Page 40 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

L ucien flung open the carriage door before the vehicle had even stopped moving.

“Your Grace, have a care!” the coachman yelped, horrified, but Lucien barely heard him.

They had come to a rougher area of London, where the houses were less fine and the streets noticeably dirtier.

A few shifty-looking men wandered around, and grubby urchins darted here and there, most probably up to no good.

Women in decidedly unrespectable clothing lounged on the corners.

They weren’t ladies of the night, not at this time of day, but Lucien imagined that for the right price, they might be as obliging as one would want.

So, this is where Benjamin finds his company, he thought grimly.

He knew the place he was looking for, although his friend had not suggested that they spend time here.

And why would we? What would be the use in coming here, when he had my home at his disposal?

Rage surged up inside Lucien, hot and seething. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to be calm. For now, at least.

A tall, thin building loomed in front of him. The plaster on the outside of the place was cracked and chipping away, and there was a pool of something murky and foul-smelling directly in front of the high doorstep. Hopping over the slimy puddle, Lucien stepped inside.

A musty, stale scent met him, mixed with the smell of decay and disrepair.

The hallway was narrow, like the building, with a low ceiling and peeling paper on the walls.

A spiral staircase with chipped steps curled up into the ceiling, and a woman of around sixty sat on the lowest step, filling a pipe with tobacco.

She glanced up at Lucien, unimpressed.

“Don’t you knock?”

He clenched his jaw. “I am looking for Benjamin Holton.”

The woman held a lighted taper to the pipe and sucked the stem as if her life depended upon it. The pipe caught, the bowl glowing faintly from within, and the heavy stench of tobacco gradually seeped into the air.

“This is his residence. And I’m his landlady, not his housekeeper , so what are you telling me for?

” the woman snapped. “If you want to see him, go on up. Second floor, it’s the green door by the window.

The cleanest one there, since the uppity gent tends to scrub it himself once a week.

Keep the noise down and don’t make a mess, I’ve got a nasty headache. Wipe your feet before you go up.”

A little surprised—he’d expected more resistance—Lucien obliged, although frankly, he thought he might need to wipe his feet when he exited the filthy place, too.

The landlady did not move aside, leaving him to step awkwardly around her before going up the stairs.

The steps creaked under his weight, and the spindly banister was broken and splintered in many places.

The smell got worse, and he soon found the cause of it.

Chamber pots had been left outside closed bedroom doors.

Some had lids, or at least strips of dirty cloth draped over them to conceal the contents, but most did not, leaving the stink to drift freely around.

By the time he reached the first floor, he was gagging.

The second floor was marginally better, but only because there seemed to be fewer occupants.

The green door by the window was easy to find. Sure enough, the door itself was clean, as was the section of floorboards by the front step. Cobwebs had been dusted away above it, too.

Don’t get distracted .

Not bothering to waste his time with a knock, Lucien turned the doorknob and flung open the door, stepping inside with a flourish.

“Benjamin, you wretch!” he thundered. “We have a reckoning, you and I.”

Firstly, Lucien had expected the door to be locked. It was not. He had expected there to be no sign of Benjamin. He was wrong there too—Benjamin sat on a low stool by the fire, hunched over a pair of his boots and vigorously polishing them with a cloth and a nearly-empty tin of wax.

Thirdly, he had expected Benjamin to be horrified or at least startled.

Instead, Benjamin tore his eyes from his boots with an effort and leveled an even, unimpressed stare at his friend.

The bruise had spread over his cheek, half-swelling his eye shut.

The blood had been cleaned away, but his nose still seemed red and sore.

“Well, good day to you, Lucien,” he said calmly. “Do come in.”

Lucien ignored the jibe and strode forward.

“Do you know what you’ve done, Benjamin?” he ground out, teeth clenched.

Benjamin carefully finished rubbing in the last of the wax and sat back to inspect his work. Seeming to be pleased with it, he set the boot gently down by the hearth.

“I think that you are about to tell me,” he said. “If you have come for a second round, I must warn you that I’m not in the mood for another fight. What do you want, Lucien?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “What do you think I want? Read this.”

