Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

“ W here is your mistress?” Oliver demanded. “Don’t tell me we are going to do this again, Ellen.”

The maid was as pale as a sheet. She was standing a few feet from the townhouse’s entrance as if she had been frozen in time. As if she had been waiting for Alexandra or Oliver to come the whole time. A long time.

Oliver had just arrived home, and he already knew something was wrong. It was pure intuition.

For the past few days, he had been living in marital bliss. He had even asked Henry Fields to stop investigating his wife’s source of income and following her around even if he weren’t there with her.

No more secrets. That was what they had promised each other. Oliver was not too pleased to discover that his wife had to solicit the help of her former music teacher to sell her compositions.

Her confession had also confirmed his earlier suspicions that her early morning walk was not for the purpose of purchasing food or trinkets. It was to meet John Prescott.

What Oliver had felt for his wife for the past few days was true passion. She was an innocent who had not known how to make love before he introduced her to it. A virgin. Therefore, he was certain that what Alexandra had with Prescott was not physical. But what if it was something else?

He struggled with the thought during the nights, even as his wife’s head lay on his chest. However, as the days went by, he learned to accept her story.

“Damn, man,” Oliver had muttered to himself.

A week and two days. He didn’t expect any more upheaval, except perhaps from his profligate father-in-law. He and Alexandra had grown closer. Every night, before or after making love, they would reveal new things about each other.

Their childhoods. Their mothers. How some women succumbed to the pressures of Society and became independent like Oliver’s mother, and how talents were stifled—just like the talent of Alexandra’s mother. Just like Alexandra’s talent.

Warmth filled Oliver every time he thought about what his wife could do. He felt pride and something else. That something else sometimes made his chest tighten and prickle, and it wasn’t indigestion.

“I, uh… I don’t know, Your Grace,” Ellen cried, her hands clasped together.

“So, you don’t have a story prepared for me today. When did she leave?”

“Not too long ago, Your Grace. This morning.”

“This morning? It is still morning, but it’s almost noon. Early morning?” Oliver pressed, walking closer to the maid. He didn’t really want to intimidate, but he needed answers. Immediately. “Why aren’t you with her?”

“She left perhaps two hours ago, Your Grace. Right after daybreak, a man wearing a cloak came here with a letter for her. That man shoved me as he gave me the message. I told Her Grace that it would be safer if you accompanied her, but she still left on her own. I didn’t want to insist that I come with her unless she asked me to.”

Oliver’s thoughts raced. Alexandra might be in trouble. What could the letter be about? Could she have been threatened by someone from Devil’s Draw? Did someone from the ton discover that she was J. Lewis?

“You were sending letters for her, weren’t you?” he finally asked.

“Y-Yes, Your G-Grace.”

“Where did you send those letters?”

“I sent them to a man living near the marketplace. His lodgings have a nameplate in front that says John Prescott, Professor of Music .”

Oliver started seeing red, but he didn’t want to lose control in front of the maid. So, he took a long, deep breath as he pulled at his hair. The slight pain somehow gave him some clarity—what little was left of it.

“If she comes home before me, tell her that I am headed for Prescott.”

Somehow, he managed to keep the anger at bay. However, he was certain that Ellen could see it on his face.

“Your Grace, I know I’m speaking out of turn, but I believe you two are happy and that whatever Her Grace went there for has something to do with the threats she has been receiving.”

That gave Oliver pause. He knew that Alexandra might need more money to pay off her father’s debts. He had heard a new melody coming from the music room the past few nights. He’d like to think that whatever they had together had somehow inspired her.

The new composition was passionate, with just a hint of sadness. Something touched his soul whenever he heard it, and yet he could not bring himself to openly listen to her as she played. He was still afraid that she would stop as soon as he set foot into the room.

Perhaps if he had done so, she wouldn’t be selling it? For that was the only valid reason to leave the house early in the morning to meet with John Prescott without an escort.

Or was it?

Whatever the case might be, Oliver was prepared to look for his wife all over London.

Suddenly, the door swung open. A harried-looking Alexandra was about to enter when she saw Oliver standing there. The maid quickly made herself scarce.

“Oliver, I—” Alexandra began, all the color draining from her face.

“Where were you, Alexandra?” Oliver demanded. “You know what I mean by my question. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t suspect that you weren’t visiting a member of the ton or purchasing gifts at the market.”

“Oliver.” Her voice was now pleading, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Oliver simply wanted to take her in his arms and make every worry go away, but he wouldn’t accept lies and secrets. Not anymore. He was ready to bare his soul to this woman. He was ready to open his heart. She might already own it, but her own heart felt more untamed. Unattainable.

“You went to Prescott, didn’t you? Why can’t you simply let me pay off your father’s debts?”

“You know why,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, the look in her eyes was no longer pleading but accusatory. “I want to solve my problems. My father is my problem.”

“Alexandra, I’m your husband,” Oliver reminded her, stepping closer and feeling a breeze. That was when they realized the door was still open. “What's mine is yours. I’m supposed to protect you. I heard about the man who came with a letter.”

“Oliver, you know that I don’t want our relationship to be more…” Alexandra whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she seemed calm enough. Steady on the outside. “If you pay off his debts, it will remind me that we only married for that.”

“But there are other ways to get around that!” Oliver roared, losing his temper. “You don’t need to go to Prescott for that. You could have asked me to give your composition to a messenger and send him to another music teacher. Or to a benefactor. Have you thought of that?”

