Page 13 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

What the devil?

With a fair amount of anger filling his chest, Alan dismissed John the footman. Why the hell was Imogen meeting with another man in the orchard? Or anywhere, for that matter? He tore out of his study, his feet propelled by rage. Was she bold enough to cuckold him right under his very nose? And even more concerning, did she not care about the progress they’d made together, the tenuous connection they’d formed?

This is outside of enough. If she thinks to disrespect me or our union before responsibilities have been fulfilled, she can think again.

As he stormed through the manor house on his way to the rear entrance, anger mixed with hot betrayal in his chest. Had he managed to disappoint her already? Deciding to cut through the ballroom, for it was easier to access the rear gardens through the terrace there, Alan skidded to a stop merely to have a glance at the decorations going up in preparation for his midsummer night ball in two days.

The large room had been completely transformed into a bower. In every corner, large vases rested on Roman-style pedestals, each containing beautiful arrangements of spring and summer flowers brought in from a florist, who was even now still placing vases as well as baskets. Potted ferns helped to provide greenery and interest amidst the blooms. Floral swags were in the process of being tacked above each window and doorway. Everything had been threaded with pale pink and green gauze fabric in puffs with ribbons to truly give the space a fairy-like feel.

The housekeeper sauntered over to him with a smile. “We are nearly done with the decorating, Your Grace. How do you like the room thus far?”

“It’s wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself.” In the past years, the decorating he’d had done at his London townhouse was nothing compared to this.

“Oh, this is all from the imagination of your wife. It’s her vision; we are merely carrying it out.” Mrs. Phelps smiled once more. “By the time the ball arrives, the space will be unrecognizable but imagine how this backdrop will set off the ladies’ gowns.”

Some of his ire faded, and his chest tightened for a different reason. “Lady Averly designed this?”

“She did, and she has been lovely to work with. Cook is still gushing over how sweet she is, and the menu will reflect that affection, I think.” The housekeeper nodded as a handful of maids worked with the florist and his minions to place and fluff arrangements and trail tulle everywhere. “It has been good for the staff to have her here. You made a wonderful choice in bride, Your Grace.”

He grunted. “From your lips to God’s ears, Mrs. Phelps.” Then worry descended on him like a cloud. “Carry on. I’m off to find the duchess.”

She nodded. “I saw her scurrying over the back lawn not a half hour past.”

“Thank you.” As he left the manor by way of one set of double doors at the rear of the ballroom, the crushing weight of betrayal and disappointment slammed into his chest. Would a woman who detested him go to all the trouble to plan the elaborate decorations for the upcoming ball that she had? And the fact that she’d put such care and detail into it humbled him.

But the prospect of growing closer to her if she would be unloyal terrified the hell out of him. After that first time, he didn’t believe he could survive that specific sort of pain again.

As he was on his way to the orchards, he met his wife as she was moving with purpose toward the manor house. Though his spirits oddly lifted at the sight of her, he reminded himself of her indiscretion and scowled at her.

“Where the hell have you been?” If there was more of a growl in his voice than he’d wished, he couldn’t help it; he’d been offended and truth be told, disappointed.

“I, uh…” She pressed her lips together, and a lance of desire went through him. “I quite fancied a walk in the fresh air.”

The fact that she blatantly lied to him left him more than a bit enraged. A wad of emotions lodged in his throat, which surprised him then ultimately annoyed him. He’d never wanted a wife, and this was one of the reasons why.

“And did you meet a man while taking in the air?” Would she own up to it?

A blush infused her cheeks. “I… Of course not.”

Bloody hell, she lied to his face. That stoked his anger all the more. “Don’t play me for a fucking fool, duchess.” When she narrowed her eyes, he knew in that moment that he wished to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget. Before she could protest, Alan closed the distance as he levered his shoulder into her body, threw her over his back, and then strode over the lawn as if she were little more than a sack of flour.

“Put me down, you overgrown oaf!” She followed the command with beating her fists on his back.

“I think not. When you lie directly to me without even blinking an eye, there will be consequences.” The terrace outside of the ballroom soon came into view.

“What are you talking about?”

“One of the footmen mentioned in passing that you went outside to meet with a man who wasn’t your husband. Is that true?”