He held up a few sheets of newspaper, crumpled in his fist, and threw them onto the ground before Benjamin.

The title glared up at them.

Scandal Of The Century!

The Infamous Duchess Of Blackstone Is Not Who She Professes To Be!

Even now, Lucien felt a frisson of rage at the thought that anybody could hurt Frances in such a way.

His own anger had taken him by surprise.

No matter how firmly he told himself that it was only his own reputation he was concerned about, it simply did not seem to stick.

The plain fact was he was angry on Frances’s behalf, no more and no less.

Because I care for her, he thought listlessly.

Giving himself a shake and a reminder to concentrate on the present, Lucien jabbed a finger in Benjamin’s direction.

“Read it,” he repeated, his voice turning low and dangerous.

Benjamin did not get up from his seat. He did not look at the newspaper and instead stared up at Lucien.

“I’ve already read it. Or a variation of it, I imagine. The story is in every rag that prints daily. London is all aflutter.”

“Then perhaps I will become a murderer after all. How could you do this to me, Benjamin? Out of spite?”

“Spite? No, I don’t do anything for that reason, old friend.

What I did to separate you and your duchess—I do not deny I tried to loosen her grip on you—was because I missed my friend.

I wanted things to go back to the way they were, and I saw at once what a hold she had on you.

I saw immediately how much you cared. I tried to push you away from her, to be sure, but this?

” he gestured vaguely at the crumpled newspaper and gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I did not do this .”

Lucien missed a beat. “You deny it? You deny that you went to the papers with the scandal you’d uncovered? You admitted to me that you knew her secret.”

Abruptly, Benjamin rose to his feet, striding towards his friend. He was shorter than Lucien by about half a head, but somehow his sudden anger made him seem taller.

“I would never humiliate you and your wife in such a way,” Benjamin said, his voice low.

“Believe it or not, I do not dislike Frances. I tried to, but she is… well, there’s something about her.

Besides, she’s innocent in this matter. She and I were competing for your attention, and I am a good sportsman at heart, and I must confess that she won.

I wanted things to go back to the way they were between you and I, not to ruin an innocent woman.

And at the root of the matter, you clearly care for her, and I cannot begrudge you anything, because you are my friend.

No matter how much it might hurt me. I did not reveal her secret to anybody.

In fact, if you’ll remember, I worked hard to keep the matter from getting to the papers. ”

Lucien rallied. “Yes, but then I struck you, didn’t I? I told you that our friendship was over.”

“Yes, you did,” Benjamin responded abruptly, turning back to the stool. He settled himself down again, picking up the other boot and beginning to wax that, too. “Very kind of you to remind me. I still didn’t go to the papers with your wife’s secret.”

Lucien drew in a long, shaking breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

I believe him, he thought incredulously. He isn’t lying.

In the silence that followed, Lucien took a moment to glance around Benjamin’s pathetic lodgings.

There was one single room, with a ramshackle bed set in a corner and a cracked washbasin beside it.

There were a few chipped, ancient pieces of furniture, including a small table with a single chair.

Shirts hung drying at the window, and a copper hip-bath was propped up beside the fireplace.

A threadbare rug covered up the most rotten of the floorboards.

Aside from the shabbiness of the place, it was clean. There was no dust on the floor, and no cobwebs caught near the ceiling. He thought of Benjamin, always clean and tidy and well-dressed, and imagined him leaving this hovel of a place every morning to go into Society.

“Is this truly the best you can afford?” Lucien murmured.

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but then the words were out and there was nothing to do. Benjamin bristled at once.

“That is none of your concern. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you and I are not friends anymore, so perhaps you should mind your own business.”

Lucien sighed, passing his fingers through his hair once more.

“You said that you gave Lord Easton money to keep the story from the scandal sheets,” he murmured.

Benjamin glanced up, his eyes sharpening. “I did say that. Perhaps I should have been more careful with my words. I should not like you to think that you owe me anything, Lucien.”

Lucien bit his lower lip. After a moment, he stepped over to the fireplace and lowered himself into a crouch before Benjamin, forcing the man to look him in the eye.