Page 19 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 19

“T hat was stupid. That was so incredibly stupid.” The scene played on an endless loop in Gabriel’s mind, and it was all he could do to sit at his desk and not simply charge back into the library. To… do what, exactly, he couldn’t fully say.

His intent wavered between committing violence against Robin, or testing Thalia’s boundaries further than he’d had the chance to. Images of her sprawled out in his bed, her wrists bound lightly in silk, a flicker of fear mixed with a deep desire to be completely overtaken…

Gabriel stood abruptly, moving towards a large, antique globe set beside a small bookshelf and reading chair. He easily pushed a hinge upright, opening the top of the globe to reveal a bottle of whiskey he immediately snagged and took a quick shot from.

The hot rush of burning alcohol set his hair on end, chasing away the flush he’d been growing over thoughts of… Miss Sutton. “Miss Sutton,” he repeated aloud, taking another swig before setting the bottle back in its place. “It is Miss Sutton, not…” Not Thalia. It couldn’t be Thalia. And she certainly shouldn’t be his little rabbit.

Someone rapped forcefully against his door, and Gabriel moved back to his chair, slicking back his hair and squaring his shoulders. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, then occupied his hands with estate papers and a pen. “Enter.”

The door swung inward, Robin entering as his hand remained gripped against the knob. Based on his expression—which he was trying desperately to keep neutral—he’d received at least some information from Tha—Miss Sutton. How much, Gabriel couldn’t rightly say. And it would remain forever a mystery; the less he brought attention to it, the better.

“Did I arrive on time, Your Grace?” Robin asked, a note of sarcasm coating the honorary title.

Gabriel blinked, realizing he couldn’t answer properly. Never once, had he glanced at the clock in his office, though now it was loudly ticking in his ear. The weight of his pocket watch suddenly became more noticeable; he hadn’t even bothered to take it out upon entering his study.

“I’ll give you a pass, considering the late night you had,” he replied evenly.

Robin fought to keep his brow even.

“Take a seat,” Gabriel instructed. “Start at the beginning. Leave out unnecessary detail.” He felt more at ease, sinking comfortably into his chair. The memories of the library began to fade in the background, and he sharpened his mind for the task at hand. Anger certainly was a useful tool, especially in regards to chasing away notable distractions.

Robin wasted no time getting comfortable himself, slouching against the side of his chair with one leg propped against the cushion. Gabriel couldn’t help but scowl at the sight, but dirt could easily be cleaned. He would put up with the child’s antics, if only to ensure he got what he needed.

“You were right about Giles. He’s really been cozying up to the Devils.”

“Elaborate.”

Robin seemed pleased to do so. “Had a whole bunch hosted at Oslay, though they didn’t stick around for long. He probably didn’t want to start coming up with excuses as to why the manor’s so empty.”

Then the little marquess was well out of reserves, if he’d taken to pawning off household items. “Any idea where he took them?”

Robin shook his head. “Didn’t think it mattered too much. All I cared about was the empty house.”

Though a part of Gabriel was morbidly curious, Robin was correct. Deep beneath his back-alley attitude, there was the makings of a shrewd businessman; someone who knew what to fixate on and what drivel to tune out. “Continue.”

“Getting inside was simple enough,” Robin continued. “There’s this butler guy—Cooke, I think his name is—he came by the rookery hours after Thalia first arrived with a big ol’ basket. Had some of her stuff, favorite snacks—figured if I could find him, I’d have no problem getting inside.”

Gabriel scratched the name quickly onto a piece of paper. Cooke… seemed like another potential ally to his ever-growing list.

“So I went to the servant’s entrance and claimed I had a message for him. And when he came out, I told him I was there for Thalia, that I just needed a secluded way into the manor.” Robin sighed, shifting his position so both legs were now pulled up against his chest. “If I’d asked him to shoot a man, I think he would’ve done it.”

Gabriel ignored the growing prints across his nice, leather chair. “So, you got in. And you found the spending ledger, given how willingly you’ve shown your face.”

Robin smirked, digging into his jacket before producing a tightly-folded clump of papers. He tossed it across Gabriel’s desk, much to the duke’s displeasure—someone desperately needed to teach this boy proper etiquette.