Her silence was deafening, and it threatened to kill the budding kernel of hope that currently bloomed inside his chest despite everything.

Biting off the horrible words he wanted to say to her, he strode back through one set of the still-open double doors, not caring that the workers inside the room gawked at him. It didn’t matter; nothing did, for if his wife couldn’t be faithful, there was no point in anything. Ignoring her low-pitched protests, he continued to wind his way through the manor until he reached the staircase that twisted its way up into one of the two turret rooms; this one happened to be in the newer portion of the building.

It was the one room in the manor his sister had adored above all others. Often, she would sleep here, occupy the space when she wished to be away from the family, and where she had been shortly before her death. He demanded the servants keep the room clean and just as it had been the last time she’d been in residence. Perhaps it was silly and vain, but it kept her spirit alive for him.

Into the room he went, shoving open the door, then he slammed it with a booted foot. With a growl, he dumped Imogen onto the four-poster bed and ignored how delicious she looked disheveled and sprawled atop the counterpane.

“Who the hell did you meet?” he demanded with his hands on his hips as he glared at her.

“I can’t tell you.”

Damn it all to hell. “Is the man your lover?”

“That is none of your concern.” As she spoke, Imogen struggled off the bed, and as soon as her slippers hit the stone floor, she closed the distance between them to poke a forefinger into his chest. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.” Though pain and a trace of guilt shadowed her stormy eyes. “So please respect my privacy when I tell you that I can’t tell you who I met. It was a mistake, besides.”

“Yet you did it anyway.” Fury raged in his chest. “You betrayed me.”

“And given a chance, I’m certain you’ll do the same to me. After all, we have only known each other for four days.” Then she pointed her gaze downward, shielding her eyes from him. “Can we have conceivably built trust in such a short time?”

He was taken aback. “I would like to think it’s possible.” Was she willing to throw away the connection they’d made last night when he assumed they’d go in a new direction? Before she could respond, he shuttled her across the floor until the wall at her back prevented further movement. Then, with a hand snaked about her nape, he roughly drew her against his body, trapping her there, and he kissed her—hard. She must understand that she’d married him , and that he wouldn’t tolerate infidelity.

As always, the second his mouth met hers, it was as if he were being welcomed into a home he’d never known he wanted, but then she put her palm against his chest and pushed him away. “That is not the way I want you, Averly,” she said with healthy affront in her tone.

As if she were the one offended. Alan glared, but tiny fires had been lit in his blood. He would bed her, and soon, show her why he was the superior choice. “Do I need to remind you that you are mine alone, Imogen?” He shook his head. “I won’t tolerate sharing.”

“Oh?” One of her strawberry blonde eyebrows rose in challenge. “As I have to do with your mistress?”

Damn, he’d forgotten her. “I…”

“When you visited her on our wedding day, did you end your protection?” Annoyance lined her expression. “Did you tell your Lady Miriam that you couldn’t see her any longer because you’d married and needed to beget an heir?”

She had him by rights. “I couldn’t break things off, for she looked so vulnerable, and I don’t know why.” He frowned. “How do you know her name?”

Guilt sprang into her eyes. “She, uh, came to see me earlier in the week.”

“What?” Alan stumbled backward a few steps, and he immediately missed his wife’s warmth.

“Frankly, Averly, she’s dying of consumption and wanted me to know that she wouldn’t prove an obstacle to our relationship.” She drew the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. Desire once more shoved through his body. “Miriam also discussed you and how to handle you when you fell into either a temper or a maudlin mood.”

“Oh, God.” That must have been the reason she was always tired and weak when he visited, and much the reason why they hadn’t been intimate recently. The news was shocking, indeed. As his chest constricted with distress and sadness, he stumbled backward then sat heavily in a comfortable winged-back chair of blue and gold brocade. “She’s dying?”

“Yes.” Imogen nodded. Compassion clouded her eyes. Even when she was in a temper with him, she found the capacity to care about his mistress. The knowledge worked to further humble him. “She didn’t want you to know, to see her like that.” Oddly, her voice broke. “Lady Miriam loves you, Alan. If you return that regard, you should go to her, say your goodbyes to her. I won’t hold that against you.”

