Page 36 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Thirty-Six

“F or the love of Christendom…I told you, quite succinctly, I do not want to be disturbed!”

Edwin glared at the butler, who winced beneath his gaze. Edwin blinked, trying to figure out what time it was. It had all started to blur.

Day or night? Morning or afternoon? Who knows and who cares?

He glanced, bleary eyed, at the windows in his study. The curtains were firmly closed and had not been opened since he had ensconced himself in this room, almost as soon as he and the girls got back to Ironstone from London—along with two bottles of his best brandy.

Time had stood still. He no longer knew how long he had been here. He had been drinking constantly, staring into the fire, trying to fight the shock and pain that Christine had decided to remain in London.

She has left me. I know that she has, despite anything she might say to the contrary.

The pain was white hot and felt like a knife constantly lodged in his heart. All he could see was her devastated face, pleading with him, desperately craving reassurance that he cared for her, even a little bit.

And he hadn’t been able to give her that reassurance. He had chosen duty over love. For that was what he realized it was, now—love. Pure and simple.

I am desperately in love with her. To the point that I cannot function without her at all.

As soon as the realization had hit him, he didn’t know how he had managed to convince himself he didn’t care for her for so long. An exercise in pure denial. A gargantuan attempt to fight the truth that was staring him in the face.

“What is it?” growled Edwin, his head throbbing, glaring at the butler. “Why are you here?”

“I do apologize, Your Grace,” said the butler, visibly trembling, “but you have a caller. Lady Canterfield.”

“Nora?” he snorted. “What on earth is she doing here? Send her away!”

But as soon as he issued the command, the lady herself swept into the room, smiling brightly, removing her gloves as she walked around the room, before curtseying prettily, and sitting herself by the fire.

Edwin gaped at her. A wave of anger swept over him. It was just like Nora to do such a thoughtless thing. The lady had always been oblivious to what was happening around her. She assumed she was welcome wherever she went.

“Oh, do stop glowering at me like a bear with a sore head, Edwin,” said the lady, in a crisp voice. “Come and sit down! I am here now!”

Edwin sighed heavily, dismissing the butler, walking to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself another brandy. A tall one. Not that he needed it, but it might sustain him through this visit.

“Sherry, Nora?” he asked, trying to curb his anger. The sooner he dealt with her, the sooner she would leave.

“Just a small one,” she replied, with another dazzling smile, stretching her arms behind the sofa, in an informal way, fixing her eyes on him. “If you insist!”

Edwin repressed a shudder, pouring a glass of sherry, and handing it to her. He sat opposite, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this house call?” he asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, raising his eyebrows. “You are alone. Once again. Where, pray tell, is your dear husband? Does he not enjoy making house calls with you?”

“Arthur is a bed with his rheumatism,” sighed the lady. “He is quite incapacitated with it.” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “A little birdy told me that you returned to Ironstone from London…without the duchess.”

Edwin shook his head incredulously. “How do you know that ? Have you spies everywhere?”

He rubbed his neck ruefully, his blood running a little cold. The last thing he needed was Nora spreading rumors that Christine had left him, on top of everything else. He suddenly realized it was the reason for this impromptu call—she was fishing for information. Gossip was Nora’s lifeblood. He needed to proceed warily.

“Perhaps,” she said airily. “But I do not know why she remained behind. It seems rather odd.”

His face tightened. “The duchess decided to spend some time with her family. That is all.”

“Oh, yes, I heard about the return of the prodigal sister,” breathed Nora, leaning forward in the seat, her eyes avid. “It is quite the cause célèbres in London. The ton is abuzz with it.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” barked Edwin, glaring at her. “Lady Violet was looking after her ailing aunt in Wales. Nothing more.”

Nora gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “And I am a monkey’s uncle! You really do not expect me to believe that , do you, Edwin? I did not come down in the last shower, you know.”

Edwin glowered at her, sipping his brandy. His head throbbed again. When, oh when, could he get her out of his house?

“Perhaps the duchess felt a little…left out,” continued Nora, in a pensive voice, sipping her sherry. “Lady Violet is so superior to her, after all, and everyone knows it. Your poor little duchess must have her nose quite out of joint. Tell me, do you long to annul the marriage? Nobody would blame you, Edwin.”

Edwin choked on his brandy, before setting the glass down. He opened his mouth, about to tell her once and for all to mind her own business, but to his shock, Nora abruptly got up, crossing the floor, and sitting beside him. She leant over him, so closely that his nose was practically forced into her decolletage.

“She can never make you happy, you know,” she breathed, reaching out a hand, and placing it on one of his knees. “She is a girl, a mere sprite, as innocent as a lily, and unbearably dull.”

She leaned closer, so that her breath fanned his cheek, gazing at him seductively. “You need a real woman, Edwin. A woman who is your true match. And I am the one who can match you…in every single way possible.”

She gave a throaty laugh, squeezing his knee.

Edwin dislodged her, leaping to his feet. He gazed down at her, more appalled than he had ever been in his life. The woman was the sister of his late wife, for heaven’s sake. Did she have no shame?

“I am a married gentleman, madam,” he said coldly. “And apart from that , you are Rose’s sister!” He shook his head incredulously. “What has gotten into you, Nora? Have you been drinking?”

The lady flushed a dull, brick red, getting to her feet. Her eyes were sparking with anger and humiliation. There was a strained silence.

