“It’s quite all right, Diana,” said Max. “The blame for this underhanded, despicable act lies entirely with my mother.”
Diana winced. “Not entirely…”
Max’s gaze narrowed on his sister-in-law. “Do you know how my mother came by the painting? Or if the artist, Madame de Beauvoir, agreed to participate in her scheme?”
“I’m not sure about Madame de Beauvoir’s role,” Diana said. “All I know is that last night, when I heard your mother and Lord Rochfort discussing what had happened—how your mother’s plans to ruin Charlie completely had been thwarted—I didn’t know what to think or to do at first. I know one shouldn’t eavesdrop, but honestly, it’s so hard to avoid overhearing things one shouldn’t when there are raised voices. And I was so horrified—”
“Wait a moment.” Max held up a hand. “Did I just hear you correctly, Diana? You overheard my mother talking with Rollo Kingsley, Baron Rochfort, last night? At the Royal Academy?”
“Why no. At Devereux House.” Diana’s brow knitted with a puzzled frown. “I thought you knew that—” She blushed bright red and began to fiddle with the linen napkin in her lap.
“Knew what?”
She swallowed, and her hands fluttered about. “That your mother and Lord Rochfort”—she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned forward—“are having an affair.”
If Diana had suddenly sprouted wings and flown about Exmoor House’s back garden, Max would have been less surprised. Charlie’s mouth had dropped open, and she looked as flabbergasted as he felt.
He shook his head. It couldn’t be true. “But…are you certain, Diana? My inquiry agent organized surveillance of Rochfort House and Devereux House weeks ago. I know you and my mother visited the baron not long after he was injured. But since then, there have been no other reports of her meeting with him.”
“Oh…” Diana fidgeted with her napkin again. “Well, I’d say that’s because Lord Rochfort enters the house via the back garden gate. He rents a nearby property—another townhouse—that abuts the mews behind Devereux House.”
Bloody blazing hell. Why the devil hadn’t he—or Hunt his inquiry agent—thought to monitor the rear of Devereux House? His mother must have alerted Rochfort to the fact they were both being watched, so they’d come up with an alternative plan to continue their clandestine affair.
Max felt like the biggest fool in Christendom. And so damned angry he could crush gravel into dust with his back teeth.
With effort, he unclenched his jaw and asked, “How long has this affair been going on?”
Diana shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “I’m not exactly sure…”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “But if you were to hazard a guess?”
“Since the beginning of the year, when we returned to London after Twelfth Night? But it might have been longer…”
Charlie gasped, and Max met her horrified gaze. If what Diana had just said was indeed accurate, Rochfort had seduced Charlie on Saint Valentine’s Day even though he was Cressida’s paramour. Not only that, he’d probably consorted with prostitutes like Madame Erato at the same time.
Max wondered if his mother knew about that.
At this point in time, it wouldn’t surprise him at all if she did but didn’t care.
There was only one way to find out the truth about any of the disgraceful, reprehensible goings-on involving his mother and Rochfort.
Max put down his coffee and pushed to his feet. “Charlie, I think’s it’s well past time that you and I visited Devereux House and demanded some answers.”
Devereux House, Curzon Street, Mayfair
His mother was taking tea in the morning room of Devereux House when Max and Charlie arrived. Diana, perhaps to avoid the storm that was coming, had wisely made herself scarce.
The dowager duchess greeted them both with a tight smile and gestured to the vacant chairs surrounding the satinwood dining table. “When I heard Diana had set out to visit Exmoor House this morning, I suspected I might see you sooner rather than later, Maximilian.” Her unsettling, ice-blue gaze settled on Charlie. “But not you, Lady Charlotte. I must say, you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly dull-witted showing your face in public, considering what happened—”
Max slammed his hand down on the table. “This. Stops. Now,” he barked. “Today. This very minute. You will not insult my fiancée ever again. I know everything, Mother. About your affair with bloody Rochfort. The fact you and he own the vast majority of shares in the Beau Monde Mirror, and about your concerted efforts to destroy the woman I love. It’s all over.”
