Chapter 23

A s soon as Latimer stepped inside the breakfast room the following morning and took one glance around at the seven assembled guests and found the woman he sought missing, he turned around and walked out.

Flexing his jaw, Latimer took furious strides through the Duchess of Argyll’s home.

He was going to burn the fucking house down.

In fact, he already would have done so had the one person he had been waiting to see for some twelve hours now wasn’t inside the goddamned mausoleum.

He’d given Livian the space she asked. He’d followed the duchess’ guidance, that he allow Livian to have time to process what had happened to her, and not be pressed to discuss it.

And so, he’d stayed up the entire bloody night. He’d paced his room. He’d done push-ups. He had practiced his exercise regimen. All the while, each minute of the night crept by until the sun appeared on the horizon and began its ascent to usher in a new day.

Growling, Latimer increased the pace and length of his footfalls. The maid he happened by paled, widened her eyes, and took off running in the opposite direction.

Another time, he would have felt a modicum of guilt at scaring the young servant. Not at this moment. At this moment, as he took the stairs two and three at a time to reach the guest suites, he didn’t have the compunction to care.

Latimer headed quickly down the hall and made straight away for that ridiculous pink door.

As he stopped beside it, he pressed his ear against the panel. Just as last night, only silence greeted him. Not the endearing, rumbling snores, but rather an eerie quiet.

Propriety, allowing Livian her space, being witnessed by any potential passersby, all of it, be damned.

Latimer grabbed the door handle.

“Good morning, Mr. Latimer.”

That pleasant, sultry greeting interrupted him.

Silently cursing, Latimer turned to greet the duchess.

“Good morning, Duchess.”

The urgent need to see Livian and verify with his own eyes she was alright, demanded he ignore the powerful peeress. But there still remained the matter of his business and potential peril to his future endeavor were he not careful in how he proceeded.

The Duchess of Argyll wore a wide smile. “Most fiancées would take exception at finding her future bridegroom about to enter another woman’s bedroom.”

She wasn’t his fiancée. As of now, she was nothing to him.

And that is how I want it to be… I don’t even give a shite about the club.

Latimer froze, barely noticing as the elegant noblewoman approached.

I don’t care about the club. I don’t care about my business. Or defeating Argyll and DuMond. They didn’t matter. None of it did.

She did.

Livian.

That realization didn’t terrify. Instead, it brought with it a welcoming warmth that spiraled through his being and soul that had been cold, until her.

The Duchess of Argyll stopped before him. “Mr. Latimer, I do say, you seem a world away,” she said with a bemused smile.

Latimer was. The only place he wished to exist was within Livian’s shadow, so close their souls moved and walked in harmony.

“I’ve come to ask after Miss Lovelace, Your Grace,” he said bluntly. What else could he say, given the fact she’d walked upon him about to storm Livian’s room?

“Ahh.” She inclined her head in understanding. She arched a blonde eyebrow. “Mr. Latimer, surely you know, you could have just sought me out to do so.”

Hers wasn’t a question. But then, people like her, didn’t ask questions. Given her lofty rank and bloodlines, she made assertions.

“I’m here now,” Latimer said coolly. “I can verify for myself.”

He made another grab for the door handle.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that, Mr. Latimer,” the duchess said, a frown in her voice.

A servant exited one of the guest chambers down the hall. When she caught sight of the lady of the house speaking with Latimer, the girl dropped a curtsy, ducked her head, and hastened in to the very room she had just left.

Alone, the duchess glared. “I know you were not born within the ton , Mr. Latimer,” she said, in frosty tones. “But you are about to make a scene, and embarrass me mightily. Everyone knows we are to be married. I will not have you gazing at another woman’s door like a lovesick swain. You can fuck whoever you want when we are married. Even beforehand. But I demand your discretion. Or I will absolutely ruin you.”

Fury should follow such a direct threat. No one spoke to him so. Men like him knew better than to let anyone make a threat against them.

The certain-to-be-bad discussion due between them regarding Latimer’s decision to not join with her in marriage would require some delicacy and couldn’t, and wouldn’t , happen outside Livian’s door.

“Your Grace—”

“Miss Lovelace is fine,” the duchess said brusquely. “I spoke with her at length last evening, and she displayed stoicism, grace, and strength throughout.”

God, I love her so much. What the hell was wrong with Latimer that had taken him so long to see it? Except, he knew. He’d never known love and, as such, hadn’t believed such an emotion existed until Livian.

“Thank you for sharing with me, Your Grace.”