Still, he plucked the papers and unfolded them, impressed at the straightness of the columns, the legibility of the penmanship. If Gabriel hadn’t watched the younger Sutton directly hand these to him, he would’ve thought a proper lord wrote these.

“This is rather impressive work,” Gabriel began. “Especially for someone who’s lived in Whitechapel practically all his life. Who taught you to write like this?”

A slight smile crossed Robin’s face. “Thalia did. Whatever short time I spent at Oslay, she made sure I could do the basics. Then, once I got sent away, she’d mail me paper and writing exercises she wrote herself.”

“Then, your mother was a maid for Thalia’s mother?” Gabriel surmised.

Whatever light had been coaxed out of Robin quickly diminished. “Was… yes, she was. Dear old Father didn’t understand what any sense of the word ‘loyalty’ meant.”

Delicate subject, then. Gabriel’s attention went back to the papers, clearing his throat without another thought towards the Suttons’ family dynamics. “Apologies; we were discussing your discoveries.”

Robin seemed more than happy to change topics. “The ledgers there confirm what we already had guessed. Giles is hemorrhaging money; he’s spent the whole of the late marquess’ inheritance on his wardrobe and… other exotic pleasures.”

Gabriel quickly flipped past a page marked heavily with the same, colorful-sounding business’ name, skin prickling at the little marquess’ growing depravity.

“That’s not even the worst of it, unfortunately.”

Gabriel’s eyes swiveled, practically boring a hole into Robin’s forehead. The younger Sutton reacted accordingly, legs dropping to the floor as his hands grasped the chair’s armrest. “Elaborate,” he hissed, dangerously close to losing his cool.

Robin swallowed, knuckles turning white. “The deeds. The ones Thalia said he burned?” He grimaced, his own flicker of rage sparking across his eyes. He opened his mouth to continue, but closed it just as quickly, visibly biting the inside of his mouth to keep his temper in check.

Instead, Robin slipped his hand back into his pocket and produced what appeared to be a pair of letters, addressed from Oslay Hall to someone at an attorney’s office.

Gabriel snatched the envelopes and pulled out its contents, quickly skimming through the first letter, then the next. His mind raced to pull out what mattered most, collecting all the information together before coming to the startling realization. “These are authentic?”

Robin nodded, visibly smoldering.

Gabriel sat back in his chair, letters crumpling in his fist. “These letters… they speak of the incident in its entirety.”

Again, all Robin could do was nod.

Gabriel exhaled sharply, temper clawing in his chest. The information settled into the pit of his stomach, souring and bubbling alongside his growing anger. He’d willingly written of his unlawful act to a lawyer, and nothing had been done to correct the situation. Deceitful, backhanded tactics—and against all the odds, she hadn’t caved to his pressure.

Images of Thalia’s bandaged wrist flashed through Gabriel’s mind, and he stood abruptly from his desk. “Theoretically, our little marquess could bypass the law and ascertain those deeds, given they were the last asset he could draw upon.”

Robin was quiet for a moment more, mulling the theoretical in his head. “If they were all he had,” he began at last. “But, he doesn’t have them anymore. Why would he fall back on something he doesn’t have?”

Gabriel rolled his neck and stared out of the window, his hands clutched behind his back. “Desperation breeds stupidity. If we make it so it is his only option—hand him the rope, so to speak–”

Robin nodded, message received in-full. “I’ll need to talk to some of my guys. Make an excuse if Thalia asks for me; it’ll take some time, but I can get him to that level of desperation.”

Gabriel nodded, watching as the door swung shut behind the youngest Sutton. If the marquess saw himself a snake, then he had no problem playing the role of king cobra.

* * *

Thalia ensured she’d avoid the duke for the rest of the afternoon. Her rather… intense moment with him still sent her into a distracted swoon, and it rang with her brother’s warning about the duke’s darker disposition.

She promised to find Charlotte—once she managed to recall how to walk without wobbling—to dedicate her time to the youngest of the Hardings before the eldest could ensnare her once more.

