Not realizing Justin’s seesawing reactions to her resulted from the riotous emotions she’d evoked in him, keeping him equally off-balance, Aidan was certain he was up to some sort of underhanded trickery and decided to watch him carefully, lest she find herself permanently established in Bedlam!
Two days after the Staffords’ ball, Justin was called to Buckingham Palace for a private audience with the Queen. The instant the doors closed behind him, offering them privacy, Victoria let loose her royal tirade. “I had thought, Westover, that I’d made myself clear when I told you there would be no annulment. Divorce is even more distasteful to me! I will have nothing to do with anyone who is even remotely connected with the word. Let it be known, here and now, if you continue to pursue this ridiculous notion about dissolving your marriage, I shall do everything in my power to strip you of all you have! Is that clear?”
“It is, Your Majesty,” he said, inclining his head.
“Good. Now go home and start a family. The reward you will receive from such will be greater than anything you’ve ever known.”
“As you wish, madam.” Justin offered her one of his notably devastating smiles, then bowed and strode from the room. Strangely, he felt no anger over the episode. His resulting temper, however, was over how he should break the news to Aidan.
Justin had just stepped through his front door, his mind on Her Majesty’s words, when Aidan came sweeping down the steps toward him. “I’m going to the races with David and Eugenia,” she announced, pulling on her gloves. “Afterward I plan to share a private supper with them.”
“What, no balls to attend tonight?” he asked sarcastically, tossing his hat and gloves onto the table near the door. “Perhaps we should entertain having one ourselves. That way, you shall be kept busy and your boredom will be appeased.”
For some reason the prospect of having a ball here at Westover House excited Aidan. “Do you really think we could?” she asked, a smile lighting her face. “There is so much to do. I can’t imagine where I’d begin. Perhaps Eugenia—”
“It’s too late in the season to even attempt such an enormous undertaking,” Justin stated in irritation. “Begin making your plans for next year.”
“Next year? I don’t plan on being here then,” she retorted, certain they’d no longer be married. Abruptly she wondered if there had been any progress along those lines. “Has any headway been made toward our divorce?”
“I’m working on it, madam!” he snapped, a dark scowl marking his face. “Now, good day.”
Aidan watched as he marched up the stairs and across the hall; the door to his study slammed shut with a loud bang. Reviewing the peculiar scene which had just taken place, she thought her husband’s temperament more dangerous than that of an injured boar.
Over the ensuing week, Aidan went about leading her separate life, attending the numerous parties and balls that were scattered throughout London. She hardly ever saw Justin, which was just as well, for when they did encounter each other, his greeting was surly. Not being one to hold her tongue, she found herself to be equally ugly in her exchange of words with him. A dour mood had settled over Westover House, and Aidan was determined to keep herself from within its sullen walls as much as possible.
While Aidan set herself to enjoying her numerous social engagements—not so much that she relished the company of her peers, for she still thought them a stuffy lot, but mainly that the constant activity seemed to relieve some of the tension which had again coiled inside her—she impishly discovered that she rather liked being called “Your Grace.” Those who were the most critical of her actions while she was simply Lady Aidan Prescott were now the most supportive since she’d become the Duchess of Westover. In their eyes, she could do no wrong!
Of course, Aidan instantly saw through their artifices, knowing it was not her friendship they sought, but that of her husband. No doubt they believed, through her, the Duke of Westover could somehow give them a higher standing in society or pad their paltry purses. Whatever their reasoning, Aidan played the part, always being most gracious to them all in public, while giggling with Eugenia in private over their blatant hypocrisy.
“I cannot believe they think I’m swallowing all this,” she would say. Whereupon Eugenia would reply, “I suppose it’s because they have yet to see you choke!” Then they would fall into the giggles, David’s confused expression fueling their laughter.
Fortunately she saw George only twice. Both times, when he approached her, she was seated with a group of people, so his greeting was quite formal, their conversation polite. Once he requested a dance, but Aidan begged off, pleading a slight headache. Although her dance card was nearly full, she told each of her partners the same story, not wishing to hurt George’s feelings any more than she already had.