His chest ached as if he’d just been punched. “I’m fond of her, of course, she is a best friend, but I don’t love her in a romantic way.” Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand along the side of his face. Some of his original ire faded. “I haven’t had Miriam in my bed for months. Now I know why we didn’t come together recently.”

“But she is a close friend. You should at least tell her goodbye, reassure her how much a difference she made in your life.”

“I shall think about it.” Filled with restless energy, Alan stood and began to pace.

“If it sets your mind at ease, I don’t have a lover.” A sigh escaped her. “A current lover, at least.”

He snorted. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because it is the truth.” Once she’d closed the distance between them, she stayed his movement with a hand to his chest. Then she held his gaze. So much pain and worry reflected in her blue-gray eyes that it took him by surprise. “Also because I think more of myself than to let a man use me, and I certainly won’t tolerate being fucked by a man I despise.”

The way she utilized the vulgarity surprised him, but it also added strength to the need coursing through his veins. Realizing his chest ached, he stared. Did that mean she didn’t hate him ? It was all too confusing. “Yet you let me do certain… things to you, and you have enjoyed all of them, have willingly participated in them.”

“Oh.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I don’t despise you Alan. How I feel and the fact I enjoy carnal activities are not mutually exclusive. At least they weren’t at the beginning.” She frowned. “The lines are blurring.”

He nodded, for that was how he felt as well. “Yet you don’t like who I am.” Was he truly so gauche as to fish for compliments from his wife?

“You won’t like the true woman that I am either.” The shrug she affected only lifted one shoulder. “Every person on this earth has the capacity to change, to grow. Frankly, the man you were isn’t the same man you are a mere four days after you wed me.”

“What?” How many shocks would he be subjected to in one day?

“You’ve changed in small ways.” Another blush seeped into her cheeks. “It’s a good start, and I would like to hope I’m growing with you.”

He frowned. “If I can survive it.” As he ran a shaking hand through his hair, he huffed. “Reducing brandy consumption leaves me with tremors and sweats. I try to hide it from you…”

“Don’t.” Imogen patted his chest. “It is a sign of healing, and I wish I had that.”

“Why?”

She blew out a breath. “My cousin Philip—the man I met with today—was the only one who believed in me during that horrible time of scandal when I was younger. Without him, I wouldn’t have healed the little bit that I did.” When he thought his wife was fairly strong, when she uttered a half-stifled sob, he was sent into confusion all over again. “Yet all these years later, I am still haunted by that time, and I suspect I haven’t healed enough.”

Putting a curled finger beneath her chin, he raised her head until their gazes connected once more. “Do you trust me enough to tell me what happened? What occurred in your life that was so bad it shaped you, made you into the woman you are today?” The woman I married, and as each day goes by, I am not regretting that decision?

“Please don’t think less of me,” she asked in a low, choked voice that nearly had him on his knees before her.

“How can I when I have things in my past that are equally horrible?”

That provoked a tremulous grin on her part. When she blew out a breath, that warmth skated along his chin. “Suffice it to say, I killed my uncle. He was my mother’s brother.”

Shock slammed into him once more. “Why?”

“He wouldn't stop sneaking into my bedroom at night whenever he was in London.” Again, she dropped her gaze, this time to the folds of his cravat. “I told my mother about his unwanted touches and advances, his forced kisses, but Mama refused to listen. She said I had made up the stories for attention, to tear her away from my father.” The delicate tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “God, she’s always wanted attention from everyone. It’s never stopped.”

“I could see that from the one time I talked with your mother on the morning of our wedding.” Not knowing what else to do, he took her hands in his as his mind still reeled from her admission of murder. “Best have it out with all of it. Rid yourself of it lest it eat away at your soul.”

She snorted. “Pot calling the kettle black?”

“Touché.” Even in this they were well matched.

“This went on for two terrible years.” Tears welled in her eyes then spilled onto her cheeks as she clung to his hands. “I suppose I’ve shoved those incidents so far down inside me because I didn’t wish to relive them.” A sniffling sound came from her. “The touches, the unwanted kisses, the groping in the dark after he snuck into my room once everyone else had retired.” Imogen shook her head as tears filled her eyes. “I was helpless and only just seventeen. My mother was supposed to protect me—nothing will convince me she didn’t know of her brother’s tendencies—but she didn’t. All her devotion was poured into my brother and my father.” Another poorly stifled sob escaped her throat as she implored him with her gaze. “Why did she want to please them, be kind to them , yet not show me the same affection?”