His mother’s sangfroid was breath-stealing. There was no shock in her expression, and rather than denying any of the accusations he’d just flung at her, she simply arched an eyebrow. “Love, is it? I very much doubt you know the meaning of the word.”
“Between your concerted effort—and Father’s—to deny me any sort of warmth or affection during my childhood, it’s no wonder you would think that,” Max growled savagely. “But don’t presume to know anything about me, Mother.” He caught Charlie’s gaze across the room. She hovered by the door uncertainly, her gloved hands clasped at her waist. He didn’t think he’d ever lost his temper in front of her before, and he was suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “You don’t have to stay to witness this exchange. It’s bound to get ugly.”
“No, I want to be here.” Although she was pale, there was a militant gleam in his fiancée’s eyes. “There are things I wish to know.”
Max gave a curt nod and turned back to face his mother. “I only have three questions for you before I banish you from this townhouse forevermore. How long have you been a part-owner of the Beau Monde Mirror? How long have you been trying to ruin Charlie? How long have you been screwing Lord Rochfort?”
His mother sniffed. “I won’t answer any of your questions if you continue to use that sort of foul language in front of me.”
Max let out a short bark of laughter. “The only thing foul in this room is you and your campaign to destroy Lady Charlotte. Why in God’s name have you been waging war against her for so long? Good God, I’m beginning to think the sole reason you bought shares in the Beau Monde Mirror was just to defame her.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure we’ve been over this a thousand times before, Maximilian. I know it. The whole of the ton knows it. Lady Charlotte Hastings is simply not good enough for you. It’s not my fault if she continuously provides ample fodder for the gossip columns. There’s not one thing that’s been published about her that isn’t true, is there?”
“No one is perfect, Mother. No one’s conduct is exemplary all the time. Take you as an example, a supposed doyen of Polite Society who’s currently fucking the vilest member of the ton. Now, wouldn’t that give your friends something to talk about if that salacious fact was reported in the scandal rags?”
At last, a reaction. His mother’s eyes flashed blue fire as she hissed, “How dare you speak to me like that?”
“Spare me the righteous indignation. Just tell me why. Why have you devoted so much of your time and money to ruining my fiancée? I swear your campaign has been bloodier and more sustained than Old Boney’s campaign against Britain. What has Charlotte ever done to deserve this? It makes no sense. At all.”
His mother threw down her napkin and shot to her feet. “How can you be so stupid? It makes perfect sense. Your fiancée”—she glared at Charlie—“comes from bad breeding stock. Her own mother, Elizabeth—the daughter of an absolute nobody—was nothing but a social-climbing trollop, stealing Lord Westhampton away from—”
Charlie gasped. “You knew my mother?”
“Of course I knew your mother. She made her debut during the same Season I did. But unlike me, she bought her way into the ton. The daughter of a mere shipbuilder in Portsmouth?” The dowager duchess’s mouth thinned. “Everyone knew she didn’t belong in our ranks. Your father, Lord Westhampton, clearly just wanted her for her money”—her disd
ainful gaze raked over Charlie—“and her other tawdry assets, which were a lot like yours.”
Even though Max’s ire was sparking again, he chose to ignore this last dig at Charlie. “So, just to clarify, Mother, you’re telling me that the reason you loathe Charlotte so much is that you were jealous of her mother over thirty years ago? Because she caught the eye of the Earl of Westhampton and you didn’t?”
His mother made a scoffing noise. “Jealous? Don’t make me laugh. Of course I wasn’t jealous. I’m the one who married a duke, after all. But of course, that’s not the only reason I despise your Charlie. You just need to look at her to see she’s not—and will never be—duchess material. With her unrefined air, knowing smiles, garish hair, and doughy figure. I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on her in Hyde Park five years ago. You were on horseback, and she was with her brother, Lord Malverne; you’d stopped by their landau to chat. And she was making the most ridiculous calf’s eyes at you. Even though I was at a distance, I could see you were attracted to her, Max. That you wanted her too. And it was highly likely that you’d come into contact with her over and over again, given your friendship with her brother. So, that’s when I decided that I had to convince you that she was entirely unsuitable.”
