A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  Words stuck in his throat. The revelation that had been inevitable. The truth that could no longer be hidden. Nor should he want it hidden. But the minute the admission was breathed to life, every moment before with Justina would ring as hollow moments built on deception and treachery. Agony brought his eyes briefly closed.

  In the end, it was the viscount who stole the response for him. “Your husband is going to beggar me, Andrew, and your entire family. You whored yourself to a man who will ruin us.”

  Chapter 19

  When Justina was a girl just learning to swim, with Andrew instructing her in the lake outside their cottage in Leeds, she’d fallen into the water and sank to the bottom. The world had existed as a swishing of muted noise and sound from the depths.

  Just now, with her father’s words ringing in her ears, it felt remarkably like that long-ago day. Shouts erupted as Edmund gripped her father in a punishing hold. At her father’s sharp yelp, she broke the surface, once more.

  Justina gave her head a clearing shake as guilt took hold. How quickly she’d doubted him. “Nick would not do that.” She leveled the outraged charge at her miserable sire, hating herself for allowing her reprobate father to plant the seeds of doubt against her husband; the one man who’d appreciated her for more than an empty beauty.

  “He did do it,” her father spat. His fleshy lip peeled back in a snarl, he’d the look of a stuffed orangutan she’d once seen in her visits to the Royal Museum with Phoebe. Something in that connection settled her jittery nerves, sorted her tumultuous thoughts.

  “Do not come here,” she began. “And spread your lies about my husband.” She looked to Nick for strength, but he remained coolly unflappable, his chiseled features carved of stone.

  “Lies?” her father barked. He ambled his corpulent frame around Edmund and stopped so he had her in his direct vision. “Your husband offered for you and asked me to name all those holding my vowels.” Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth as he spewed his fury. “And he sent his creditors to collect.”

  “That’s not possible,” she said, her voice coming as though down a long hall.

  “The very same men who’ve collected all our possessions arrived this morn to take the rest.”

  Justina looked frantically to her husband. His skin was an ashen hue, like one who’d boarded a ship and been cast out into a violent storm. “Tell him he’s wrong, Nick.” He met her request with silence. “Tell him,” she cried, her voice pitching to the ceiling, and he winced.

  “I cannot do that,” he said quietly.

  No. Her knees went weak and she shot her hands out, seeking purchase.

  “Yes,” her father replied and she started, unaware she’d spoken aloud.

  Nick turned his palms up and came forward. “Justina,” he implored. Just that. Her name. No assurances. No denials. Why? Why was he not denying all these heinous charges?

  She stared blankly at those hands that had so lovingly stroked her. His words muted and muffled in her ears.

  “It is true, Justina,” Rutland confirmed.

  She touched her fingertips to her mouth. “That is why you are here.” Her voice emerged as a threadbare whisper. Her brother-in-law’s statement, confirmed in Nick’s silence, ripped a hole inside her chest and she struggled for words.

  Angling his body in a dismissive manner, the marquess looked to her. “Notes were discovered, from a former maid,” he grimaced. “Apparently your…husband’s plans had been in the making for awhile.”

  “Notes?” she echoed dumbly.

  Splotches of color marred her brother-in-law’s cheeks. “She was providing information between your husband and his lover.”

  His words sucked all the air from the room. Justina stilled, unable to draw in a single gasping breath. His lover. Not his former lover. Given her own parents’ miserable union, she’d not been naïve to the reality that many men took lovers, but the image painted of her husband with another was crushing. Another woman whose body he’d stroked and who’d known his tender caress and the feel of him as he moved deep inside her. A tortured moan lodged in her throat and she choked on it.

  “Justina, let me explain,” Nick entreated. “She is no longer my lover. I ended it with her before I even met you.”

  She tried to make sense of that admission. What was truth and what was just another lie?

  “My maid was gathering details about our family and giving them to…” Rutland motioned to Nick. “…this one,” he added with more gentleness than she ever remembered in him.

