Page 11 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)

CHAPTER 11

“ H ave you read the latest installment? I simply couldn’t put it down,” a woman’s eager voice drifted from behind a display of ribbons. “The library scene was positively scandalous!”

“Lady Ponsworth claims she was so shocked she burned her copy,” her companion replied with a delighted giggle. “Though I noticed she could quote entire passages when we took tea yesterday.”

Marina kept her head down as she passed the gossiping ladies, fighting the smile that threatened to betray her.

She clutched her manuscript closer to her chest and quickened her pace through the bustling market.

All around her, similar conversations echoed—hushed voices discussing her latest story with equal parts scandal and delight.

Her new tale had spread through London like wildfire. The story of a passionate encounter in a library during a ball—with the thrill of discovery adding excitement to the already steamy liaison—had captured the ton’s imagination.

Marina had drawn from her own experience with Leo, transforming their heated kiss into something far more explicit, though the emotions—the breathless anticipation, the desperate desire—those had been transcribed directly from her memory.

She turned down the narrow alley that led to Lupton’s printing house, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t followed. The weight of the nearly-complete manuscript in her hands promised another payment, one she desperately needed. Her coal supply was dwindling, and the butcher had already reminded her twice about her outstanding account.

Mr. Lupton’s clerk recognized her immediately, his thin face lighting with a greedy smile. “Another manuscript so soon, My Lady? The last one is selling faster than we can print copies.”

“Mr. Lupton will be pleased,” Marina replied, unwilling to acknowledge how much that fact pleased her as well. “Is he in?”

“Indeed and expecting you.” The clerk gestured toward the office door. “Though he has another visitor at present.”

Marina nodded and moved toward the door but paused when she heard raised voices from within. She recognized Lupton’s oily tone, but the other voice—deep and insistent—struck a chord of memory she couldn’t immediately place.

“I assure you, Mr. Giles, Lady Asquith will be here momentarily.” Lupton’s voice carried through the wooden panel. “She never fails to collect her payment promptly.”

Marina’s blood froze. Robert Giles. Her late husband’s creditor, a man known for his ruthless pursuit of debts. Henry had owed the man a substantial sum—a fact she had discovered only after his death, along with the myriad other financial disasters her husband had concealed during their marriage.

She considered fleeing, but the clerk had already announced her presence with a sharp rap on the door. Squaring her shoulders, Marina steeled herself to face whatever awaited her.

“Ah, Lady Asquith.” Lupton’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as she entered the cluttered office. “How punctual you are. I believe you’re acquainted with Mr. Giles?”

Robert Giles rose from his chair, a portly man with calculating eyes and a carefully arranged expression of false cordiality. “Lady Asquith, what a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Giles.” Marina nodded stiffly, keeping her expression neutral despite the dread pooling in her stomach. “This is an unexpected meeting.”

“Not entirely unexpected, I think.” Giles resumed his seat, gesturing for Marina to take the chair beside him. “I have been meaning to discuss a matter of some importance with you.”

Marina remained standing, her posture rigid. “I prefer to conduct my business with Mr. Lupton privately.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Giles’s business cannot wait,” Lupton interjected, exchanging a look with Giles that sent a chill down Marina’s spine. “Please, Lady Asquith, have a seat. This concerns both of us.”

Reluctantly, Marina perched on the edge of the chair, keeping her manuscript clutched tightly in her lap. “What is this about?”

“Your husband’s debts, My Lady.” Giles produced a leather portfolio and removed several documents with flourish. “Lord Asquith borrowed a considerable sum from me shortly before his unfortunate demise. Six thousand pounds to be precise.”

“I am aware of that,” Marina replied carefully. “As I informed you at the time, you should direct your claim to the current Earl of Asquith. Henry’s heir inherited both the title and its responsibilities.”

“And as I informed you,” Giles countered, his tone hardening, “your husband signed these promissory notes in his personal capacity. The debt is attached to his estate, not to the entailed property that passed to his cousin.”

Marina’s mind raced. Henry had left her with precious little—just enough to maintain a small household and keep up appearances but certainly not enough to settle a debt of this magnitude.

“Even if that were true,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “you have never pressed this claim until now. Why the sudden interest in collecting?”

