Chapter Twenty-Four

The Kemsley ball was a crush. Not surprisingly, Henry had lost Sophie some time ago when Lady Kemsley and Lady Billington whisked her away to meet with the Duchess of Blackhaven, who had recently returned from a short trip to Paris.

He wandered through the card room and started for Kemsley, who stood with Viscount Leigh, enjoying a cheroot and whisky. He procured a drink and joined them, taking a cheroot when offered.

"An enjoyable evening," he said to his host and Leigh, who watched the Marquess of Chilsten losing a game of Faro at the table nearby. "Except for Chilsten, perhaps," Kemsley remarked. "I do not think he appears to be enjoying himself at all."

"That's two hundred pounds so far he's lost to Mr. Fairbanks," Leigh disclosed. " I do not think the marchioness will be too pleased when she hears of it."

"If she hears of it," Chilsten quipped, being within earshot. "And if she does, I shall know who to blame," he said without glancing at them.

Henry laughed.

"More funds to keep your mistress happy, Fairbanks," Leigh teased before turning to them and whispering, "I hear he keeps more than one these days and all but a stone's throw from Mayfair."

Henry thought about the gossip. He had not heard such rumors, but then he had been much occupied with Sophie. The thought of her brought a smile to his lips, and he hoped she was enjoying herself.

His pleasant thoughts severed the moment he viewed Lord Carr drawing Sophie to a halt outside the gaming room doors as she passed with Lady Kemsley.

His wife's visage paled, and he was already moving toward them by the time Sophie had wrenched her arm free of the man's hold. Not far from them but held back by several guests who slipped into his way, he waited as patiently as he could to make his way through to help her.

The man would not relent. What was wrong with Lord Carr that he kept singling out Sophie as he did?

The guests in his way moved, and he went to her as quickly as possible.

"You're running out of time to pay me, Your Grace."

The words uttered by Lord Carr stopped him in his tracks. He came to Sophie's side and pushed Lord Carr away, still too close for his liking.

"You will cease accosting my wife, Carr, or there will be an issue between you and me," he warned, not caring that the bastard held the bet he had put his name to in his possession. Even if Sophie found out his stupidity by the wager, that was still better than the gentleman accosting his bride at every ball and party. Did the man fancy an affair with his wife? Did he think he stood a chance at winning her from him?

What a fool if he did.

Lord Carr scoffed. "A problem, Your Grace. You already have an issue with me, and I grow bored of waiting for both of you to do as I want," he said loud enough for others to hear.

Henry stepped close and lowered his voice. "If you have something to say, you may do so in a more private location, but not here," he warned.

Lord Carr raised his brow as if he did not give two figs to what he said or suggested. "I think not, Your Grace. I prefer to do my business here."

Sophie gasped, and her distress reminded Henry of what he had initially heard.

"The library, now, Lord Carr," he warned.

"Maybe we ought to go home, Henry," Sophie suggested, her eyes wide with fear.

Lord Carr's laugh grated on his nerves, and he fought not to lose his temper. "The terrace, Your Grace's. I think the cool air will be required if we're to keep our heads."

Henry took Sophie's hand and led her onto the terrace, not heeding if Lord Carr followed them. The cool night air smelled of soot but was still more refreshing than the stifling, perfumed, and cloying scents of the hundreds of guests inside.

He ensured they were far enough away from those who took the air and steeled himself for what Lord Carr wanted to disclose. He would undoubtedly tell Sophie of his bet, but was there more to his obsession with his wife? Henry's curiosity over their conversation grew.

"What do you want from us, Carr?" He got to the issue. There was no point in easing into this conversation. It was long overdue already.

"Do you wish to know, Your Grace?" he asked, watching Sophie keenly.

"Henry," she said, turning to him. "There is something that I need to explain …"

"Yes," Lord Carr said, leaning toward them both. "Like how I laid with her before you were married." His lordship leaned against the balustrade, smirking. "Granted, it happened several years ago, but it is still one of my favorite memories of Highclere. Who knew the village girls were so passionate? I did not. Not until that wonderous evening."

Henry stilled, feeling as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. The grounds spun about him, and he stumbled before Sophie helped steady him.

He looked to his wife for an explanation, a denial, but nothing came forth. Her eyes welled with tears, and she clutched his hand. But he could not. Did not want her to touch him. He threw her off and stumbled away from them both, unsure what game they were playing.

"Henry, it is not how Lord Carr is stating. I never …"

"Was never intimate with him?" he barked, cutting her off. "Were you a virgin when we met? Just answer me that?" he demanded, his life was shattering around him.

She swallowed, her eyes darting to the others on the terrace. "I was not, but Henry …" She reached for him again, but he could not listen. Not any of her lying excuses. His stomach clenched, and he fought not to cast up his accounts before everyone.

"A shock to you, I see, Your Grace. But it was only one night if that makes it better for you, but your wife is not as sweet and innocent as she led you to believe, and I think you ought to know the truth of these penniless village lasses who come to town to marry well just as she has done. However, there is nothing for it, for you cannot annul your marriage. You've well and truly wedded and bedded her, but you will pay me for my silence if you do not wish for the ton to hear what a light-skirt the new Duchess of Holland is." Lord Carr smirked. "Is it not amusing that your father, Your Grace was a great rake, rutted all over London, and died of the pox, and now your very wife is of a similar nature? How you do pick well, Holland. But then, I suppose you cannot choose your parents. A shame, for I certainly would have picked better for myself should I have had the opportunity."

"Henry," he heard Sophie whisper. "This is not how it happened. You know that I'm not like Lord Carr says. Please let me explain." She clasped his arm, and he stared down at her silk-gloved fingers, his mind racing with thoughts. He reached for her and removed her hand with a calmness he did not know he possessed.

"Do not touch me." He did not know what to do or say. How does one react to such news?

"But do not distress, Your Grace," Lord Carr said to Sophie. "The duke is not entirely without fault. You see, you were the butt of a joke at Whites at the beginning of the Season. As pretty and sweet as you were, many who thought you ought to be the diamond, in fact, thought to make a bet about you. Who would win your affection and hand for a thousand pounds? You'll be pleased to know that your husband, Holland won the bet and will collect his blunt. Maybe he'll even give you the funds since you're why he won the money in the first place."

Henry was wrong if he thought Sophie's face couldn't pale any further. She went almost transparent at the disclosure. Her eyes, already filled with tears, turned accusingly toward him.

"Is that true? Did you put your name to a bet about me?" she asked him.

Lord Carr grinned. "Well, Holland, did you or did you not enter your name on a bet?" The bastard Carr fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out the parchment he had stolen from Whites. "Look for yourself, Duchess. All the proof is here that I speak of."

Sophie reached out and, like a nightmare, unfolded the parchment and read the bet and the numerous names that added to the wager after his own. He heard her exhale, her face crumbling with the realization of what he had done.

"You bastard," Henry said, and before he could stop himself, his fist connected with Lord Carr's nose, and a satisfying crack combined with the gentleman's cry of alarm before he was on top of him, determined to kill the miscreant before the night was finished.