As the days passed, she became much braver in her escapades, temporarily forgetting her husband’s warning about being on her best behavior. A fast horse race across Hyde Park, where Aidan had been declared the winner, garnering her a hefty purse; large wagers placed on thoroughbreds, simply because she liked their names or the color of their coats, whereupon the nags would win the race; and shinnying up a large tree in her skirts to replace a small bird in its nest, which would have once drawn raised eyebrows, but now drew applause—all this came filtering back to the Duke of Westover’s ears. While at White’s or at a local coffeehouse—even in the House of Lords!—he would listen to the tales, smiling at his wife’s antics, but seething inside, for he was being made a laughingstock. It was in that most noble House that Justin’s patience finally snapped.
“I see you’re having as much luck with her as I did,” Alastair Prescott said, coming up behind Justin after the quorum had adjourned for the day. He chuckled. “I had thought you could control her. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
Justin turned steely eyes on the man. “Since I didn’t ask for the problem which you’ve settled on me, I see no reason why I should be the one to correct the flaws in her upbringing.”
“Coward, Westover?” Alastair needled, again chuckling. “Perhaps you’re not man enough to take her on?”
“Obviously, sir, you were not man enough to mold her into a proper lady in the first place. If you’re so worried over her antics, I suggest you have a word with her.”
“She won’t speak to me,” Alastair conceded. “She’s still angry over your sudden elopement.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Justin replied sarcastically.
“You seem rather testy yourself. A bit of advice, son,” Alastair said, placing his hand on Justin’s shoulder, leaning his head toward his son-in-law as though sharing a confidence. “Get her with child and she’ll quickly settle down. Who knows? The act in itself might help soothe your jangled nerves and put a smile on your dour-looking face. It’s worth a try.”
Before a startled Justin could reply, the Duke of Atwood retreated, calling out to another member of the peerage, intent on making conversation. But as Justin brooded over Atwood’s words, he began to see the sense of them. The facts, as he saw them, were thus: he’d been saddled with a bride and had every right to lay claim to her; as the Duke of Westover, he had need of an heir; and as a husband, he had to somehow stop his wife from making a complete fool of him! What better way to solve his dilemma than to seduce her and get her pregnant?
With his solution in mind, Justin quit the walls of Parliament and set off to find his errant bride.
Justin cursed his luck and strode into his study. Not only had Potts neglected to show with the carriage, but Aidan was again gone from the house. He poured himself a brandy, settled back in his chair, and loosened his cravat. No sooner had he raised the glass to his lips, his thoughts on his missing wife, than Pitkin appeared in the doorway.
“Sir, there’s a Mr. Riley here to see you. He says it’s most urgent. He’s a local jeweler and thinks you might be interested in a ring he has.”
“A ring?” Justin questioned, annoyed over the disturbance. “I have enough rings, Pitk
in. Tell him I’m not interested in acquiring another.”
“As you wish, Your Grace. But I believe he said something about your ducal crest being inscribed on the one he wanted to show you.”
His curiosity piqued, Justin sat forward in his chair. “My crest?”
“Yes, sir, your crest.”
“Send this Mr. Riley up, Pitkin.” As Justin waited, his father-in-law’s chiding words rolled through his head. Again he wondered where Aidan might be, then became even more annoyed by her absence. No doubt, he decided, she was shinnying up another tree! He noted a movement at the door and rose from his seat. “Enter, Mr. Riley. My man tells me you’re interested in showing me a ring.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” the jeweler said, stopping a few paces from Justin. “I’m very interested in doing so, and I think you might be equally interested in seeing it.” The portly man withdrew the circlet from his pocket. “I’m not certain, but I believe this might be yours. At least, the inscribed crest indicates as much.”
The heavy gold ring settled onto Justin’s palm. Its ruby flashed in his suddenly steely eyes. “You’re correct, sir,” he said between clenched teeth. “Precisely how did you get this?”
