Page 17 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

SOMETHING HAD GONE horribly wrong with Dunrose’s little plan, and he knew it by the time he got back to his house in London.

He felt guilty about having bedded her, for one thing.

Very guilty.

He felt as if he’d stolen something from her, some experience that she should have had, though he didn’t know what that experience really and truly should have been, he supposed.

He doubted that if she married any of those men on the list they’d made, it would have gone much better than it had with him.

However, he’d wanted to give her a good experience, and he’d fucked it up.

He’d gotten selfish and overly excited, for one thing, urging her despite of the fact he might have hurt her. What had he been thinking? It was as if he’d completely lost sight of her in the midst of it—

Well, truly, that was the way that sex usually was for him. He didn’t think much about the other person beyond making sure they weren’t trying to back out on him. He wanted them willing enough to stay through the whole thing, but he didn’t much care otherwise.

But he felt really guilty about that, about taking advantage of her, about using her for his own pleasure.

He’d never felt anything like that in his entire life .

Truly, it hadn’t much occurred to him how awful the whole business might be for a woman. He’d assumed that women liked it a lot, otherwise they wouldn’t do it.

But when he’d realized that he’d forgotten to protect the very virginal and very vulnerable Miss Thomas with a French letter, he’d looked down at her beneath him, and she’d been so small and lovely there, so bare and vulnerable, and he realized the enormity of it.

I took her virtue, he thought.

And there was really no giving it back at that point. He was balls deep in her fantastically tight little cunny, which was definitely the sweetest thing he’d ever fucked.

But there didn’t seem to be anything about the situation that was really so good for her.

Why, she’d had to give herself an orgasm.

He hadn’t even done that for her. And she said it didn’t hurt, but he knew it had been quite a lot for her.

He could sense her reaction to it, and it was a reaction that bespoke the enormity of the act.

I took her virtue.

She was not the sort of girl that a man did this with, and he’d just talked her into it and helped her out of her clothes and wriggled his way all the way deep inside her, and it… it had been wrong.

He knew it, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

He needed someone to talk to, but the only people he trusted to talk to about this sort of thing were the other dukes, his friends.

They were close enough that he could share this shameful thing.

They might scold him about it, but they’d still accept him, no matter what he’d done. He knew this was true.

Rutchester was in town, but Rutchester wouldn’t understand.

Nothshire wouldn’t either.

No, it had to be Arthford, even if he was still obsessed with his bride, even if he wouldn’t welcome Dunrose’s intrusion into his private wedded bliss.

So, he set off for the country immediately.

He knew this would mean he wouldn’t be there for the ball, but he made the arrangements for the carriage to be sent to Miss Thomas, as he’d promised.

He wouldn’t be there, but that was likely a good thing, for she could dance with other eligible men on their list without his interference.

He dimly remembered that he’d promised to get them to dance with her, something that he hadn’t known how he was going to do anyway.

She’d figure it out on her own, he thought. She didn’t need him.

She was better off away from him.

Bluebelle Grange was not a formidable distance from London, so he was able to arrive there after only four or five hours’ journey.

He presented himself at the door of the place to the servant who answered the door. He had not been expected, so the servants were not pleased to see him. They knew him, though, considering how much time he’d spent there getting off the laudanum.

They conveyed him to a sitting room on the main floor of the house, and he was there alone for some time before Arthford eventually appeared.

“Are you back on laudanum?” was the first thing Arthford said.

“No,” said Dunrose. “I wish to talk to you about something, but it can wait until a convenient time, of course. If you’re busy with your wife.”

“She’s at Briar Abbey, actually,” said Arthford. “I planned to join her there today. I was here, taking care of some business. But if you’re here, then—”

“Oh,” said Dunrose, “I’m in your way, then. I should not have come.”

“Probably not,” said Arthford, giving him a tired smile. “You’re very annoying, Dunrose. But if you need me, I’m here, of course.”

Dunrose shook his head. “No, I don’t need anything.”

“You came here from London because you need nothing?”

Dunrose cringed .

“I’ll tell Marjorie to come here,” said Arthford. “How’s that? And while we’re waiting for her, you can tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I NEED YOU to help me clean up a mess I’ve made,” said Dunrose. “It involves a woman, but it’s so much worse than that.”

They were walking in the grounds outside Bluebelle Grange, for it was still warm and still light, though it was evening in the country. The gardens were pleasant this time of year.

“You made a mess with a woman? I’m not surprised,” said Arthford. “But why do you need me? You seem to get clear of these messes most of the time, don’t you?”

“Well, I came to you because I thought you might be less angry,” said Dunrose. “You’ve gotten yourself into messes because of women, so I thought—”

“Did you kill someone for a woman?”

“No,” said Dunrose, raising his eyebrows. “Does that sound like me?”