“Let us just forget it,” snapped Edwin, his patience at an end. He just wanted to get her out of his house, now. “We shall pretend that it never happened.”

“Of course, if that is what Your Grace desires,” she replied, with a tight smile. “I only believed that we might act upon our mutual interest at long last—seeing that your new marriage must be such a disappointment to you.”

He gaped at her. “Mutual interest? What are you talking about?”

“You know that there has always been something between us, Edwin,” she continued quickly, the words spilling from her mouth, her eyes almost feverish. “Even before you married Rose there was a spark between us.” She looked pained. “But my parents decided that Rose must be your wife instead of me.”

Floored, he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Is that what you truly believe?” He shook his head, before looking at her carefully. “Did you resent Rose because of these…feelings?”

There was a short, sharp silence. Suddenly, Nora’s face changed. She looked askance, shaking her head vigorously.

“Of course not!” Her eyes filled with tears. “Rose was my most beloved sister. It was never her doing…she had no idea about what was between us.”

“There was nothing between us, Nora,” he said, through gritted teeth. Was the lady deluded? “No spark, no deep feelings…nothing.”

The lady reeled back for a moment, before composing herself. She gave a tinkling laugh.

“I understand why you do not wish to acknowledge it any longer,” she said quickly. “Your loyalty to Rose’s memory is truly admirable. As is your loyalty to your new wife.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “The little duchess is a lucky lady. I only hope she realizes how lucky she is.”

Edwin shook his head again. He didn’t know what to say to her any longer. It was imperative he got her out of the room—and his house—as soon as possible. Nora’s behavior was growing increasingly worrisome. Where had this all come from?

“This is inappropriate, Nora,” he snapped. “You know that it is. I will not speak about my wife with you. I think you should leave.”

“I do not need to be told,” she said, with a quick curtsey. “My apologies for disturbing you. I can see you are unreceptive, that you deny the truth due to loyalty to your marriage. It is very admirable. Good day, Edwin.”

Before he could reply, she swept out of the room.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down, draining his brandy. Nora’s sudden, strange appearance and behavior was disconcerting, but it was the least of his worries.

Christine was haunting him again. Had never stopped haunting him. The pain was overwhelming.

Go to her. Tell her how you truly feel. Do it now.

He got up, walking to the fireplace the crackling wood inside sending bursts of warmth and light flickering across the dark room. He watched the flames dance, their movement wild and unpredictable, the crackling sound a harsh reminder of how fragile everything had become.

His gaze followed the way the fire shifted, twisting, burning out of control. It was like his emotions—too many, too intense, fighting for space and consuming whatever had been left of him.

He watched as the wood cracked and broke, the embers scattering, leaving nothing behind but ashes.

His marriage felt the same—fractured, scorched, and fading.

He stood there, his heart heavy, his mind racing.

What was he supposed to do? How could he fix this when everything felt beyond repair?

* * *

Christine marched into the parlor, glaring at her father, who was seated near the fire, reading a book. Her heart was still filled with outrage, and sorrow, at how he was treating Violet. The memory of her sister’s bereaved, lost face was haunting her.

“Why have you locked Violet in her chambers?” she said, standing in front of the fireplace, glaring at him. “How can you treat your own daughter in such a shabby, outrageous manner?”

The earl closed his book, glowering at her. “It is none of your business, Christine,” he snapped. “Violet is the one who has behaved outrageously! If you only knew the half of what she has been up to…”

“I know everything about where Violet was and who she was with, Father,” she retorted, in a cold voice. “Why cannot you just let her live her own life? Let her go and have the courage to stand up to society!”

His face flushed hard.

“You are living in a dream world, Christine,” he sneered. “Do you truly think I would ever recover from such a scandal? Do you think the ton would ever acknowledge me again knowing my daughter is a devotee of Sappho, living with her maid, and a common opera singer to boot?” He shook his head incredulously. “I would never live it down!”

Christine flushed. “Your contempt is unbecoming. Violet is who she is. She and Grace are genuinely in love. Do you not want Violet to be happy? Have you no heart at all?”

“This conversation is over,” retorted the earl, getting to his feet.

“No, it is not,” snapped Christine, another wave of fury overtaking her. “And may I remind you who you are speaking to! I am the Duchess of Ironstone and have far more power and influence than you will ever have!”

He looked astonished. Then rather fearful and sheepish. He stood still, staring at her.

“I implore you to let Violet live her own life,” she said, in a low, urgent voice. “I will do my best to minimize the scandal, and the impact upon you.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to crumble beneath her entreaty, then his face changed, settling into the familiar stubborn lines.

“No,” he said. “I will not.” He took a deep breath. “I am going to secure a marriage for her as quickly as possible. There is nothing more to say. And now, I am heading to my gentleman’s club. I am already late.”

Christine’s hands balled into fists at her side as he walked swiftly out of the room. She heard the front door slam and then the wheels of the carriage turning, rattling down the street.

Quickly, she left the room, running up the stairs to her sister’s chambers. But then, she stopped abruptly, her heart pounding hard.

A footman was stationed outside Violet’s room now.

My father must have been told that I entered the room. He acted quickly.

“Let me pass,” she said, in her most commanding voice. “I wish to see my sister.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” said the footman, his face impassive. “But I have strict orders. No one is allowed in the room.”

Christine shook her head in disgust, walking away. There must be something she could do to stop this appalling situation. But what was it?