“My clerk acquired it several weeks ago when a young woman brought it in and asked for a loan against it. Had I not been out of London, I would have questioned her on how she’d come to have it in her possession. But, unfortunately, that was not the case. When I finally returned and looked it over, I saw the crest. Thinking it might have been stolen, I brought it straight to you.”
“By chance, did your clerk give you a description of this woman?”
“He did, sir. He described her as being about so high.” The jeweler’s hand stood several inches above five feet from the floor. “She was very appealing to look upon, and he said she had violet eyes.” A red hue had inched up over the duke’s face beneath his bronzed complexion, and the jeweler thought the man was about to explode; he stepped back a pace. “Do you know this woman, Your Grace?”
Hard gray eyes pierced the jeweler. “I do.”
“Then it wasn’t stolen?”
“That depends on how one looks at it,” Justin snapped. “How much does this woman owe you?” The jeweler promptly named the figure, and Justin strode to his desk. Taking the amount from inside a metal box, which sat in a lower drawer, he gave the large bills to the jeweler, plus one extra for good measure. “I’m most appreciative, sir, of your astuteness. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“It is I who must thank you, Your Grace,” Mr. Riley stated, eyeing the gratuity he’d received while Justin ushered him toward the door. “If I can ever be of further service to you, please don’t hesitate to call.” He handed the duke one of his cards just as he was urged into the hallway; the door abruptly slammed in his face.
On the other side of the panel, Justin raked his hand through his thick hair. Blast it all! Why had she pawned his ring? Money, you fool! But why would she need it? Hadn’t he supported her in the manner to which she’d been accustomed, exactly like he’d promised? All she needed do was ask and he’d have given it to her. But that was the problem. She’d never asked for anything, except to live separate lives. Was that her plan? Did she hope to sneak off and make him the laughingstock of all London? The ring clenched in his hand, Justin suddenly wondered if she’d done that already. Dammit! Where was she?
A knock sounded on the door, and he jerked it open. “What is it, Pitkin?”
The man blinked at his employer’s abruptness. “There’s an urchin downstairs on the doorstep who says he has news from Potts.”
Frowning, Justin brushed past Pitkin and descended the stairs, where he found an ill-kempt towheaded lad standing just outside his front door. The boy’s huge blue eyes gazed into the house with awe. “Young man,” Justin said, hunkering down, “my butler said you have a message for me.”
“Sure do, yer dukeship, sir.” He smiled, exposing a toothless gap. “But yer man told me I was to get me money first, afore I told ye anythin’.”
Justin chuckled, then withdrew several coins from his pocket. Fast as lightning, a grubby little hand snatched at them. “Whoa, not so fast, lad,” Justin admonished, catching the boy’s wrist and holding it. “First, tell me what Potts had to say.”
The urchin looked at Justin distrustfully. “Ye ain’t gonna pull a fast one on me, is ye?”
Justin held back his smile. “Do I look dishonest?”
“Well”—he frowned—”maybe not a bunch.”
“Then give me the message, and I’ll give you the coins.”
“Yer man said to get yourself over past the Tower, ‘cause yer missus is holed up in some big old buildin’ and yer man be watchin’ her.”
“And where exactly is my man?” Justin asked, wondering what the hell Aidan was doing in the slums of London.
The boy saw his chance. “Well, if ye be wantin’ some exercise, ye could step on along behind me, and I’ll be glad to show ye—fer a price, o’ course.”
“I thought as much,” Justin said, chuckling. “All right, boy. But we’ll take a hired coach and save our feet.”
“Gosh, yer dukeship, ye sure must got lots o’ money.”
“When we finally part, young man, I have a definite feeling I’ll have a lot less.”
The boy bestowed a gaping grin on Justin. “Cain’t say yer stupid—not like some of them other uppity rich folks is.”
Justin followed the shabby-looking urchin down the steps, and before long the two were headed toward London’s East End. While they traveled the thoroughfares in the hired coach, Justin learned the boy’s name was Tim. He was an orphan; the streets were his home. As Justin studied the bright, energetic Tim, he wondered what would become of the lad when finally they went their separate ways.