“Well, it seems recently, between Nothshire and myself, there’s been a bit of that,” said Arthford. “But, no, it doesn’t sound like you.”

“I just deflowered someone I shouldn’t have, all right? You have some experience with that, though not really, because Marjorie was already ruined when you ruined her.”

“You ruined a debutante? Who?”

“Miss Hyacinth Thomas.”

“With the dowry?”

“She doesn’t actually have a dowry. It’s a ruse.”

“Oh, well.” Arthford shrugged. “That’s all right. If she did have a dowry, it’d just go to Champeraigne when you married her, anyway, because he’d extort it from you. And I think you have to marry her.”

“Oh,” said Dunrose, because he had shut the door on marrying her, and now wondered about opening it again. “Well, that seems wretched, though. Now, after I have taken advantage of her and tricked her into taking my prick, I would need to convince her to tie herself to me forever and ever?”

“Tricked her how? What did you do, Daniel?” Arthford glanced at him, concerned.

“I don’t know. I told her that she’d be better able to decide which man she wished to marry if she knew what it was like, being, erm, tupped.”

“That convinced her?” said Arthford, raising his eyebrows. “I think maybe she does want to marry you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Dunrose. “All right, look, she’s not a normal sort of person, and I guess I have to get into this. She’s, erm, connected to the Marchioness de Fateux.”

“What?” said Arthford.

“She says that she’s really French, and that the marchioness was a friend of her mother’s, and she arranged for her foster family to raise her and put out a story that she was English and the daughter of a wealthy tradesman with a fabulous dowry—”

“Well, that sounds like Seraphine,” said Arthford. “The lie does, that is. Taking care of some small child, however? That does not. She doesn’t even like children.” He made a face.

“All right, well, there’s more,” said Dunrose. “She knows that we’re highwaymen.”

“Who does? Because obviously Seraphine—”

“Miss Thomas knows.”

“How does she know that?”

“Well, she recognized me,” said Dunrose.

“Oh, you do have to marry her,” said Arthford. “This is ridiculous.”

“Well, I want her to poison Champeraigne,” said Dunrose.

Arthford stopped walking and turned to look at Dunrose. “What?”

“She happens to be staying at the home of the Marquis de Fateux right now, and Champeraigne is due back there.”

“Truly?” Arthford drew back. “So, this could work.”

“She says she’ll do it as soon I help her find a husband. It’s a bargain between us.”

“How did you convince her to do that?”

“Well, we know each other’s secrets, you see?” said Dunrose. “So, that sort of canceled each other out. And then, I wanted her to do it, and she didn’t wish to, and I said that if I could get her a husband, because that’s what she wants—”

“Just marry her yourself.”

“After she kills Champeraigne, though, because he’d never trust her if I was married to her. Furthermore, she’d have no excuse to be under the same roof as him.”

“Why did you take her to bed, if you wished her to kill Champeraigne?”

“I don’t know. I’m an idiot, that’s why. I can’t think properly around her. I’ve never wanted someone this way before. And it’s never been like that before, either. I don’t know, your wife, she was a virgin the first time you had her. Is there something magical about virgins?”

“Magical?”

“I mean, she was… it was… and I wanted it to be good for her, and I was awful at it.” Dunrose kicked a pebble on the path.

“She hated it?”

Dunrose shrugged.

“So, you’ve… what? Ruined everything? This was likely our best bet at killing Champeraigne?”

“I…” Dunrose spread his hands. “Maybe.”

“Fuck,” said Arthford and started walking again.

“You’re angry with me,” said Dunrose, catching up to him.

“You have to make it up to her somehow, get her to work with you on Champeraigne,” said Arthford. “Maybe you can make her fall in love with you.”

“I don’t think so. I’d have better luck finding her a husband. ”

Arthford laughed. “Maybe.”

“Fuck you,” said Dunrose, scuffing his foot against the path.

Arthford put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t wish to marry her, anyway.”

“No,” said Dunrose.

“Let me help you write a letter,” said Arthford. “I’m good with letters.”

“Can you just write it for me? You can fake my handwriting, can’t you?”

“No, I cannot write it for you, you lazy sad sack.”

Later, they were in the middle of writing the letter when the servant arrived with the letter from Miss Thomas herself, the one with the information that Champeraigne was trying to marry her.

“It’s perfect,” said Dunrose. “She can’t possibly get closer to him than that!”

“You wish her to do it?” said Arthford. “You wish to marry this poor girl to that?”

“Well, then she’ll kill him and be free of him, and so shall we all,” said Dunrose.

Arthford raised his eyebrows.

“What’s that face?”

“For a bit there, you had me thinking maybe you were in love with this girl.”

“I told you, I don’t fall in love anymore.”

“Yes, well, I see that you aren’t,” said Arthford. “At all.”