“No,” she said simply. “And I won’t have you making these plans and decisions for me, Oliver. You and my father had already stripped that away from me a year ago.”

“So, you regret this? Us? Do you still want the precious divorce that you talked about? The one that would be a noose around your neck?”

“I don’t care what the ton says,” Alexandra said, faltering a little. Oliver could detect that it was only a half-truth. She had started caring. She had enjoyed becoming part of something. “I regretted being pushed around, yes, but I?—”

“You regretted it?” Oliver interrupted, his temper flaring again.

He could no longer think clearly. All the things that happened between them were what? A matter of convenience?

Perhaps he’d thought so himself in the past, but now, hearing it from her…

Perhaps it only happened because they were in the same house? Perhaps she was thinking of Prescott the whole time, and Oliver was the safe choice?

Alexandra shivered. The wind seemed to be getting stronger outside. Oliver strode toward her and reached behind her to close the door. With that one move, he had pulled her close to him. He could smell the violets in her hair and the clean scent of soap. She had left the house without applying perfume, but she still smelled damn good.

She whimpered. “I don’t regret marrying you, Oliver. Not now. But…” Her eyes were fixed on his chest, not meeting his own, and he would not have that.

He took her chin and tilted it up. “Tell me now. Do you have feelings for John Prescott? I want to know.”

“Of course not!”

“You went to him. What did he look like? Was he dressed like a gentleman ready to mingle with the rest of Society? It was early in the morning, Alexandra.”

“It’s not what I’m feeling that you care about, Oliver. It’s what the ton would say if they found out that your wife is meeting with a man in his lodgings without an escort,” Alexandra argued, pushing him back and slipping out of his little trap.

“Fine, Alexandra. You’re the one who broke a promise, and yet you are looking at me as if I’ve done you wrong. You can leave for the country. Send Prescott a letter if you want him to follow you,” he said bitterly, pulling at his cravat. It loosened with one tug, and he threw it on the floor.

Alexandra looked at him with wide eyes. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and her face reddened. Her index finger trembled as she pointed it at him.

“How dare you accuse me of that, Oliver? I’ve told you who I was and what I’ve done with John. How quickly has your mind jumped to infidelity. What do you think of me?” she asked, jabbing her fingers into her chest.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors by referring to him by his Christian name, Duchess. Perhaps staying in the country can keep you out of trouble. Take your maid and the coachman with you. I don’t want to see them here either. They had done enough.”

His voice was calm, but he was anything but. He could feel his wife slipping through his fingers.

Oliver turned his back on her. He no longer wanted to see her face. She couldn’t even ask him for help when she knew he could do it for her. Everything that the music master was doing. He had more means, more connections.

What if she was afraid he would buy the composition? He quickly dismissed the possibility.

“I’m not going there because you told me to, Your Grace. I’m leaving with Ellen because there is no more reasoning with you. I apologize for the way I’ve handled things,” she muttered, right before storming upstairs.

Oliver’s heart stuttered when he heard her apology, but it had also hardened. He had no hold on Alexandra. Her true passion was her music and independence. She didn’t trust him enough. She didn’t willingly tell him about being J. Lewis. Instead, he had to ask her about it. She was cornered and had to respond.

Today, she had proven that she would run to another man for help rather than ask her husband. It was over and shouldn’t have begun in the first place. Oliver blamed himself for his past transgressions. He had lived a terrible life of drink, gambling, and women. Now, he was paying for it.

The door slammed upstairs. There was a slight commotion as he heard footsteps going back and forth. Something was being dragged across the floor. Then, there were the banging noises as Alexandra and Ellen went downstairs, his wife stomping and the maid gingerly following.

Before Alexandra could leave the house, he opened the door and left.

He knew just where to go. It wasn’t right, but he needed something to dull the pain in his chest. He would rather feel his jaw crack or his fist sting.

Devil’s Draw welcomed him with its jeers and stench. It seemed some men had not gone home yet, and the establishment would not kick out those who had already spent so much money on its services.

“Back so soon?” a lord asked. “What happened to the wife? Got tired of her? Let me have a go, Your Grace.”

Oliver didn’t even think. He simply swung his fist at the man, who staggered backward and cradled his jaw in his palm. Oliver shook his hand. There was a little sting, yes, but it was not enough.

The other men looked at him warily, keeping their mouths shut this time.

“Who’s ready to fight?” Oliver bellowed.

Nobody seemed to want to fight an angry duke who just felled a man who tried to insult his wife. Everyone was curious, though. Oliver knew they were probably wondering why he was there. He was certain they had heard how his public appearances had been a success.

After a beat, a large man stepped forward. Damn. It was Peter the Giant. Oliver was taller than most men of the ton , but Peter was even taller. He was also built like a tree trunk.

“Always ready,” he grunted.

“To hell with it all,” Oliver muttered and moved closer to what could be the death of him.

The happy people at Devil’s Draw would soon report that the Duke had held his ground and fought the fight of his life against a man much bigger than him.

“He didn’t fall more than once,” one said.

“He’s alive,” another quipped.

All Oliver knew was that for a moment, he forgot about Alexandra. After all, he was focused on staying alive. Now that the fight was over, however, everything stung, and he might have to see a physician to ensure he didn’t break anything.

What was worse was that he could see her face clearly in his mind again.