Oh, dear God.

What to say to her that would relieve the torment she’d lived under for far too long? “I don’t know. Perhaps she was abused by her brother, too, or perhaps she is one of those women who are threatened by others, including a daughter.” How miserable her life must have been!

“That isn’t an excuse.”

“No, but it’s a reason.” He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed her middle knuckle.

She huffed. “Every night I was terrified, Alan. I pleaded with my parents to let me go to finishing school, because then I would be away from London and him.”

“Why didn’t they send you?”

“I have no idea.” Imogen shrugged as tears continued to wet her cheeks. “One night I questioned my father about it, but he said he didn’t want to hear about my contretemps with my mother or my lies. Clearly my mother had coached him.” She shook her head. “He said I was too much a flirt and that men would be filled with desire if I didn’t stop.”

“What a fucking idiot,” Alan murmured as a wave of protection surged through him for this woman who’d already suffered so much.

“I pleaded with him, said I had never lied about anything,” she continued in a low, rushed voice as if he hadn’t spoken. “My father told me I would need a stiff upper lip and to endure the annoyances, for the family name was more important than its problems.”

Horror for her abuse rose in his throat. It was one thing to ignore a son, but to not protect a daughter? Despicable. “Did he…” He cleared his throat. “Did your uncle, uh, rape you?”

“Almost.” Finally, she tugged a hand from his hold to rub at the moisture on her cheeks. “I had taken to sleeping at night by moving a secretary desk in front of my door so I would have warning if he came in.” She swallowed hard again. “But that night, he had hidden himself under my bed.” Her voice broke on the last word, and more crying ensued. “As soon as I’d drifted off, he came into my bed, his body on mine, pressing a hand over my nose and mouth while ripping the bodice of my night dress.” Panic and horror reflected in her eyes. “I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream as he shoved up my skirts.”

Though he didn’t want to know, it was important that she purge herself of the story. “What happened?”

“Since no one would listen to me, earlier in the week, I’d gone to a pawn shop where I sold some of my jewelry in exchange for a dagger.” Again, she shrugged as if that was perfectly acceptable behavior. “I kept it under my pillow because I wanted security and some sort of defense. I refused to be used or raped by that man.” Another sob escaped her. “That night, when my uncle was in my bed, I used the dagger. I drove the blade deep into his chest... I can still feel it in my fingers, my hand, when the knife went through his skin, the muscles... his heart.” A full body shudder shook her where she stood. “I shall never forget that, but after I drove in the blade, I scrambled out of my bed and left him there, with his frontfalls down and his prick fully on display.”

“Oh, Imogen.” His beautiful, strong wife. “You were so brave.”

She didn’t appear to have heard him. “I screamed and screamed. I screamed until they all came running.” Despair shadowed her eyes as she met his gaze. “I showed them I was right and that I’d had to do something, anything to stop his abuse before it got worse.” Her voice broke. “Can you imagine if he reached his goal, and I fell pregnant because of it?” The shudder that racked her shoulders transferred to him.

He was nearly shocked into silence. “What did your parents do at that time?”

“They were livid, not because I was right or had been attacked, but that I caused this scandal, for the servants would undoubtedly talk. It was all hushed up quickly; my father paid off the constable as well as the coroner to say in their reports that it had been a robbery gone bad.” Annoyance flashed in her gaze. “That I spied the burglar sneaking into the house. They’d even tossed my belongings from my trunk and my clothes press. They said the dagger was his and I must have gotten it from him when he dropped it.”

“After the robber killed your uncle?” What a nodcock story.

“So it seems.”

“Even in your self-rescue, you couldn’t have the satisfaction of showing your family that you’d spoken the truth, and that you had no recourse but to take care of it on your own.”

“No. If I thought they were distant to me before, it was nothing compared to how they acted after.” She tugged her other hand from his hold then wandered to one of the windows. “As if it was a personal affront that I’d murdered my uncle. I was banished to Papa’s country estate in Derbyshire, not given a Season or the chance to be in London to attend balls or things.”

