Chapter Twenty-Eight

Days passed, and Henry lost himself in a game of oblivion and disorientation. For several minutes, he had sat at his desk in his lodgings, fighting to remember the day and when he had bathed last.

He lifted his arm and sniffed himself. The stench hit him with a force that made him recoil, and he leaned back in his chair, disgusted at his actions this past week. Or was it two now? He could not remember.

Voices sounded in the small foyer of his rooms, and before he could ask his valet who it was, the door slammed open, and Lord Kemsley stood glaring at him from the threshold.

Henry raised his brow, staring back. His friend's presence did not bode well for him since he had sought him out. And gathering from his irate visage, Kemsley's visit was not a sociable call.

"Ah, so here you are," Kemsley said, striding into the room and slamming the door with as much force as he had opened it. "I see you've made yourself quite at home in your rooms here," he said, going over to a window and hoisting up the pane of glass. Cool, afternoon air entered, and Henry scowled.

"Would you care for a drink?" Henry offered, going to the whisky decanter and pouring himself one. Kemsley stood, fisting his hands on his hips.

"No, and I think you've had plenty of the amber liquid to last you a lifetime." Kemsley gestured toward him. "Have you seen yourself, man? You have not shaved in a week at least, and as for the smell permeating this room, well, I would think you've not bathed in a year."

Henry shrugged, supposing that was probably true, not that he cared. He did not care for anything anymore. His wife, the woman he loved, had been intimate with another. She had given herself to a man that was not him. Did she care for Lord Carr? Love him?

The thought made him choke on his drink.

"There is no one here to care about such facts," Henry retorted. "And when you leave, you too will cease to smell my stench. Feel free to excuse yourself whenever you wish, my lord," he slurred, slumping back into his chair.

Kemsley's face mottled in a temper, and Henry raised his hand, shaking one finger at the earl. "Now, now, Kemsley. After my run-in with Carr, my nose has only just healed, along with my lip. I do not need you bloodying up my features yet again."

"You deserve a good thumping after your actions these past weeks." Kemsley strode to the desk, towering over him while he sat. "Do you have any idea what damage, possibly irreversible harm, you're making while sitting here on your ass, wallowing in your delusions regarding the duchess?"

He flinched at the mention of Sophie, but nor did he like him having an opinion and voicing it to his face. What did it have to do with Kemsley? He knew nothing of what Sophie had told him. He did not know the truth about his wife's actions. Had Kemsley known, he may have thought twice about allowing her into his home and sponsoring her for the Season.

"They are not delusions. I know full well what I'm doing and you would react the same should you know what I do about Miss York."

"Miss York?" Kemsley stuttered, staring at him as if he had lost control of his senses. In truth, he may have, especially when it came to his wife.

"You would not insult her by calling her such a name. She is married to you. The Duchess of Holland forevermore. No blasted rumor or needling by Lord Carr will change that fact. You need to go see Her Grace and beg for forgiveness before it is too late."

Too late? Too late for what? The pit of his stomach twisted, and he wondered if Kemsley knew something he did not. But as to what he could not say and in his spinning haze, he did not care. She had misled him. Lain with another before their marriage. The idea made him want to vomit.

"There is little to be said between us. The duchess," he said, smirking for good measure at Kemsley, "is a liar, and I do not wish to see her," he lied, knowing he longed to see her, touch her, be with her every aching moment of his life. He was not so wholly innocent in their estrangement. He too had played a part in tearing them from each other, one that Carr used to his advantage. Not that he would admit to such weaknesses to Kemsley.

"You made a promise to my wife's cousin. You will not break her heart and the vows said before God, Holland, or you will end up with another bloody nose."

Henry had heard enough. He pushed back his chair, slamming it against the bookcase at his back. "And who are you to criticize me? I'm the Duke of Holland, one of the highest-ranking gentlemen in London. And gentlemen being the optimal word. Who are you, Lord Kemsley? Well," he scoffed. "Let me tell you who you are. You are an earl who taught a woman, a maid, who was not your wife, how to seduce other men while sampling those goods yourself. How dare you come into my home and criticize me for reacting to the news of my wife's disgrace with something resembling acceptance and nonchalance."

"You will never again speak of Lady Kemsley with anything other than respect ever again, I warn you. While I grant I was not always the upstanding gentleman, I did marry the countess without scandal ever kissing her name. But the same cannot be said for you. You fought with another man before the whole ton and then moved out of your home. You left your wife to face the ton alone to try to salvage what is left of both your reputations and the Holland name."

Henry ran a hand through his hair and strode across the room. He glanced up at a painting of his father, the blaggard that he was, and hated everything about everyone.

"The fight with Carr was nothing, and no one needed to read into it other than two men who did not like one another. Nothing more."

"Except Carr helped spread the rumor that your wife was having an affair with him, and you became aware of the fact."

"That was not what happened." The truth was far worse than that. He cringed. "Did you know that Sophie gave herself to him some years before her Season? In Highclere, before she met me," he blurted, voicing the horrific details of her secret for the first time to another. Not that it helped to say the words aloud. They still sounded as harrowing as the first time he listened to them. "She made love to him. Was she in love with him?" He shook his head. "That I do not know. I did not stay around to find out."

"You're a bloody fool." Kemsley hoisted him by the cuff of his shirt and threw him up against a wall, the painting of his father tipping awkwardly to one side. "Made love? To Carr! Have you spoken to the duchess? Have you given her the right, the respect to hear what she has to say about all of this sorry tale, or have you only allowed Carr to voice his side?" Kemsley asked him.

Henry swallowed, pushing Kemsley away and stumbling to the side. "What, it was not making love for the duchess? Are you telling me that she fucked him instead?"

A fist connected with his nose a second time in as many weeks, and his head snapped back against the wall. He slid to the floor and did not get up, not in the mood to take another beating, and certainly not from one of his friends. Or who was once his friend?

"Go to the duchess and beg her for forgiveness because you're living in a fool's nightmare at this very moment. You do not know the truth of the matter at all, and I won't be the one to burst the righteous cocoon you've made for yourself here. You're being a prig, and if you do not make this right, I will be back, and you'll receive more than a bloody nose."

Henry stumbled to his feet, coming eye to eye with Kemsley. "Do not forget who I am, Kemsley," he warned. How dare Kemsley threaten him? But a little part of his mind seized at what Kemsley knew that he did not.

"It's not a warning, Your Grace," he spat with sarcasm. "It is a promise. You will go to the duchess tomorrow evening after you have sobered up and hear her truth. Then and only then will I call you a friend once more."

Henry scoffed, striding away. "I have other friends, Kemsley. And when I'm ready, I shall speak to my wife and hear her truth. Little good it will do her. She has admitted to the night of passion, I do not wish to know any more than I already do."

Kemsley shook his head, moving toward the door with determined strides. "You do need to hear more and I'll be back if you do not make this right."

Henry watched him leave, marveling at his mettle but thinking upon it too. He had a choice to make, and if he did as Kemsley said, he needed to be sober when he made it.