Soon they turned the corner at Mudlings Row, and Tim cried out, “There’s your man, just like I told ye.” His finger pointed toward Potts and the carriage. “Do I get me pay now?”
Justin knew, if he gave the boy his stipend, the tyke would be off like a frightened hare, losing himself in the rabble that occupied the streets. “In a moment, Tim. First, we’ll see what Potts wants.”
“Yer tryin’ to cheat me, ye is!”
Justin grabbed the scruff of Tim’s neck, and after paying the driver, led the boy to the waiting carriage. “Get inside and stay put,” he ordered, lifting Tim from the ground. Dusting off his hands just in case some unseemly vermin had latched themselves onto him, Justin noticed how Tim glared his malcontent. Until he could figure out what to do with the waif, he wanted the boy close at hand. “You move and I’ll break your leg,” Justin threatened, hoping to put some fear into him.
With a pout, Tim fell back into the seat, his arms crossing over his chest. Satisfied, Justin turned to Potts. “Where is she?”
“In that old building with the stone wall around it.”
Justin’s gaze followed the line of Potts’s finger. He frowned, for he recognized the structure as one of his own. He’d thought the place had been condemned and torn down long ago. At least, Dawson had informed him as much. “Why in hell did you bring her here?”
“I didn’t, sir,” Potts defended. “Her Grace instructed me to take her to her dressmaker’s. I did, but when I dropped her off, she said I should go on home—that she was to meet Lady Manley and that Lady Manley would take her home. I left, intending to fetch you, sir, but when I traveled no more than a block, I noticed she’d left her parasol on the seat. I rounded the corner to see her stepping into a hired coach, so I followed her. She went in there an hour ago and hasn’t come out since. There’s something else, sir. Her Grace …” Potts hesitated.
“Go on.”
His man drew a deep breath. “I saw Her Grace meet a tall man at the gate. Did I do the wrong thing by telling you, sir?”
Justin felt red-hot anger shoot through him. And something else—something he was unwilling to call by its true name. Jealousy! “No, Potts, you did the right
thing.” Justin looked back at Tim. “Mr. Potts will get you a hot meal, lad. I have business to attend to. Stay with Mr. Potts, and if you behave, I’ll add an extra shilling to the sum I already owe you. Agreed?”
Tim smiled. “Yer pockets are gettin’ lighter and lighter all the time.”
Justin smiled back at him. “So they are, Tim. So they are.”
He gave Potts instructions to be back within the hour, then turned toward the neglected building. A puff of wind could tumble it, he thought. Trying to restrain his fury, Justin strode through the gate and up the walk, then set his fist to the door more than once. Finally it creaked open, and a white-haired woman presented herself. “May I help you, sir?”
“You may,” Justin said, stepping inside. “For starters, you can tell me who leases this building.” He glanced around, noting it was clean but in desperate need of repair.
“Dr. Brenner leases it,” the woman stated.
Justin forcefully held his temper. “Is he here?”
“He is.” Mrs. Hampstead viewed the tall stranger carefully. “Might I ask, sir, that you state your business.”
“You may. I wish to see this Dr. Brenner.”
“And who shall I say is calling?”
Justin reached into his breast pocket. “My card,” he said, handing it to her.
Mrs. Hampstead read the name. Instantly her manner became overtly cool. “I shall tell the doctor you’re here.”
Justin watched as the woman turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, her starched skirts crackling with each angry stride. More interested in finding his errant wife, he waited until the woman disappeared from sight, then followed after her.
Reaching the second floor, he strode down the hallway, the sounds of children’s laughter drawing him. From beyond a partially open doorway, a stunned Justin hid in the shadows, viewing the scene as it played itself out before him.
Near the opposite wall, by a filth-smeared window, Aidan sat in a rickety straight-backed chair, relaying a story about a not-so-fierce dragon, a bumbling knight, and his swaybacked steed. A tattered bunch of moppets, most of whom were several years younger than the seven-year-old Tim, sat at her feet, enthralled by her every word. Laughter rebounded from the colorless room on several occasions when Aidan added some particularly humorous embellishments to her tale. Justin couldn’t help but smile himself.
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