Page 20 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

DUNROSE DIDN’T GET a reply from Hyacinth, but he put this down to travel, since he decided that he must leave Arthford’s country house and to come back to London.

Once settled, he sent a servant with a message to Hyacinth, inquiring how things were going.

But the servant came back saying that Hyacinth wasn’t there, or that he couldn’t find her, and that the servants in the house had observed her leaving at dawn with Champeraigne, both of them on horseback, heading in the direction of London.

Dunrose didn’t quite know what that meant.

He had some sway with various people in town, however, so he went to a church in town and spoke to a bishop there who would know about any special licenses granted under the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the bishop told him that yes, indeed, a license had been granted to Champeraigne.

This settled uncomfortably into Dunrose’s chest, though he didn’t know why. He’d sent her a letter telling her to do it.

Had some part of him expected that she would not? Had he thought she’d resist?

It didn’t matter. She would marry Champeraigne, and then kill him.

Yes, but what if Champeraigne was going to… touch her?

He didn’t think it was likely, because Champeraigne was well and truly gone for the marchioness. He wasn’t faithful to the woman, not necessarily, but he was more faithful to her than she was to him. He wasn’t a womanizer by any stretch of the imagination.

In fact, Dunrose had only witnessed Champeraigne doing anything with women (besides the marchioness) for reasons of financial gain.

The letter from Hyacinth apprising him of the offer for her hand had been for financial gain. It was very likely that Champeraigne would not demand any husbandly rights.

On the other hand, Dunrose knew that Champeraigne had recently cuckolded the Baron Hellingsworth, seducing the man’s young convent-raised bride. True, it had been for money, but… well, that girl had been younger than Hyacinth.

It wasn’t as if Champeraigne had scruples.

He wouldn’t mind sticking his aging prick into Hyacinth.

Who would mind that, anyway?

Dunrose had thought he would mind less if Hyacinth’s husband was going to fuck her if Dunrose himself had been there first. He had been wrong. He cared a lot more now.

It was odd he was only thinking about it now.

No, I didn’t think she’d say yes.

That was it exactly, wasn’t it? He thought he’d have to come back and cajole and convince her that marrying Champeraigne was a good idea. He thought he’d have to talk her into it.

Well, that wasn’t the way of it, and it was actually quite a good thing.

It could all be done that night.

He needed to get the laudanum and get the laudanum to her.

So, first things first.

He needed to find out where she was going to be spending her wedding night with Champeraigne and he needed to go to Rutchester and tell him to procure the laudanum.

He did the latter first. Rutchester apprised of his role and working on it, Dunrose left to go and make inquiries about whether Champeraigne had made any reservations at any place in or around London for himself or his bride.

Nothing, though, so this led to Dunrose assuming that Champeraigne was either intending to take his new bride back to the same house he was sharing with his mistress (which would likely support the idea that there was no consummation happening, and if so, there was no reason to rush) or that he and Hyacinth were traveling, which would not be ideal.

Dunrose decided to test the first theory.

He went to the house where Champeraigne was staying.

When he was met at the door, the servants confirmed that neither Miss Thomas nor Champeraigne were there. However, the Marchioness de Fateux would speak to him, they said, and they conveyed him to a sitting room.

She was already in there. “Dunrose,” she said. “How dare you?”

“How dare I what?” he said.

“You know what you did to Hyacinth,” said the marchioness. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You took her damnable virtue.”

Dunrose sat down heavily in a chair, feeling defeated. “She told you,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Women tell other women these things for some reason.”

She pointed at him. “Why? That’s what I want to know. And if you’re here now, where is she?”

“Well, obviously, she is with Champeraigne,” said Dunrose.

“What would she be doing with—” The marchioness made a face as if something smelled sour. “Oh, Lord protect us, look what you’ve done by breaking her heart. She agreed to his stupid scheme to be his wife, didn’t she?”

“You didn’t know,” said Dunrose.

“Well, I knew he wanted her to do it, but I would not allow it!” She was pacing now, her voice steadily rising.

“I thought…” Dunrose stood up. “This isn’t good, then. If he ’s concealing it from you, it may mean he thinks to—”

“No,” she said, rounding on him. “If he touches her—”

“Well, there we are of the same mind,” said Dunrose.

“Frankly, I don’t want you touching her either,” said the marchioness.

“Did you leave her entirely unsatisfied? I’m sure you did, and I suppose a girl can’t expect better on her first time, really, because men do need such a good bit of help in that regard, but you, really, you put your hand in the general direction of a woman’s pleasure for half a moment and then say, ‘Did you come, love?’” She was mocking him.

“Not half a moment ,” he said.

“It takes longer than you think it takes,” she said. “It takes women longer than men.”

He furrowed his brow. “Oh, does it?” He was thinking of that thing that Rutchester had said again. “How much longer?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you were my lover, not that I would waste my time on you, however, but if you were, you would need quite a great deal of teaching and instruction, because you are selfish and hopeless and awful in bed.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re as skilled as you think you are, either,” he said.

She laughed in his face.

He glared at her.

“Back to Champeraigne,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if it’s about me, about him trying to take her from me, or what he thinks to do. But whatever it may be, I cannot abide his taking that girl into his bed. She is young enough to be his daughter, and it is appalling.”

“You’re one to speak about age differences,” said Dunrose.

“It’s different when it’s a girl and an older man.”

“Why?”

“Because the world is already lopsided towards men having all the power. Me and a young man, maybe it’s almost equal between us, but she is practically powerless against that man.”

“She’s not as fragile as you think she is,” he said. “But, agreed, I can’t allow Champeraigne to touch her.”

“You’re possessive towards her,” said the marchioness. “And you knew she was marrying him. What is this, Dunrose? Some scheme? You think to use her against him?”

He shook his head. “She did this on her own.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said the marchioness. “She did this because you pushed her into it, either overtly or by rejecting her. What did you say to her after you fucked her?”

“I never made any promises to her that it was going to lead to anything,” said Dunrose. “The opposite, in fact. We both understood that—”

“You badly understand young women,” said the marchioness. “So, you broke her heart, and then she ran into his arms, likely to hurt you. You feel hurt?”

Dunrose looked away.

“Well, I could have told you her that you wouldn’t,” said the marchioness. “But she didn’t come to me, because she knew I wouldn’t like it either.” She waved at the door. “Out. Begone. I shall keep him out of her bed, do not worry about that.”

Dunrose nodded. “All right.”

“But if you aren’t hurt, why do you care?” said the marchioness to him.

“I don’t entirely know,” muttered Dunrose, and he was telling the truth.