lipped after our little talk.”
“What do you mean?” She came more upright in the chair. “What little talk? You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
Hunter’s tone turned dry. “He was walking on his own two legs when I left him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’ll live.” She opened her mouth to question him further, but he cut her off. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
She bristled at his arrogance, but managed to remain silent.
“Good. Charlie Galloway confirmed that Herrington was charged with the collection and safe return of the British prisoners after Waterloo. Phelia’s husband, Hughes, has apparently spoken of it often.”
“And you suspect Lord Herrington had something to do with Captain Hartley’s death?”
“I suspect anyone connected with the Galloways.”
She didn’t miss the contempt behind his words. She didn’t know why it should bother her, but it did. At some point she’d gone from not caring what he thought, to feeling a painful stab of regret each time he turned his scornful gaze on her.
But what did it matter. Soon she’d never have to see him again. She dared not let him know that she cared one way or the other. It would only give him satisfaction.
She leveled a cool stare on him. “Herrington doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would follow blindly. I’ve always found him to be quite determined and single-minded in his approach to people, and yet caring as well. He spoke very lovingly of his sister.”
“There’s no telling what one friend will do for another.” His golden gaze roved over her as thought sizing her up. “Hughes and he were very close, as close as two men get fighting side by side in battle. You have to depend on each other in a situation like that. It’s a matter of survival. Soldiers don’t question their commanding officers. They do what they’re bid.”
“But murder…”
“Neglect would have been enough to kill him.” Hunter’s features turned grim. “Hartley was badly wounded when he was captured. He’d been lying on the battlefield for hours with a nasty gash in his leg. He’d lost a great deal of blood. After being passed over for dead by both sides many times, finally a French officer prodded him with his baronet.”
“How horrid!”
Hunter lifted one dark brow. “Shall I go on, or is this where you clap your hands over your ears and run for cover?”
She drew herself up in the chair, ignoring his superior tone. “If he was so badly wounded, why do you suspect he was murdered? It seems reasonable he died from his injuries.”
“The French officer I spoke to in Vienna, in charge of the prisoners, didn’t believe his wounds to be fatal. He swears Hartley was alive when they turned him over to the British.”
“And the British claim he wasn’t.” Kay shrugged, failing to see anything sinister in that. “It sounds to me like no one wants to take the blame for his death. Why can’t it be that simple?”
Hunter rose from his chair to prowl restlessly to the window behind his desk. Running his hand through his hair he said roughly, “Because it’s too damn simple. If Hartley died as a result of his wounds, why didn’t they just say so?” He shook his head. “No. They’re covering something up. There’s a reason why neither side wants to take responsibility for his death. Either the French or the British are lying. And since the French have no reason to lie, my money’s on the British.” He turned from the window, piercing her with his gold flecked gaze. “And, as you know, the Galloways had much to gain from his death.”
Kay answered in slow measured tones, as though she were speaking to an imbecile. “No, I do not. If I did, I wouldn’t have spent so much time at Lady Carlisle’s trying to wheedle information out of Lord Herrington while his eyes stripped me naked.” She rose from her chair so abruptly it nearly toppled over, but in her agitation barely noticed. “But I can see you don’t believe me—will never believe me!” Her eyes misted over and her throat closed so tight it took a great effort to force words past her lips. “I thought after all that had happened… after…never mind.” She drew herself up with a shuddering breath, then turned to leave.
“After what?” He laughed harshly “After I made love to you, you thought I’d believe every word you said? Grow up Kay!” When she turned back his lips had twisted into a cynical smile. “Do you really think me that gullible? Phelia certainly did. She hoped by smearing my reputation, I’d have no choice but to marry her. But in the end, she was left scrambling to save her own good name. You see, she wasn’t the innocent she claimed to be. Hartley wasn’t the only one she’d taken to bed. He was just the only one I could track down who would name her as the lying whore she is.”
“I’m not Phelia,” Kay whispered brokenly.
“No.” A look of hurt past over his features. “But it’s clear where your loyalties lie. Even after Galloway’s rough tr
eatment you defend him. Your devotion to him and his family is clear. No magnanimous virgin sacrifice can make up for that.”
She stared back at him for a long moment, her throat too constricted to speak. Then abruptly she turned to leave, but not before she’d flashed him a look that made him flinch. It was all she could do to blink back the tears as she rushed up the stairs to her bedchamber. She thought she heard him call her name, but she paid no heed.
When she arrived, she bolted the door. But there was no bolt on the adjoining door, so she carried the chair from her dressing table and wedged it under the knob. He’d have to break down the door before she’d ever speak with him again. In fact, she wished she’d never have to.
It gave her some small sense of satisfaction that she possessed information he needed. But she wouldn’t help him now if he got down on his knees and begged.
She spent the rest of the day prowling her bedchamber, cursing everything about him. She hoped he was burning with curiosity—wondering what piece of the puzzle she might have provided. She hoped he tossed and turned all night thinking about it! It was more than he deserved.
When Lily knocked on the door to announce dinner, Kay informed her she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t need her for the rest of the night. She yearned for a hot soak in the tub, but couldn’t risk the Duke slipping in with the bath water. She needed time to think—time to find a way out of this gilded cage before she went stark raving mad!
***
Kay stared back at the calm stranger in the looking glass. She knew what she needed to do. Escaping him was her only choice, if she wished to salvage what sanity she had left.
She needed to return to the country, where she could be herself—restore her spirits and lose her troubles in the rush of the ocean and endless white sand. At least at the manor, she’d be close to Butterfield Hall and her horses. She hated London with all its pretense and stifling hypocrisy. Most of all, she hated playing the loving wife to a husband who secretly despised her.
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