Page 21 of The Duke of Swords (The Highwaymen #4)

RUTCHESTER WAS PLANNING on leaving in the morning for the country. He would stay with Arthford, he thought, for he didn’t feel he wished to be alone, but he could not be in the same city as Rae, not without doing something he regretted.

He thought of her constantly.

He had very nearly gone to this ball tonight, only because he’d heard Patience ramble on about how beautiful the dress was, what a triumph it would be for everyone when she appeared and everyone saw her.

He wanted to see her triumph.

Nothshire had stopped him.

He’d actually gotten ready to leave. He wasn’t going to use the Nothshire carriage, of course.

He had intended to walk there. He thought he would stay to the periphery and eat cucumber sandwiches in the shadows.

He wouldn’t touch her or speak to her or allow her to see him, he thought. But he had to see.

Nothshire had intercepted him on the way out the door. “You’re going to the ball?” he said.

“Don’t think to stop me,” he said gruffly.

Nothshire furrowed his brow, saying nothing.

This bothered Rutchester. “You do think to stop me.”

“I don’t rightly know,” Nothshire said. “Stopping you is like trying to stop a storm, I think. If I try, I shall fail. But you once said to me that you don’t think, and that I think too much, too long.

I think so long that I don’t act, and that you act without thinking, and that, between the two of us, we were a good team.

So, I wonder if you wish me to stop you from acting. ”

Rutchester had felt all of his resolve leave him in a great whoosh of disappointed air. He let out a breath and his shoulders fell and he knew he would not go to the ball. He turned, sighing, and went back into the depths of the Nothshire house.

Tomorrow, he would go to the country, as he had planned.

He would stay with Arthford, and he would be safe.

He could speak to Arthford about things he couldn’t speak to the others about, anyway.

Arthford’s father hadn’t been like Rutchester’s father, not exactly, but he had been awful in other ways, and they had things in common.

With Nothshire, it was different. He couldn’t speak to him.

Nothshire caught him though, caught him by the arm and stopped his movement.

“You know, I should say… well, perhaps I shouldn’t say, but I think I shall say it, that there was exactly one time in my life that I didn’t think too long, that I acted, even though I knew it was wrong, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. ”

Rutchester rounded on him, confused. “When? What are you talking about?”

“With my wife, I mean,” said Nothshire. He shifted on his feet. “You and I, we are opposites in many ways, but with women, we have often been the same. Or similar, anyway. Neither of us indulged in women. And then I met Patience, and I couldn’t stop myself.”

Rutchester eyed him. “What do you mean by that?”

“You haven’t spoken to me,” said Nothshire.

“Not in any detail, really. You said you forced yourself on Miss Smith, and that she didn’t welcome it, and then I have heard things from Patience, and I have stayed out of it, I suppose, because…

well, this is hard to say. Here is the truth of it, though.

The first time I was with my wife, she was too drunk to know what she wanted, and I was entirely sober and I knew what I was doing was wrong.

Even as I was doing it, I was wrestling with myself, trying to tell myself to stop it.

Typically speaking, if I think something is wrong, I can’t act. ”

It was true. Nothshire had a code of behavior that he used to determine whether or not violence was necessary.

He would not kill men if he did not think they deserved it.

It was Nothshire who had convinced them all that their fathers deserved death.

He had told them what they were doing was righteous, even if it was murder.

There were times where Nothshire had faltered, been unable to pull a trigger or swing a blade. Later, Nothshire would be regretful, but he would say that he simply could not be sure that his behavior would have been right .

Nothshire could not do things he thought were wrong.

It was the core of his friend’s character, something that Rutchester had always frankly envied about the man.

Rutchester knew right from wrong, but once he was in the moment, it didn’t matter.

There weren’t thoughts in his head. He was pure movement, pure action.

Later, certainly, Rutchester would realize what he’d done was wrong, but it was always too late then.

“But with her, it didn’t matter,” said Nothshire. He swallowed. “I’ve never seen you attempt to stop yourself before.”