  No. It could not be. That was a ruthlessness her husband was incapable of. Except… The earth dipped and swayed and she steadied herself against the nearest seat. “I never told you I collected bonnets.” Her voice came as though down a long corridor. It was an insignificant detail, but his gleaning of it was more telling than anything.

  Her husband closed his eyes and she knew. Knew by the tight corners drawn at his lips. No. No. No. It was a litany that screamed around the chambers of her mind until she thought she’d go mad from it. Everything could not have been a lie. She’d trusted him. “Nick,” she pleaded hoarsely. “Please say something.”

  His mouth moved, but no words came out.

  Justina dug her fingertips into her temples. Every moment they’d shared had been meant to deceive and trap. Falsehoods. Lies. Her feet twitched with the need to flee and escape the new reality of her existence. She curled her toes into the soles of her slippers anchoring herself to the spot. There was no running from this. What was there then? For her? For them?

  Nothing. There is nothing…

  “I don’t give a jot about his lover,” her father whined. He jerked his chin at a pallid and unmoving Nick. “He is going to call in my vowels.” Her heart thudded hard against her ribcage. “See me and Andrew work on a turnip farm.” He sneered. “The same damned anonymous man collecting my debt this Season is none other than your husband.” The viscount lunged forward but, once again, Edmund caught him, staying his attack.

  Justina fluttered a hand to her throat as her mind sought to keep up with the rapidly spinning out of control thoughts. “No,” she whispered and yanked her gaze over to Nick. “Tell them they are wrong, Nick.” Tell me they are wrong. “Tell them there is a misunderstanding. You would not do these things. Not to my family.” Yes, there was evil in her father, but there was only good in her mother and brother. He’d not repay that kindness with destruction.

  Skin ashen, her husband stared at her. His eyes filled with such grief that her gut clenched. Why would he say nothing?

  At last, he spoke. “I would speak to you…” He glanced briefly at the others present. “alone,” he amended hoarsely.

  “Speak to me alone,” she repeated, a panicky edge to her tone. “Simply tell me they are incorrect.” Her body shook until she feared she’d snap under the weight of it. She hugged herself to stave off the chill. “Tell me,” she pleaded.

  Nick hesitated and then slowly shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

  At his quiet admission, all the breath left her on a loud exhale. Oh, God. Her mind resisted what her heart already knew. “Why can’t you do that?” she demanded. Her sharp-pitched cry pealed around the office.

  Something raw glinted in the silvery flecks in his blue eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Because it is true.”

  Because it is true.

  Hurt, panic, and despair melded inside, as pieces of her heart cracked and broke. Justina staggered away from him. “No.” That one word, built on a desperate need to believe in him—in them—and the good she’d always longed for in an honorable husband. “Did you seek to beggar my family?” She closed her eyes, recalling the pain and shame as strangers entered her home and carted off her mother’s most cherished possessions. My books. “Did you?” she cried out when he said nothing.

  “That was…is my intention.”

  Is. Not was. And so wholly, flatly delivered as though she were a stranger he’d not even passed in the street. Justina
covered her face with her hands and fought to breathe.

  …The gentleman has ordered these items to auction and no one possessing connections to the Barrett family will be permitted to bid…

  It was why the creditor suggested she speak to her husband that morn. Of course. It made sense. A panicky, half-mad giggle spilled past her lips. What a fool I’ve been. And how neatly she’d stepped into his trap. He’d only met and married her to ruin her family. Every beautiful word, every chance meeting, had been no game of fate as he’d claimed…but something sinister. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of her agony and shame. It did not make sense. What reason had he to hate her family that he’d so ruthlessly ensnare her in this twisted scheme?

  “Justina, let us speak alone,” Nick repeated gruffly. He stretched a palm toward hers. “I can explain.”

  “Explain, Your Grace?” she hissed, slapping at his hand. He let it fall to his side. “What is there to explain?” Feeling like a cornered cat she’d once spied at her family’s country cottage, she flinched and hurriedly backed away, moving closer to Edmund. With ever-narrowing eyes, her husband followed her each movement. She stopped so that she was side-by-side with her brother-in-law.

