Chapter Twenty-Five

Sophie stilled and watched with horror as an anger she had never witnessed enraging Henry took over her husband, and he punched Lord Carr in the nose. The viscount's head snapped back with a force that looked painful even to watch.

But that wasn't enough for her husband. He launched himself and Carr, when he kept his feet, throwing them both onto the balustrade and tumbling into the gardens below.

Gasps from fellow guests sounded, bringing the brawl to the attention of those inside and those taking the air. "Henry, stop," Sophie called, knowing that her husband would not hear her, nor Lord Carr. They tumbled onto the lawn, both men throwing strikes whenever they could.

Lord Carr looked far worse than Henry, as the duke continually flew fists to the man's nose and jaw. For a moment Sophie feared he would kill the viscount before Kemsley and Lord Leigh pushed past her and jumped down to intervene.

For several minutes Lord Kemsley and Lord Leigh fought to pull the men apart, but Henry's punishment against Lord Carr seemed never ending and without remorse.

Sophie started when Harlow took her hand, holding her close to her side as finally, with brute force Henry's friends pulled them apart. The altercation had drawn the attention of everyone at the ball, who seemed to be on the terrace watching with relishing stupefaction.

She wasn't na?ve enough not to know that everyone would be talking of them tomorrow. The latest on dit. Every one of them wondering what sparked the argument between the Duke of Holland and Lord Carr.

It would not take them long to remember that Lord Carr came from the same small village of Highclere as did Sophie, and the gossip would spread like an ailment that something was afoot.

Henry climbed the steps, and Sophie watched as the crowd parted for the duke as he moved toward the ballroom. For one horrendous moment, Sophie thought he would continue without her, but he stopped, turned, and gestured her to his side.

She left Harlow and went to Henry, taking his arm and leaving the terrace. He did not speak a word. His arm was tense beneath her palm, his body radiating with anger, his lip bled, and a bruise was already forming on his cheek.

"Henry," she said, beseeching him to listen.

He flinched at her attempt to help him, his gaze steadfast on the ballroom exit. "Not here, Sophie." His voice was stern, as ruthless as his pummeling of Lord Carr, and dread settled in her stomach.

Their carriage ride home was as quiet as death. Sophie watched with trepidation as Henry stared out the window, watching the Mayfair streets with loathing. A muscle worked on his jaw, and she knew he was fighting his anger toward her this time instead of Lord Carr.

When the carriage rolled to a halt before the house, he did not wait for her. Instead, he opened the door and exited, leaving her to follow with the help of a footman who came out to greet them.

By the time Sophie entered the house, Henry was at the top of the stairs, bellowing for his valet. Her maid ran from the back of the house and helped Sophie upstairs. Without many words, as if sensing something was wrong between herself and the duke, her maid helped her change into her shift and nightgown before bidding her goodnight.

Sophie paced her bedroom for several minutes, stopping sporadically and debating entering Henry's room. Masculine voices too soft to be understood sounded next door, and water splashed. Was Henry washing his wounds? She needed to help him and care for him.

Unsure of what she should do, Sophie went to her sideboard and poured herself a glass of claret, downing it quickly before pouring another. Was he going to come to speak to her or ignore her for the rest of the night?

What was he thinking?

She chewed her nails as she paced her bedroom floor. He would be angry and hurt, but then she also had a good reason to be. He had included himself on a bet that was about her. Granted, it was perhaps made before he knew her, and the bet wasn't as bad as she had done. But then, what Lord Carr had insinuated and what Henry believed was not true either.

She heard further commands, and then the snick of the lock on their connecting door put paid to her entering through that door. Sophie stood, staring at the entry for several minutes, wondering if she had truly heard herself being locked out of Henry's room.

Unable to believe it, she strode to the door and tried the handle. It did not budge. "Henry, let me in. We need to talk," she yelled at the wood. No answer sounded and before she could think twice, she strode from the room and down the passage to Henry's suite.

She tried that door, but it, too, was locked. "Henry!" she wailed, banging on the dark wood. "Do not lock me out, please," she begged.

"Your Grace, the duke is not to be disturbed this evening. It would be best if you retired for the evening," Henry's valet said from the servant's stairs behind her.

Without answering him, her pride taking hold, she kicked the door with her slippered foot and then, without another word, went back to her room, slamming the door in the servant's face.

How dare Henry lock her out in such a way. How could he not want to hear her side of the story? She threw herself on her bed, fighting the tears that threatened her. She would speak to him first thing in the morning, make him listen to her. Her mama knew the truth of that long-ago nightmare in Highclere. Henry would have to believe her mama. He would not think badly of her parent too. Even if he believed Sophie to be a charlatan of the worst kind.

***

Henry woke early the following morning and made his way down to the library. He locked the door and worked on numerous ledgers, unpaid bills that mounted over the last week, and several missives from his tenants and estate managers both in Kent and Scotland.

Sophie had tried three times last evening to speak to him, and he had ignored her imploring. The sound of her sweet voice almost crumbled his resolve not to see her, but he could not tumble so easily.

She had not been a maid?

She had given herself to Lord Carr?

He picked up his glass of brandy and launched it across the room, narrowing his eyes and grounding his teeth as the glass splintered into a million pieces.

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand over his jaw, unable to get the image out of his head of the woman he loved in the throes of passion in Carr's arms. He should have killed the bastard last night. How dare he even breathe near his duchess?

The many weeks of his interest in Sophie became clear. He had her once, and he was determined to have her again, and when it became obvious that he would not, he tried to bribe his wife in exchange for his silence.

Undoubtedly, the yellow, bottle-headed fool was already assisting the rumor mill over what occurred last evening. Ruining Sophie's reputation with delight.

Their Season was over. A lot of the reason as to why his fault. He should not have hit Carr, but knowing that man had been with his wife, Henry's reaction was swift and punishing. Before he could think clearly, he had Carr on the lawn and could not stop punching the ugly bastard's face.

He was unsure what would have happened had Kemsley and Leigh not stepped in and stopped him.

"Henry, please speak to me," he heard Sophie's muffled voice call from behind the library door.

He tapped his quill against the desk. He could not stay here. If he stayed, they would only argue further, which would not do them any favors. He still had his rooms at the Albany. He would go there, take his valet and remove himself from the household and think upon what he would do, how he would react, and move forward with what he now knew.

But he did have to confront Sophie, now better than any other time. He stood and strode to the door, unlocking it. The image of her before him, her sickly features, as if she had slept as little as he, pleaded for him to forgive her. But he could not.

She has been intimate with Lord Carr. Do not fall for her soft features that beg for forgiveness.

He pushed past her, moving toward the stairs. "I'm leaving. You may remain here until I have decided what to do with this information that came to light at last evening's ball."

"Henry, please, do not go. We need to talk. You must know the truth, please," she begged him, clasping his arm in an attempt to stop him. He removed himself from her grasp and did not stop. "When I have decided, I shall be back. I do not want to hear anything from you right now. Nothing at all," he barked, not meeting her eye.

He swallowed hard when she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and he could feel her watching him, feel her despair as thick as his own.

Do not relent. Do not look back.

He would not be weak, not when he needed to be strong, for himself and the dukedom. That was most important right now, not his duchess, who had fucked another and then lied about the fact.