Giles and Lupton exchanged another meaningful glance. “Let’s dispense with the pretense, Lady Asquith,” Giles said, leaning forward. “I had no interest in pursuing a destitute widow with no apparent means of payment. But circumstances have changed, haven’t they?”

Marina’s gaze flicked to Lupton, whose expression was smugly satisfied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your literary endeavors have proven quite profitable,” Giles replied, tapping the edge of the manuscript in her lap. “These little stories of yours have captured the ton’s imagination—and their purses. I understand the last one sold over a thousand copies in a single day.”

Ice spread through Marina’s veins. “I don’t?—”

“Please, My Lady,” Lupton interrupted. “Mr. Giles and I have had a most enlightening conversation. There’s no need to maintain the charade.”

Marina’s fingers tightened on her manuscript. “You had no right to share that information,” she said, directing her cold fury at Lupton. “Our arrangement was meant to be confidential.”

“Business is business,” Lupton replied with a shrug. “Mr. Giles made inquiries that I could hardly refuse. Besides, as your publisher, I must protect my investment. A scandal involving my most profitable author could damage sales.”

“Unless, of course, the scandal is carefully managed,” Giles added with a thin smile. “The ton might be even more enthralled by your stories if they knew they were penned by a respectable widow.”

“Or they might be outraged,” Marina countered, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I could be ostracized completely.”

“A risk, certainly,” Giles acknowledged. “But one I am willing to take if you refuse to honor your husband’s obligations.”

He slid a document across the desk. “With interest accrued over these past years, the total now stands at nine thousand, two hundred and forty pounds.”

Marina stared at the number, bile rising in her throat. The sum was astronomical—more than she could hope to earn in a decade of writing, even if Lupton paid her fairly for every story.

“This is impossible,” she said, shoving the paper away. “Even if I acknowledged the debt as mine, which I do not, I could never pay such an amount.”

“We are prepared to be reasonable,” Giles replied smoothly. “A payment schedule could be arranged. Say, five hundred pounds immediately, and the same amount quarterly until the debt is settled.”

Marina calculated rapidly. At that rate, it would take nearly five years to clear the debt, assuming she could maintain her current level of income—an unlikely prospect, given the fickle nature of the ton’s interests.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will be forced to take more direct action,” Giles replied, his voice hardening. “Including making your identity as this notorious authoress known to the very society whose sensibilities you’ve been inflaming.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” But even as she spoke the words, Marina knew they were hollow.

Of course, he would dare—men like Giles did not make idle threats.

“I would prefer not to,” he said with feigned regret. “It would likely impact the sales of your future works which would make it more difficult for you to settle the debt. But if you force my hand…”

Marina’s mind raced, seeking any escape from the trap closing around her. “I need time to consider this.”

“Of course,” Giles agreed magnanimously. “I will give you one week to gather the initial payment of five hundred pounds. After that…” He let the threat hang in the air.

“And in the meantime,” Lupton added, pushing a small pouch across the desk, “your payment for the last story. Though I must say, the market seems to be cooling somewhat. I have deducted the usual expenses, of course.”

Marina took the pouch, noting its lightness with dismay. Without counting, she knew it contained far less than her previous payments.

“I have brought my new manuscript,” she said, placing it on the desk with reluctant hands.

She had counted on a more substantial payment for this work to help her through the next month.

Lupton barely glanced at it. “I shall review it in due course.”

His dismissive tone told Marina all she needed to know. The conspiracy between these two men was complete—Lupton would continue to reduce her payments, forcing her to write more frequently to meet Giles’s demands, trapping her in a cycle of debt and dependence.

“One week, Lady Asquith,” Giles reminded her as she reached the door. “And do remember the consequences of refusal.”

Marina didn’t trust herself to respond. She swept from the office, past the curious clerk, and into the street.

Inside her modest townhouse, Marina retreated immediately to her study, emptying the contents of her reticule onto the worn desk.

The coins made a pitiful pile. She counted them twice, hoping she had somehow made an error the first time. But the sum remained unchanged—barely enough to last a month, even with the strictest economies. Certainly not enough to maintain her small household and meet Giles’s demand.