Rutchester raised his eyebrows. “I do attempt to stop myself, that’s what none of you seem to understand.” His voice was rising, anger surging in him. He had once tried to explain this to Arthford, but he hadn’t been able to make himself clear then, either.

Arthford had given Rutchester that one very valuable bit of advice, however.

He had told Rutchester that if he couldn’t stop himself, he should remove himself from the situation.

Go for a walk! Arthford had thundered, because he’d been very angry at the time.

The two men had been shouting at each other, because Rutchester had just destroyed some piece of artwork in the other man’s house, if Rutchester remembered clearly.

Rutchester couldn’t always remember the advice, admittedly. Sometimes, he’d be swept up. But when he did remember it, he followed it. He would go for walks, and it did help.

Nothshire took two steps back. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk of this.”

That made Rutchester feel hot shame. “You’re frightened of me,” he spat out. “All of you are frightened of me, the only people in the world who give a damn about me, and none of you trust me.”

Nothshire stepped forward again. “I do trust you, Oliver. I trust you with all my secrets, with all my weaknesses. I trust you and I depend upon you. You have pointed this out, how we all ask you to do things for us because whatever it is within you, whatever damage you do, it is a force that we need. You protect us. You always have. When it went wrong, with our fathers, and they weren’t dead, you finished it.

If you hadn’t, think how much worse it all would have gone. ”

Rutchester had never thought of it that way, he supposed.

He felt the anger drain out of him again.

It was exhausting, really, the way emotions churned in and out of him.

He didn’t even know who he was half of the time.

He felt like a ship on the sea, tossed from one extreme to the other in moments.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I wish to talk of it, please. What do you mean by what you said several moments ago?”

“I don’t recall what I said several moments ago, I’m afraid.” Nothshire gave him a rueful smile.

“That you have never seen me attempt to stop myself before.”

“Ah, yes,” said Nothshire. “I only mean that typically speaking, when it comes to violent acts, you shrug them off. If there was a man who you wished to kill in Dunrose’s house, you would not come to my house and say I must shelter you or say that you must be kept away from him.

You’d just kill him and be done with it.

But with Miss Smith, it matters to you that you do not hurt her. ”

“Well, she’s a woman.”

Nothshire laughed. “I remember how you have said, on more than one occasion, that you don’t mind killing women, because everyone bleeds the same.”

Rutchester grimaced. “I say frightful things, don’t I?”

“She’s different,” said Nothshire.

“Yes,” said Rutchester in a strangled voice.

“And Patience was different for me,” said Nothshire. “I think you should marry her.”

“But I—”

“I know,” said Nothshire, spreading his hands. “I’m only saying that she’s different, she makes you different, and that means something.”

“She doesn’t wish to marry me.”

“Well, Patience didn’t wish to marry me.” Nothshire gave him a little grin, a slightly wicked grin.

“And you forced her to?”

“I don’t know what I did,” said Nothshire, and he actually blushed.

“I only know that whatever I did, I’m glad I did it.

She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.

And I think, if you care about this woman to the point that you don’t wish to hurt her, maybe it’s all right to test it, to see if you can be around her and not do damage.

And if she can help you in that way, then you’re mad not to take that help.

You need something to steady you, Rutchester.

If this woman steadies you, do not let her go. ”

Rutchester turned in a circle. “But you have, even now, prevented me from going to the ball.”

Nothshire nodded. “True. I suppose I have.” He winced. “That’s perhaps because, when I stopped you, I hadn’t come to the conclusion that you should marry Miss Smith. But now I have, and I’ve said it, and…”

“And now you realize that’s a horrible thing to do to that poor woman. You have no idea what she’s been through.

“We’ve all been through awful things, Oliver,” said Nothshire. “Every single one of us. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does,” said Rutchester. “Of course it matters , Benedict.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re saying I should be selfish. That if she is good for me, I should take her, no matter if I am good for her.”

