Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

“ Y our Grace, where shall I order the carriage to go?” One of the staff waited for her instruction.

Madeleine had her belongings packed and ready to depart in a carriage before she could begin to process anything of what Alexander had told her.

Her heart ached in her chest, and she could not fight the rising wave of tears that threatened to spill wherever she looked.

The carriage, her chambers, her own reflection—all of which reminded her now of Alexander.

How could he have been so cruel, no matter what had happened at the club? How could he turn her away now, of all times? He had picked her up, saved her, protected her—only to now claim she was the least protected with him.

She knew the driver would be impatient, having been roused at such an hour.

From her seat inside the carriage, Madeleine’s eyes drifted to the study that overlooked the front of the house. Curtains twitched, and she turned away.

She did not want to see a glimpse of the Duke’s handsome face—the very face that had grown so cold when he had last looked at her.

The face of a man she could no longer reach.

“Take me to the Easthall townhouse,” she said, knowing that Tessa’s house was not far from the Silverton townhouse.

Within moments, she was set off, and only when she pulled away from the gate did she let herself cry as much as needed.

Still, the bruised, aching pain in her did not go away.

When she arrived at the Easthall residence, she was positively distraught.

Knocking on their door, she said in a rush to the butler, “I am here to see Lady Easthall. It is urgent.”

Of course, the butler knew who she was, and quickly ushered her inside.

“Please wait here,” he told her, letting her into the parlor. Madeleine collapsed into one of the armchairs. Moments later, Tessa appeared in the doorway, her brows furrowed.

“Madeleine?”

“Tessa,” she cried, standing, if only to throw herself into her friend’s arms.

“Come,” Tessa urged, pulling her to sit on the adjacent settee. “What has happened?”

“I—I do not even know.” Madeleine clasped a hand to her mouth, trying to hold back her tears. “I only know that I do not wish for Alexander to know I am here.”

Tessa’s eyes flashed. Behind her, Colin appeared in the doorway. “Only breathe the word, Madeleine, and I shall go after His Grace, regardless of his title. He has hurt you, and I do not find that acceptable.”

“Me neither,” agreed Tessa.

But Madeleine was already shaking her head. “I do not wish for you to fight him, Colin. Your protection is very admirable but I only wish to stay here for a while, if that is not too imposing. I cannot stay with my brother—Heavens knows he has already put Alexander on very thin ice. If possible, I do not wish him to know of our fight.”

“Your secret is safe with us.” Tessa clasped her hand, squeezing it. “When you are ready, I am here to lend a listening ear.”

Madeleine nodded, her shoulder drawing inwards. “If it is quite all right with you, I wish to retire.”

“I shall have a guest suite prepared,” Colin said, already bowing out of the room, leaving the two women.

Madeleine wished to spill everything—her heartache, the argument, the look on Alexander’s face when he had returned from his business. But she could not tell his secret. He had entrusted her with it, and the knowledge of anybody finding out would be damaging.

She bit her lip.

“I know you, Madeleine,” Tessa said gently. “I know when sorrow weighs heavily on you, and I know this is not a normal marital argument. However, your privacy is yours. Your stay here is not conditioned to you revealing why you need to be here. I only ask that you open a window to me, if not the whole door, and let me into your heart. I shall face whatever resides there with you.”

“I am so grateful for you, my friend,” Madeleine whispered. Tessa held her close, petting her hair.

“I shall take care of you.”

And Madeleine was secretly grateful that neither of her friends told her that they had warned her of Alexander’s danger, or said they had disliked him from the start. All they cared to discuss was Madeleine’s safety—and for that, she could only weep softly into her friend’s arms.

Alexander woke several days after Madeleine’s departure, wincing at the ache in his body. The bruises on the left side of his ribs were yellowing, at least.

He dragged himself out of bed, reaching for the space his wife no longer filled on the days when she had fallen asleep after their coupling and did not return to her own chambers.

It had happened enough that he could not convince himself this simply was not one of those mornings.

Groaning as his body protested, Alexander ordered his valet away and dressed himself. He did not know what time it was, nor care.

All he knew was that he needed to move, to do something, to shut his mind off and not think.

Within the hour, he had arrived at the Raven’s Den. It was too early for many patrons to fill up the gaming room below, but there were a few drinkers at the bar, and women were already swaying their hips, ready to attract the day’s custom.

Alexander walked past it all, entering Horace’s office.

His friend looked up at him and winced. “For pity’s sake, Alexander, you look a right mess.”

“I do not care,” he muttered, dropping into his usual chair.

He hated being in the office now, every corner of it reminding him of the night that Donald had threatened him, had forced Alexander to give up Madeleine. But it was the only place he could bear to be. At least he had to face the reminders of his own choices.

He deserved that.

“Well you should. You look terrible. Did you even sleep last night?”

Alexander shrugged. “An hour here and there. The bed…”

The bed is empty and I cannot stand it. My home is empty without my wife to fill it with laughter and conversation. I miss her terribly.

“The bed was cold.”

“It is not winter,” Horace pointed out delicately. “When are you going to tell me the truth?”

“What truth?”

“Whatever it is that has you looking so run-down. Alexander, I ain’t seen you this bad-looking since your mother passed away and you sent yourself almost insane looking for her killers.”

