Page 23 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 23
“ G rantworth Castle is absolutely magnificent this evening,” Lady Jersey gushed, fanning herself beneath the massive crystal chandelier. “Though I must say, Your Grace, you quite outshine the surroundings.”
Alice smiled politely, though her eyes kept straying to one of the gilded archways, where Dorian stood conversing with their host. Even from across the grand dining hall, she could sense his restlessness. He’d been uncharacteristically tense all evening, his usual easy charm replaced by a watchful alertness that set her nerves on edge.
“The Duke of Ashthorne seems rather preoccupied tonight,” Lady Jersey observed, following Alice’s gaze. “Though one can hardly blame him for being distracted by such a lovely wife.”
Before Alice could respond, she saw a servant approach Dorian discreetly and pass him what appeared to be a note. Her husband’s expression darkened as he read it, his shoulders tensing visibly.
“If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” Dorian appeared suddenly at her side, his voice pitched low. “I am afraid a matter of some urgency requires my attention.”
“Now?” Alice couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of her voice. “We’ve barely finished the first course.”
“I am sorry, sweetheart.” His fingers brushed her arm, too briefly to draw attention. “I shouldn’t be long.”
But something in his eyes told her he was lying.
She watched him make his apologies to their hosts, his movements exuding that fluid grace that had first caught her attention. Yet, now she noticed the predatory edge to his strides, the way his hand kept straying to his coat pocket where he’d tucked the mysterious note.
“How irregular,” Lady Jersey murmured as he disappeared through the massive doors. “Though I suppose old habits die hard.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, my dear.” Lady Jersey’s smile held false sympathy. “Surely you’ve heard the tales of His Grace’s… nocturnal activities before your marriage? The mysterious appointments. The ladies who never quite seemed to catch him.”
“I fail to see how my husband’s past is relevant to the present.” Alice kept her voice steady despite the sudden hollow feeling in her chest.
“My, my. What a devoted wife you’ve become.” Lord Treyfield’s cold voice startled her. He’d approached so discreetly that she hadn’t noticed his presence. “Though one wonders if such devotion is… reciprocated.”
“Lord Treyfield.” Alice inclined her head with rigid politeness. “I wasn’t aware you were familiar with my husband’s habits.”
“One does make it one’s business to observe the movements of certain members of the ton, ” Lord Treyfield said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Particularly when they frequent establishments in… shall we say, less fashionable parts of London. Though I’m sure such visits have ceased entirely now that His Grace has found wedded bliss.”
“If you have something to say, my lord, speak plainly.”
“I merely find it curious that marriage hasn’t rid him of certain… habits.” Lord Treyfield sipped his wine. “Though perhaps I am mistaken about the frequency of His Grace’s appearances in those particular neighborhoods.”
“My husband’s business dealings are his concerns.” But Alice couldn’t quite mask the tremor in her voice.
“Business? Is that what we’re calling it now?” His eyes glittered with malice. “Then you’re not at all curious about these urgent matters that call him away at such irregular hours?”
“I trust my husband implicitly.”
The words tasted like ash on her tongue.
“How charming.” Lord Treyfield’s laugh held no warmth. “Though I must say, trust is a dangerous thing to give a man like Ashthorne. My nephew learned that lesson too late.”
“What do you mean?”
But Lord Treyfield merely bowed, that cold smile still playing on his lips. “Only that some men are not so easily reformed, my dear. Not even by the most exemplary of wives.”
He melted back into the crowd, leaving Alice with a deep chill despite the warmth of the crowded room.
She’d sworn she wouldn’t doubt Dorian, wouldn’t let Lord Treyfield’s insinuations take root. Yet, she couldn’t forget the tension in her husband’s shoulders as he read that note, the way he’d avoided her gaze as he made his excuses.
“Alice.” Joanna’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I am perfectly well,” Alice managed, though her friend’s concerned expression suggested otherwise. “Just a touch warm, perhaps.”
“Come.” Joanna’s tone brooked no argument as she took Alice’s arm. “The conservatory will be cooler. And more private.”
Alice allowed herself to be led through the glittering crowd to the relative peace of the glass-enclosed garden. The night air drifted through the tropical plants, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. Now that she was away from the noise and heat of the ballroom, she felt her composure beginning to crack.
“Now then.” Joanna sat her on a secluded bench, partially hidden by a massive palm. “Tell me what’s truly wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Alice’s fingers curled into her skirts. “I am being foolish.”
“You’re being something, but foolish isn’t the word I’d choose.” Joanna caught her restless hands. “Is this about His Grace’s sudden departure?”
The sympathy in her voice undid Alice.
“He’s been so… distant lately. And tonight, that note—” She broke off, embarrassed by the tremor in her voice. “Lord Treyfield implied?—”
“Lord Treyfield,” Joanna said firmly, “is a viper who delights in spreading poison. You cannot take anything he says as truth.”
“But what if he’s right? What if…” Alice swallowed hard. “What if Dorian hasn’t changed at all? What if I am just another obligation he’s trying to fulfill?”
“Oh, you beautiful fool.” Joanna’s laugh was gentle. “You really do not see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“The way he can’t help but gravitate toward you at every gathering. Even tonight, before that note arrived, every time you moved through the room, his attention followed like a compass finding true north.”