“I’m not saying that,” said Nothshire, making a face. “I can see why it sounded like I was saying that.”

“But that is what they did to us, Benedict. That is what our fathers did to us. They saw us as extensions of themselves, possessions that they used in various ways to gratify themselves.”

Nothshire swallowed. “Yes, true.” His face fell.

It was quiet for a moment.

“It’s only,” said Nothshire carefully, “that there’s something that happens when you’re in love, I think, a kind of selfishness that goes both ways.

You want her selfishly and she wants you selfishly and you both gratify the other.

I suppose it matters rather a great deal if your Miss Smith is at all gratified by you.

It’s only that Patience says that she might be. ”

“She does?” said Rutchester in a very small voice.

“I don’t know,” said Nothshire. “Patience also says that she is sentimental when she is increasing and that she is likely wrong to wish some romantic outcome for you. She says that perhaps she only likes the tidiness of it, all of us dukes married and settled. She says it would make for nice gatherings in the autumn at our estates, that we could all raise our children together…”

“Children,” murmured Rutchester. “I would not be a very good father, I don’t think.”

“Perhaps you’d be like Dunrose and swear it off,” said Nothshire. “But I must say, I’m not exactly sure I’m a good father. I think it’s a common concern, if you wish to know the truth of it.”

“Of course you are a marvelous father,” said Rutchester. “You’re the best of us.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Nothshire. “Sometimes, I think you are.”

“Me?”

“You’re honest in a way the rest of us aren’t,” said Nothshire. “There’s something young in you, something, I don’t know, hopeful. It’s all right to hope.”

“It’s not,” said Rutchester with an air of finality. He trooped off towards his bedchamber on that note.

Nothshire called after him, but Rutchester ignored him.

He had a servant help him out of his clothing and settled into his bed, though he could not seem to concentrate on the book that he was trying to read.

He began to suspect it was simply a bad book and that perhaps he should simply go to the library in Nothshire’s house and seek out something else to read.

Perhaps a book he’d already read, one that he didn’t need to pay so close attention to, since he already knew how it all came out.

He got out of bed to do exactly that, and when he was crossing past the stairwell to the lower level, he heard voices filtering up, and he recognized Dunrose’s and his duchess’s. Rutchester descended the steps in his nightclothes.

Nothshire was downstairs and so were the Duke and Duchess of Dunrose, who were both dressed as if they were king’s jesters in garishly red matching outfits.

“Oh!” said the Duchess of Dunrose. “Rutchester, here you are. So, she didn’t go to you, then?”

“Who?” said Rutchester, alighting at the bottom of the stairs. He stopped right next to a potted plant. The pot was decorated with intricate markings and the plant within had pretty blue flowers. There were two of them, flanking the staircase.

“Miss Smith,” said Nothshire. “She left the ball and no one can find her.”

“Left?” said Rutchester. “Why?”

“It is Seraphine’s fault,” said the Duchess of Dunrose.

“Seraphine recognized her. I suppose she must have seen her with Fateux at some point. Seraphine had some mad scheme that we must produce Fateux’s body so that everyone will know that she is a widow and can come into whatever inheritance she is owed upon the death of her husband.

She said that you must go and produce the body, since you are the only one who knows where it is, and that if you did not, she would tell everyone Miss Smith’s true identity. ”

Rutchester’s nostrils flared. “Fine. I shall do that. I don’t mind. If it will protect Miss Smith—”

“Well, she said no,” said the duchess. “Miss Smith said you’d done too much for her already and she wouldn’t allow it. Then she disappeared.”

Dunrose spoke up. “We hoped she had gone home, to our house, but she is not there, and then Hyacinth thought perhaps she might have come to you.”

Rutchester sucked in a breath and then he was acting before he could think, as usual. He toppled one of the potted plants, breaking the pot, sending soil skittering across the floor, the tiny blue flowers going askew.

He groaned.

Go for a walk, came Arthford’s voice.

Rutchester stalked out of the house.