His mother turned her gaze back to Charlie and smirked. “And you made it so easy for me, my dear. When one of my good friends who was a patroness of Mrs. Rathbone’s Academy for Young Ladies of Quality told me about your deplorable behavior, I was the one who went to the Beau Monde Mirror with the story. And when Erasmus Silver mentioned that one of the principal owners was looking for another partner in the business—someone with significant social influence—I thought, why not? Not only would it be a sound business investment, but it meant I could have a direct influence on the newspaper’s content. But you, Maximilian…” His mother glared at him. “It didn’t matter what I printed about her or her ill-bred friends; it didn’t make one jot of difference to you. So, that’s when I enlisted the help of Lord Rochfort. This Season, I was determined to make you see Lady Charlotte Hastings is no lady at all, but as common as her horrid, social-climbing mama used to be.”
“And that’s when you took up with Rochfort?” said Max. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Just thinking about the snake, let alone saying his name, made him want to smash his fist through a wall.
His mother tossed her head. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. Lord Rochfort and I are of a similar disposition—”
Charlie snorted. “So, you’re both soulless with no scruples whatsoever. Well, Cressida, your title and precious aristocratic bloodline mean absolutely nothing if you have no character to speak of. And after hearing everything you’ve just said, your opinion of me also means nothing. The only thing I want to know is how you found out about my portrait. What horrendous thing did you do to poor Madame de Beauvoir to coerce her into giving it to you? Because I don’t believe for a minute that she would have surrendered it willingly.”
The dowager duchess gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, it certainly wasn’t a secret that you wanted to sit for a licentious portrait, now, was it? But to answer your question, Lord Rochfort had you followed, of course. It didn’t take long for him to work out that your Madame de Beauvoir had a penchant for painting naked gentlemen, which is not the done thing at all. If word got out, her reputation would have been mud. The Royal Academy would have banned her from ever exhibiting again, and her Polite Society commissions would have dried up.”
“So Rochfort blackmailed her,” said Max.
His mother shrugged. “One must do what one must.”
“Yes,” said Max. “Which is exactly why you’re going to sell your existing shares in Fortuna Trading to me. And then I’m going to banish you to Devonshire with a much-reduced allowance. You can divide your time between the dower house at Exmoor Castle and Lynton Grange. Aside from the change of scenery, you’ll enjoy the fresh sea air. I’ll even let you maintain a subscription to The Times and Ackermann’s Repository.”
His mother paled. “You must be joking.”
“Indeed, I am not. You have one hour to pack your things, then I’ll be back with my man of affairs and the necessary papers for you to sign, along with my coach that will ferry you to Devon.”
Even though his mother raised her chin, her bottom lip quivered. “And if I refuse to go?”
Max shrugged. “Well, I would have no choice but to tell the entire ton that the Dowager Duchess of Exmoor is one of the owners of the Beau Monde Mirror. I can only imagine what everyone will think when they learn that one of their own has been spreading filthy gossip about them all, as well as profiting from the practice.”
His mother’s lips were bloodless, and her eyes glittered. “You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed.
“What you’ve done to Charlie is unforgivable, so yes, I would dare. Not only that, but Lord Rochfort is about to experience my wrath too.”
His mother’s gaze flickered to Charlie, who still waited by the morning room door, then back to Max. “What do you mean?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “As we speak, my personal secretary is delivering letters to the head editors of The Times, The Morning Post, The Morning Herald, The Sun, The Courier, The Globe, The Star, The Statesman, The London Chronicle, The London Packet, The Evening Mail… actually, to just about every newspaper that I could think of. So very soon, all of London—indeed, the entire country—will know that Lord Rochfort is the chief owner of Fortuna Trading, the company that owns Juno Press, the publisher of London’s most notorious scandal rag. He’ll be an outcast. The ton will never forgive him.”
“Really, Your Grace?” intoned a dark voice dripping with sardonic amusement. “I don’t think so.”