  Edmund immediately took one of her hands and gave it a firm squeeze. “Come with me,” he offered, his guttural baritone harsh with regret.

  Nick moved with the speed of a black panther as he came around the desk. “Please,” he entreated. “If you wish to leave after I explain everything, I will not stop you.”

  Coward that she was, Justina longed to run, as her brother-in-law urged. And yet, for years, she’d wanted to be valued as a woman capable of making her own decisions and speaking for herself. If she walked out now or ever with Edmund or anyone else, she’d be surrendering all her long-sought after self-control. Justina took a deep breath. “My husband wishes to speak to me,” she said. Nick looked to her with hope in his eyes. “Please leave, so we might talk.” What could he possibly say? Nothing could right these wrongs. It had all been a lie.

  Her brother-in-law ran pained eyes over her face. “I am so sorry,” he said softly, the gruff words so faint, she struggled to hear. “Speak to your…” He blanched. “…husband. And after, know you may come to me. Any time.” He directed that last piece to Nick.

  The viscount grunted. “I’m not going anywhere until Huntly forgives my debt.” His words ended on a cry as the marquess gripped him by the arm and steered him from the office. Then, the door closed behind them, leaving her and Nick—alone.

  Tension hung heavy in the room, thick like a London fog.

  With stiff movements, her husband made his way over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. Justina blinked rapidly. A bloody drink? Her father and brother-in-law had come in here and shattered her happiness with accusations Nick hadn’t denied, and now he’d pour himself a bloody drink? She was tired of every male in her life turning to drink for strength. “What do you have to say?” she demanded, proud of that steady deliverance when inside she was shaking. With fear. Anger. And a numbing despair.

  He turned around and, in one long, slow swallow, finished his drink. Did he seek resolve in the bottom of his snifter? “I once you told you about my childhood.”

  At the abrupt shift in discourse, she shook her head. “I don’t—”

  “There was a man,” he said with a somber matter-of-factness that frayed her tightly coiled nerves. “A man who ruined my family. Destroyed my father.” He perched his hip on the edge of the Chippendale piece and stared expectantly back.

  Instead, she shook her head once more in befuddlement. “What does that have to do with me?” she asked, hating the threadbare plea there. “With us?” she amended. This was now their life—together.

  “That man was the Marquess of Rutland.”

  “The Marquess—” The air left her on a shuddery hiss as his words hurled her out into a turbulent sea of confusion. Her brother-in-law, Edmund, Phoebe’s hero, her family’s champion had been the person who’d destroyed Nick’s family? That accusation went against everything she knew of Edmund and everything she’d come to believe about this man before her. A stranger.

  Impossible.

  Nick dragged his spare hand through his hair. “Oh, I assure you, quite possible.”

  Unaware she’d spoken aloud, she stared at him, this gentleman, who’d only fed her half-truths. This man, who by her father’s words, intended to ruin her family. Nick could not see, the Barretts had been ruined long, long ago financially by Justina’s wastrel father. This was just one more act that would see Justina’s mother hurt, once more. Only this time, by another man—Justina’s husband, now. Bile stung the back of her throat and she choked it back.

  “I vowed revenge and, yet, Rutland cared for no one. Until your family. Until…” Me. His gaze held hers. The weight and wealth of meaning behind the glimmer in his blue depths and the unfinished admission stole the life from her legs. Justina gripped the top of the leather winged back chair.

  Honoria’s warnings flickered forward. “Why were you at Gipsy Hill?” She wetted her lips. Both needing an answer from him and never wanting to know. He said nothing. “And Lady Wessex’s gardens and Lord Chilton’s hall?” Her voice climbed in volume, shaking under the weight of her fear.

  “You were Rutland’s beloved sister-in-law. His wife’s dearest friend,” Nick said quietly and his words sent ice coursing through her veins. “It was my plan to win your heart and break it.”