“Did they?”
“Constantly. It was rather disgustingly romantic, actually.” Joanna squeezed her hands. “The ton is absolutely beside itself with envy. The notorious Duke of Ashthorne, completely besotted with his wife? It’s unprecedented.”
“But these mysterious appointments… He’s so secretive about his business in London.”
“Men often are, dearest. It’s part of their mystique.” Joanna’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I must say, for a rake who supposedly hasn’t abandoned his wicked ways, His Grace shows a remarkable lack of interest in any woman who isn’t you.”
“You truly think so?”
“I know so. Just last week at the Duchess of Rutland’s musical evening, the beautiful Miss Gracewood practically threw herself at him. He barely glanced at her before returning to your side.”
The tightness in Alice’s chest began to ease. “I didn’t notice.”
“Because you were too busy pretending not to watch his every move.” Joanna softened her teasing response with a smile. “Trust what you see with your own eyes, not what others would have you believe. The Duke is many things, but unfaithful? That man is utterly devoted to you.”
Alice took a steadying breath, letting the night air and her friend’s words calm her racing thoughts. “When did you become so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You’ve just been too busy falling in love with your husband to notice.”
“I am not—” Alice broke off at Joanna’s knowing look. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to anyone with a pair of functioning eyes.” Joanna stood up and smoothed down her skirts. “Now, shall we return to the party? Your besotted Duke will surely be back soon, and we wouldn’t want him to think that you’ve been pining after him.”
“I do not pine.”
“Of course not, dearest.” Joanna’s smile was fond as she led Alice back toward the lights and music. “You merely spend half your time watching the doors for his return while feigning complete indifference to his presence.”
Dorian’s carriage rattled through London’s darkened streets, taking him far from the glittering lights of Grantworth Castle. The urgent note from Sarah burned in his pocket.
Come at once. Men asking questions. Not safe, it said.
The Fox and Crown tavern sat at the end of a street in one of London’s less-savory districts, its weathered sign creaking in the night wind. Dorian’s fine evening clothes drew suspicious glances as he made his way through the smoky common room to a private parlor in the back.
Finding Sarah still in London, when she should have been safely away by now, made his jaw clench. The planned transport to Yorkshire had fallen through two days ago when his trusted agent had been unexpectedly called away by a family death.
Sarah’s pale face in the dim lamplight made his chest tighten with concern. Lawrence’s death had taken its toll on her—she’d grown thinner, shadows darkening her eyes.
“I wouldn’t have sent for you if it wasn’t urgent,” she said without preamble. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Men came to Madame Rosa’s and asked questions about Lawrence.”
Dorian’s back went rigid. “When?”
“Yesterday evening. I was out, thank God, but Jenny—” She swallowed hard. “They frightened her badly. They became violent when she wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.”
“Did they hurt her?”
“No, thank heaven. But she… she gave them my name to make them stop.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. I know how careful you’ve been?—”
“None of that,” Dorian cut in gently. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a heavy purse. “There is a boarding house I own on Crawford Street. Mrs. Miller, the manager, is discreet and loyal. You’ll be safe there until I can arrange transportation to Somerset.”
“I can’t keep running.” Sarah’s hand drifted to her rounded belly, visible now beneath her simple gown. “My child deserves better than a life spent in hiding.”
The gesture reminded him painfully of Lawrence. His friend had been so excited about becoming a father and had talked endlessly about his plans for the baby’s future.
Now, all those dreams rested on Dorian’s shoulders.
“I promised Lawrence I would protect you both,” he said quietly. “And I will. But for now, you need to disappear. These men—whoever they are—are getting bolder. I won’t risk your safety or the child’s.”
“You’re a good man, Your Grace.” Sarah’s smile was sad. “Lawrence always said so. Even when the rest of Society thought you were nothing but a rake, he saw the real you.”
Something twisted in Dorian’s chest at the mention of his friend. “Lawrence was better than all of us.”
“He would be proud of how you’ve looked after me. Though I imagine your new duchess might not understand such irregular arrangements.”
The mention of Alice made guilt surge through him. He hated lying to her, hated the growing distance his secrets were creating between them. But until he knew who was behind these threats, keeping her in the dark seemed the safest course of action.
“My marriage is… complicated.” He stood up, unable to bear sitting still any longer. “I’ll send word to Mrs. Miller tonight. Pack only what you need—my man will collect the rest of your things tomorrow.”
“What about you?” Sarah’s voice was soft with concern. “These men are dangerous. If they discover your involvement?—”
“Let me worry about that.” Dorian squeezed her shoulder briefly, the gesture purely protective. “Just keep yourself and the child safe. That’s all that matters.”
After ensuring that Sarah was safely settled in his carriage with his most trusted footman, Dorian stood in the tavern’s doorway, watching them disappear into the fog-shrouded streets. The cool night air did little to clear his troubled thoughts.
Someone was hunting for information about Lawrence’s last days. Someone willing to use violence to get answers. Treyfield’s recent questions about his movements could no longer be ignored.
But proving anything would be nearly impossible without revealing Sarah’s existence. And that would put both her and Alice in danger.
Alice.
He should return to Grantworth Castle and make some excuse for his absence. But how many more lies could he tell her before the weight of them crushed whatever was growing between them?