A soft knock interrupted her grim calculations.

“Enter,” she called, hastily sweeping the coins into a drawer.

Mrs. Higgins, her housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. “Will you be taking tea in the parlor, My Lady?”

Marina studied the older woman’s face—the lines of loyalty and dependability etched around kind eyes. Mrs. Higgins had served her faithfully since her marriage, remaining when others had sought more promising positions after Henry’s death.

“Yes, thank you. And please ask all the staff to gather in the kitchen in an hour. I need to speak with everyone.”

The housekeeper’s eyes reflected concern, but she merely nodded and withdrew.

Marina spent the next hour preparing for what she must do. She gathered what funds remained in her strongbox, dividing them into carefully considered portions.

When the hour arrived, she made her way to the kitchen where her small staff—the cook, two maids, a footman, and Mrs. Higgins—waited in nervous silence.

“I thank you all for coming,” Marina began, clasping her hands to hide their trembling. “I’m afraid I must share some hard news. My financial situation has become more precarious than I expected.”

She saw understanding dawn in their eyes, along with the fear that inevitably accompanied such announcements in a city where service positions were fiercely competitive.

“Due to some unexpected complications with my late husband’s estate,” she continued, the lie bitter on her tongue, “I find myself unable to maintain our current household arrangement. With the deepest regret, I must release you all from your positions.”

A collective intake of breath filled the kitchen. The youngest maid’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“I wish to express my sincere gratitude for your loyal service,” Marina added quickly. “And to show that gratitude in what small way I can, I have prepared a severance payment for each of you.”

She withdrew the carefully prepared envelopes from her pocket, handing them out individually. “I have also written letters of recommendation, attesting to your excellent character and service. I hope they will help you secure new positions promptly.”

Mrs. Higgins opened her envelope, her eyes widening at the sum within. “My Lady, this is too generous. You cannot?—”

“I insist,” Marina interrupted gently. “You have all been faithful beyond requirement. It is the least I can do.”

In truth, she had given more than she could truly afford, but the thought of sending them away empty-handed was unbearable. These people had stood by her when the ton had turned its back, serving without complaint even when payments were sometimes delayed.

The staff expressed their gratitude though the atmosphere remained heavy with regret. Marina arranged for them to remain until the end of the week, giving them time to seek new positions while ensuring she wasn’t left entirely alone.

As the others filed out, Betty, her lady’s maid, lingered behind. The young woman twisted her apron between nervous fingers.

“Begging your pardon, My Lady, but I’d like to stay on if you please.”

Marina sighed. “Betty, I appreciate your loyalty, but I cannot pay you properly, nor can I promise when that might change.”

“I don’t need much, My Lady,” Betty insisted. “Just room and board would suffice for now. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone with… with all your writing and such.”

Marina studied the girl’s earnest face. Betty was the only one who knew her secret—who had helped deliver manuscripts and kept watch for curious eyes.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” Marina protested weakly though relief flooded through her at the thought of not facing her troubles entirely alone.

“Please, My Lady.” Betty’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You saved me when no one else would take a chance on a girl with no references. Let me stay and return the favor.”

Emotion tightened Marina’s throat. She remembered when Betty had first come to her—barely sixteen, desperate and frightened after fleeing an employer whose son had made unwelcome advances. Marina had hired her despite the lack of references, recognizing in the girl’s determined eyes a kindred spirit.

“Very well,” she conceded, “but only if you promise to tell me immediately if you receive an offer of proper employment elsewhere.”

Betty’s face brightened. “I promise, My Lady. You won’t regret it.”

As Marina climbed the stairs to her bedchamber that night, exhaustion weighed on her shoulders. She had resolved one immediate problem, but the greater threat still loomed. One trusted maid wouldn’t be enough to help her face Giles and his demands.

She paused at her window, gazing out at the darkened street below.

Somewhere across London, the Duke of Blackmere was going about his evening, unaware that his literary alter ego had inadvertently led her into this trap.

Would he help her if he knew? Or would he consider it just punishment for using his likeness in her stories?

Marina turned away from the window.

She had one week to find five hundred pounds.

One week to choose between financial ruin and social destruction.