  “But you are the Darling Duke, Nick,” she whispered. Society, however, had proven wrong about so many others before. “I believed you wanted to c-court me.” Her voice cracked. For still, with everything revealed in these moments, she wanted him to still be the man she had taken him for.

  “Everything changed,” he said on a rush. Abandoning his glass, Nick came over and settled his hands on her shoulders. She forced herself to look into the eyes of this liar she’d married and the agony in his gaze ripped another hole in her already desperately splintered heart. “The more I knew you, I could not ruin you.”

  And he hadn’t. Lord Tennyson had. And Nick simply stepped in and claimed his just reward.

  Shrugging off his touch, she moved away, needing space between them. “But you did ruin me,” she whispered. Nausea roiled in her belly as the full truth at last sank in her slow to comprehend mind. She lifted her gaze to his, not wanting to see her reality laid out within his eyes, but needing to know the truth. Needing to see what her mind continued to reject. Surely, she could not have been so very wrong. Surely, she could not have been such a fool. “You sought me out, courted me, married me, all to punish Edmund?” Her question emerged hesitant, riddled with her own disbelief. “Surely, one person could not have planned out revenge against an entire family.” She touched a finger to her chest. “Me, included.”

  And she knew. Knew by the regret that paraded over his harsh, angular features. A tortured moan stuck in her throat, choking her, and she glanced frantically about.

  “I need you to understand,” Nick implored. He came toward her, hands turned up in supplication. “It began as such.” With his tousled golden hair and flawlessly beautiful features, he’d the face the Devil had surely donned when he’d come to Earth to tempt, taint, and ruin. “Somewhere along the way, it all changed. Your spirit, your strength, your wit,” She winced. “All captivated me.”

  Oh, God. For all Honoria’s warnings and Justina’s family’s worry that her romantic spirit would be her downfall, she’d believed herself stronger. Capable of both seeing and knowing the good in people. She caught her head in her hands. How bloody foolish she’d been….and how very desperate for love. In that, she had been the silly romantic with stars in her eyes. “Lies,” she whispered. “Everything was a lie.” She yanked her neck up suddenly and met his gaze. “Tell me, was your love of poetry even real?” Or was that one more orchestrated trickery meant to deceive.

  “That was real,” he said, his voice hollow.

  And she was
to believe that? With this stranger before her, staring on, her world came apart slowly like the seams being torn from a gown until all that was left was a wilted pile on the floor. She clutched at her throat. “I gave you my mind, my dreams, my…” Her voice caught. “Body,” she whispered. Nick went whipcord straight. “All of who I was and wanted to be and you used that against me.”

  The muscles of his face spasmed. “Yes.” Nick dragged a hand through his unkempt tresses. “No.” He drew in a slow breath through his tightly pressed lips.

  “Which is it?” she cried.

  “It is both,” he said and her eyes slid involuntarily closed.

  She’d dreamed of a marriage based on love. Searched for a husband who valued her mind. She cringed. In the end, she’d proven to be the empty-headed fool her father had accused her of being. The shame of that was nothing compared to the aching sorrow for the dying dream she’d carried for a life with Nick. Justina choked and staggered back, away from him. She’d taken a magical meeting on the streets of Lambeth and shaped them into the romantic exchange she’d always yearned for. “Tell me, Your Grace. Did you and your lover have a good laugh at my expense?” She hurled that question at him, finding strength in her fury. “Did you practice all your pretty words on her?” Do you love her?

  Pain stabbed at her breast.

  “The moment I met you,” he said somberly. “I couldn’t see any other woman but you.” He paused and his features set in a mask of ravaged pain. “There was…and will only ever be, you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his visage before her. She despised herself for her weakness in clinging to that pledge as much as she hated her husband for this betrayal. It was too much. This moment. All of it. She lifted her hem and bolted.

  Nick moved quickly, and she stumbled over herself in her bid to escape him. Justina raced behind his desk, placing the mahogany piece between them. The distance small and, yet, the gulf dividing them was greater than the whole of the Thames. “Listen to me, Justina.” He jerked to a halt at the opposite side of the desk. “Please.”