“Of course, she seemed rather distressed after her big talk…” Thalia frowned, uncertain if Charlotte even wanted to socialize at this time.

She exhaled loudly, finding the nearest chair within the library before taking a seat. Her lack of a social circle now fully pressed upon her, and she wished desperately that wasn’t the case. Going out into town would be the perfect excuse—the perfect means to avoid the duke—but she had no reason to go, nor any friend to go with.

“Gracious—why am I acting so ridiculously over him?” A furious blush quickly came as her answer, and Thalia let out another groan.

Finally, she stood and clenched her fists, shaking whatever lingering heat welled in her core.

“Oh—I don’t plan on simply gushing all day about it. You’ve made your own way before, Thalia Sutton, and you can make your own way now.”

She forced herself to think of something else—a memory that, perhaps, would steer her in the right direction. She moved towards the library windows, throwing them open as the smell of springtime swept through the dim. Thalia inhaled deeply, allowing the sharp scent of grass, the floral of flowers, the slight bitter tinge of… of…

“Wild onions?” Thalia glanced over the sill, delighted to find she was right. Bright, green stalks grew below her in a small patch, the wind catching against their leaves and wafting the notable smell her way.

“Charlotte did mention she liked them with butter,” Thalia mused. And like that, she had her purpose, immediately turning on her heel with a grin before setting off to the kitchen.

* * *

Thalia once more found herself strolling the walkway of the newly opened park, keeping towards the fringe so as to not attract too much attention. A small satchel bounced against her hip, and she walked with a distinct skip in her step.

She’d taken to a more comfortable dress, as she was certain to get rather dirty during her impromptu foraging adventure. “Not that the previous outfit wasn’t ‘dirty’ already,” she flushed, quickly cutting through the brush as she did her best to remember the route back to the Hardings’ grove. At least from there, she would have a better chance at recalling the path toward the field.

As expected, the secluded grove lacked the presence of others, and Thalia took the opportunity to reorient herself. She reached into her forager’s pouch and produced what looked to be a handmaid pocket book, stuffed to the brim with scribbles and sketches. Each page was a treasure trove of forestry knowledge, specifically focusing on the various wild edibles one could pick for later consumption.

“It would be an awful shame to rush straight to my destination… and the cook was so kind as to lend me this. I really should try and bring her something back.”

Thalia flipped through what felt like a dozen or so pages dedicated to edible fungus alone, giving the grove a cursory glance to try and find a match. “Oh!” she gasped, scurrying towards the bank as she knelt down to peer at a white, spongy orb.

“That might be a puffball mushroom!” She eagerly reached out to grasp it, but hesitated, giving the page another look-over. “Or… it’s a death cap.”

With a grimace, Thalia skipped past the mushroom section, confidence waning. “All right, well, silverweed doesn’t seem to have any devious look-alikes…small, yellow flowers, twelve toothed leaflets…”

She stood, glancing around the grove once more before finding a large patch. Before her hopes could rise prematurely, Thalia triple-checked the notes for a good minute or two, finally nodding in approval before kneeling down to pick some. “A unique substitute for parsley—gracious, and to think this has been here my entire life, and I never thought to consider?—!”

Her voice caught as the loud crack of a stick pulled her attention behind her. Someone was moving through the brush, following another pathway into the grove. Thalia quickly stood, trying in vain to make herself presentable as she stuffed the plants into her pouch.

For some reason, she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing in her chest. Perhaps it was simply another park goer who had wandered off the trail? No one would willingly risk coming here to face the Hardings’ wrath.

“Unless…” Thalia swallowed, hands suddenly feeling quite sweaty. “It would be just my luck if the duke chose to calm his nerves here, of all places…?” Not that it would be unusual. If anything, she was the one trespassing on such a special place.

“But they don’t own it,” Thalia reasoned. “I can be here if I like.” Her bravado meant very little, however, and the nerves in her stomach tightened into knots as the figure finally revealed themself, sending an anxious skitter across her skin that rose each individual hair.

“My, my,” Giles Tilbury smirked. “What a fortuitous happenstance finding you here, my sweet Thalia.”