“Ah, so that is why our paths never crossed in Town or society.” It was beginning to make sense, even if it was horribly wrong.

Imogen sniffled. “Perhaps. I was completely cut off from everything and everyone I’d known before, punished and given no way to secure a future. They probably thought that since I’d been engaged since the age of two, I didn’t need one.”

“And you were deprived of everything a young lady of the beau monde should have had.” He shook his head. “How long were you there?”

She gave him another shrug as he came up behind her. “Considering that I’m now nine and twenty? Eleven years. I saw my family when they came for holidays—if they came. The only person in residence with me was my aged grandmother—my father’s mother. I told her everything. She said my parents were not deserving of holding their titles, so she left me to my own devices.” Slowly, Imogen turned to face him. “I had more freedom there than I’d ever had, but I didn’t wish to do much for years.”

“Yet?”

“Sometimes my other uncle’s son—my cousin—came to visit for weeks at a time.”

“Philip.” His chest tightened as jealousy stabbed through his chest.

“Yes. We were close. He was—is—my best friend. The only one I had after news of the death of my uncle leaked, for servants talk. When it became known I was involved, that was the end of any thought of my having a social life. Invitations to country events never came. Men didn’t come to call.”

Alan snorted. “You were engaged in any case.”

“Abandoned, you mean. Ignored, just like everyone did to me.” She narrowed her eyes on him as her emotions clearly swung to another extreme. “Yes, I let my cousin bed me. He wasn’t my first. That was a footman. I figured if my reputation was destroyed due to gossip that I was fast and ruined for something I didn’t do, I should make sure it was true.”

“Oh, Imogen.” He needed time to sort his confusing feelings. “I suspect it was a way to hide, to run from your emotions and disappointments, just as I’ve used my vices to do the same.”

“I suppose. After my grandmother died, I was incredibly lonely and lost.” She didn’t drop her gaze. “Philip and I came together like that every summer, and thank goodness nothing came from those couplings. As I look back upon those times now, I realize how stupid and na?ve I was.”

The more he tried, the more he couldn’t imagine the life she’d lived, the abject loneliness she’d suffered. The wave of protectiveness from before expanded and he wanted nothing more than to keep her from further harm. “I’m so sorry.” With very little effort, Alan drew her into his arms. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been holding onto.” Except, he could, for he fought his own.

When she tried to struggle out of his hold, he merely held her tighter against his chest. “I’m not of a mind for carnal pursuits, Averly.”

“Shh. I don’t want that,” he said against her hair.

“What do you want, then? I know enough about men not to trust them.”

He released her enough to peer into her face. “Do you trust me?”

For long moments, she held his gaze. Emotions shadowed her eyes, some unreadable. “Oddly, yes. I am coming to understand you. What’s more, I know you won’t allow anything or anyone to hurt me… and I will do the same for you.”

For the third time that afternoon, shock slammed into his chest. She would defend him, protect him? No one had ever wished to do that, not since his sister left the world. Emotion balled in his throat once more. “Then you also know I won’t hurt you. I am many things, but I am not a monster, and if I had known you during the days when your uncle was abusing you, I would have killed him myself then married you at that time.”

A tremulous grin barely curved her kissable lips. “Why? I was nothing to you.”

“To protect you where everyone else failed in that regard. Besides, you were my fiancée, and I should have respected that sacred state more. I realize that now.” Perhaps she wouldn’t have been made to suffer if he’d claimed her when she was still an innocent.

“Oh, I—”

“Hush, duchess. There is no more need for words.” Again, he encouraged her into his arms. Seconds later, he scooped her up into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her down onto the tick mattress. Then he stretched out next to her, pulled her close, and held her. “You’re safe now.”

“Somehow, that makes all the difference.” Tears took possession of her, and he didn’t know what to do, for the last time his sister had cried, she’d taken her own life shortly afterward.

Because he hadn’t protected her enough.

He wouldn’t fail now, wouldn’t disappoint his wife. That was a promise he would keep.

So he let her cry into his cravat and he simply held her. The storm would pass, but perhaps this would help them grow even closer. Did that mean he wanted a marriage in every sense of the word? There were no answers, but it wasn’t nearly as distasteful an idea as he had been just a week ago.