Chapter 28
“Till this moment I never knew myself.”—An extract from Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Literary Arts
In the moments before Lord Rochfort had taken her hostage, Charlie should have known something was amiss. First of all, Cressida’s gaze had darted to the door. Secondly, she’d heard the creak of a floorboard just behind her.
And finally, the baron’s breath had gusted against her cheek in the split second before he’d pressed the muzzle of a pistol against her temple and said, “Really, Your Grace? I don’t think so.”
Max spun around, then swore. Holding up his hands in a placatory gesture, he said in a voice rough with emotion, “Your argument is with me, Rochfort, not Lady Charlotte. Let her go, and we’ll settle this like gentlemen.”
Rochfort laughed, and one of his arms—still in a sling—snaked awkwardly about Charlie’s waist. The cold steel of the pistol’s muzzle bit deeper, and her stomach twisted with terror. “Here’s what is actually going to happen, Exmoor. Lady Charlotte and I are going to take a small journey together, and while we’re away, you’re going to visit each and every one of those newspapers you just mentioned and make sure they don’t breathe a word about my ownership of the Beau Monde Mirror. Or Cressida’s, for that matter. And when I’m satisfied that my name and reputation are no longer in danger of being vilified, you can have your fiancée back. You’ve already caused enough damage in my life. I won’t let you destroy me completely.”
“Now, let’s be reasonable, Rochfort. It’s going to take me some time to do all of that,” began Max. “Release Lady Charlotte first—”
The baron cocked the pistol’s hammer, and at the sharp metallic click, Charlie clamped her eyes shut. Her breath froze in her chest. “I’m not bloody stupid, Exmoor,” he bit out. “Now get on your knees and put your hands behind your back. Cressida, use that braid holding back the curtains to tie his hands. And his ankles.” He emitted a low chuckle. “For your mother’s sake, Exmoor, I won’t make you strip.”
Max complied, dropping to his haunches. Even though his life was in danger too, he caught Charlie’s gaze. “I’m so sorry this is happening, my love.” His voice was grave yet infinitely soft. “But I promise you that w
e’ll get through this. Everything will be all right.”
Oh, dear God. Charlie’s heart cracked a little, and indeed, she felt like it might actually break in two. Max might be adept at masking his emotions, but she just knew that he was blaming himself for not thinking ahead. For neglecting to search Devereux House, and for failing to anticipate Rochfort’s actions. For not having at least half a dozen strategies for an exit up his sleeve. But while there was breath in her body, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. For Max and for herself, she would find a way out of this.
Swallowing hard against a wave of rising panic, she dredged up her voice. “Lord Rochfort, His Grace is right. I’m sure we can work something—”
The baron jabbed the pistol into the side of her head with such force, tears sprang to her eyes. “Shut it, my lady.” His breath was hot and harsh against her ear. “Do not say another word.” To Cressida, he said, “Are those knots nice and tight?”
The dowager duchess nodded. “Yes. They are. Just the way you like them.” And then she added in a breathless voice, “Be careful, Rollo.”
Be careful, Rollo? Charlie’s stomach roiled, and she thought she might be ill. Max’s grim expression—the flicker of fire in his deep blue eyes and the way a muscle pulsed in his cheek—clearly conveyed his own disgust and anger, but he didn’t say anything else. Even so, she was certain his mind was working furiously, just like hers was.
Rochfort began hauling her backward toward the morning room door. He gave a grunt as his injured shoulder collided with the doorjamb, and Charlie’s heart lurched with hope. The baron might be holding a pistol to her head, but his shoulder wound clearly still bothered him. If she twisted just the right way, maybe aimed a swift, hard jab at his ribs with her elbow—
All of a sudden, there was a loud smash, and crystalline shards, cut lilies, and a cascade of dirty water rained down around Charlie’s head and shoulders. Lord Rochfort’s grip on her waist loosened, the pistol fell away, and as the baron toppled to the floor with a heavy thud, Cressida screamed, drowning out the string of profanities that fell from Max’s lips.
How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes Page 33