Alexander almost growled at the reminder. “I am fine.”

“You are running yourself into the ground, and I have an idea why.”

“Do tell me, then, if you are so intelligent.”

“Don’t be getting cocky with me,” Horace warned. “You are a duke, and I respect that, but I got a lot of worry going on for you, Alexander. I won’t be forcing you to talk to me but I want you to know that I am here if you?—”

“Well I do not, so spare me the lecture.”

Horace gave him a disapproving look, shaking his head.

“Hand me the files,” Alexander muttered, reaching out a hand. “The files for those who remain in our debt.”

“Alexander—”

“I did not ask.”

Reluctantly, Horace handed over the files. Alexander looked over them for a brief minute before spotting an address on one that was closest to the Raven’s Den.

“I shall pay some of our patrons a visit,” he said, needing to remain on the move.

“Alexander.” Horace’s voice rang with warning. “No. It could be dangerous. Debts are higher than ever, and men are more than desperate to not pay them, or outrun us.”

Alexander let out a bitter, flat laugh. “I will do my duty to my business.”

Without another word, he left the office. Ignoring the patrons trickling slowly into the gambling hell, Alexander stalked out.

Maybe he was planning to collect debts in the hopes of spotting a glimpse of Madeleine, wherever she had gone. Maybe he was doing it to go looking for an argument. Maybe he was just lost and needed something to focus on.

Perhaps it was all of those.

Whatever drove him, he didn’t care to analyze it deeper. He clambered up on his horse and galloped down the street.

He knocked on the door, and found it opened by a butler who looked at him with slight alarm.

“I am here to visit the lord of the manor,” he said. “And if your master does not deign to meet me, then do let him know I shall alert the lady of the manor that her husband enjoys any number of frivolous evenings at the Raven’s Den, and we shall see how agreeable your master becomes.”

Alexander was not in the mood to be considerate. His own life had been torn apart; he did not care for others anymore. He stared at the butler who nodded quickly.

When the lord walked out some time later, Alexander gave him a wide smile that held no kindness.

“Well, well,” he said, “I am sure you understand why I am here.” He held up the letter of debt collection with the Raven’s Den seal.

The lord froze.

“And do not think of running. I have a horse that will outrun any of yours in half the time it will take you to reach the countryside.”

The lord gaped at him, eyes widening. “I—I can pay. One week, sir, only one?—”

“You have three days.”

“That is impossible,” the lord whispered.

“I am not feeling particularly kind today,” Alexander snapped. “Three days or there will be consequences that will not only damage your reputation, but that of your daughters. You have three due to debut in the next year or two, do you not? It would be a shame for them to suffer the consequences of your poor choices.”

Alexander stared hard in warning before turning on his heel and leaving the lord’s residence.

He went on and on like that, going through every file, giving outrageous timelines and warnings, threat and intimidation.

It all collected through him—the power, the distraction, the ruination of others so they might suffer just as much as he did.

He did not care who he dragged down with him. Alexander only lost himself to the rush of business, the need to collect what was owed, eliminating every lick of desperation that would tarnish his business.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he approached yet another townhouse. And perhaps while he had hunted down those in debts, other lords had sent warnings—that a man from the Raven’s Den was on the warpath.

Little did they know that they dealt with the owner.

And he had run out of patience.

But when this door opened, it was not to a butler, but the lord of the house himself, aiming the barrel of a gun right at Alexander’s face.

“Who are you?” the lord demanded.

Alexander crooked a smile. “I am not in a very forgiving mood today. I suggest you put down that gun.”

“Is that because you know you shall lose?”

“From your debt records, the only man losing here is you.” Alexander cocked his head. “So put away that gun and let us speak.”

“Never.”

Alexander looked into the house beyond the man, spying the faces of children peeking around a door deeper in the hallway. Small children with round, curious eyes.

“You have sons,” Alexander noted. “Surely you do not wish to subject them to witnessing their father shooting another man in cold blood.”

The lord stilled, his grip on the gun faltering.

Alexander pushed on. “I had to watch such things when I was a boy. It lingers, do you know? Is that what you wish for your own sons? To be forged by witnessing violence? They will not grow up kind, as you hope for them. They will think their father a coward for paving his way to success with a gun.”

“Who are you?” the lord asked again, softer this time. The anger still clenched his teeth and twisted his face.

“A man who knows what it is like to be angry,” he told him, pushing the gun down. “And shooting is not the way to deal with it. Let me help you. You owe money to the Raven’s Den, but I can help you clear it.”

He did not know where the unexpected surge of understanding came from.

Perhaps because Donald’s desperation had led to Alexander now losing Madeleine. That he had seen firsthand what happened when men were not patient or understanding, when they did not listen.

“If you are having trouble, I will be here to help. You have a week to clear your debt.”

“And if I need more time?”

“Then you may come to the gambling hell itself, and only there. Do not seek help anywhere else.” Alexander gave him one last look of warning before he rode off, confused at his own understanding.

He went on that way—day after day, waking up to a cold bed, going to the Raven’s Den, arguing with Horace about his wellbeing, before he roamed London streets to chase and eliminate the desperation of gamblers.

And throughout it all, he begged himself to banish Madeleine’s face and voice, her very name, from his mind.

Yet she remained, hanging over him the entire time.