“But you have no intention of leaving.”

“I have no intention of leaving,” he said, even though hers had been more of one of those non-questions.

“She is not here.”

His mouth tightened. He’d rather she’d led with that.

Livian had seen Latimer crazed and contorted into the bloodthirsty monster that lived inside of him and had since his birth to some unknown whore on the streets.

“If you can tell me where I can find Miss Lovelace, I would like speak with her,” Latimer said, not even bothering to mask his impatience.

“I would, if I were able to, Mr. Latimer.”

Given her lack of forthrightness thus far, he found that assurance rather impossible to believe.

“If you will excuse me then, Your Grace?” He’d already wasted enough time speaking with her.

“Mr. Latimer?” the duchess squeezed an extra syllable into his name, and with the slight up tilt, transformed hers into a question meant to stop him.

“What is it, Duchess?” he squeezed those words through gritted teeth.

The sly widow curled her lips into a feline-like smile, and he was to be her bloody mouse.

She took her damned time answering.

“What is it?” he snapped. God, and here he’d believed he could spend the rest of his life living with a woman who danced around words to gain control. Unlike Livian, who shared Latimer’s ability to not sugarcoat or play games about her thoughts.

“It is just,” she wandered on slow, deliberate, graceful steps toward Latimer. “What I should have said is that Miss Lovelace is gone .”

Latimer stared at the duchess.

“Gone?” he echoed dumbly, his voice queer to his own ears.

She nodded. “Gone.”

Latimer shook his head, but when that did nothing to clear the fog, he rubbed his fingertips against his temples. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone,” she repeated, as gleeful as a devil seen stealing souls during a Sunday sermon. “As in, she is not here, Mr. Latimer. As in, she departed.”

A peculiar droning like a hornet’s nest that had been kicked loose inside his brain hummed between his ears.

When he spoke, his voice came muffled from all that humming in his head. “Where?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” she demurred.

The respirations of his breathing grew jagged, shallow. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say because I do not know the lady’s destination. What I do know about Miss Lovelace is that she requested I see her carriage readied, and given she was my guest and not a child, I did as she bade.”

Latimer took a step back, and then another. His mind clouded; he stopped in his tracks and did a small circle where he stood.

Except, he still couldn’t get his bearings.

She’d left because of me. From seeing the level of violence I’m capable of, she’d run. Or what if it was not that? What if there had been another reason to drive her from this place and the dead of night?

The questions continued coming, all with no answer.

A queasy feeling settled in his chest. “ Why did she go ?” he whispered.

“I believe that should be apparent, no, Mr. Latimer?”

Now she was asking questions.

On the heel of that, his mind raced, and the tightening in his chest grew more vicious, more suffocating so that even getting even breaths into his lungs proved to be an unconquerable chore.

Latimer took several furious steps towards her, and the duchess retreated until her back collided with Livian’s door.

“What did you say to her, Your Grace?” he hissed. “What did you do?”

“How dare you!” she exclaimed. “You dare ask me what I did? You presume I’m in some way the one who hurt her? How about you look no further than yourself, Mr. Latimer?” she said with icy vitriol.

Latimer staggered back, and the duchess took advantage of having thrown him off kilter.

“You, Mr. Latimer.” She spoke in a quiet, controlled whisper. “Do you take me for some kind of fool? Do you believe the minute I saw your face when she first walked in the room and her response that I didn’t ascertain exactly what had happened between the two of you at some point? No, you both gave yourselves away countless times in a short time.” She snorted. “And while you are in my own household, here to court me, no less.”

Bloody hell. “I didn’t intend to hurt you—”

She snorted. “Do you truly believe I’m one who could be wounded?” Genuine amusement filled her voice. “You know my past as much as I know yours. I ended up married to the debauched Duke of Argyll. I lost the love of my life. My father was a debaucher who raped innocent young girls. And yet you flatter yourself into thinking I care one way or another that you, a stranger I just met, are taking your pleasure with other women.” The duchess shook her head. “No, Mr. Latimer,” she said, her voice hushed. “ You are the one who toyed with an innocent lady’s affection.”

Dumbfounded, Latimer shook his head. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t you?” she interrupted sharply. “What did you expect after taking Miss Lovelace’s virtue? Did you truly believe she was any match for your skill and experience with a woman?”

“I…” He tried to speak; his voice came from a distance.

“You didn’t seduce her, Mr. Latimer?” She winged up an eyebrow. “Or you didn’t set out to seduce her? For those are two very different things— both of which, ultimately mean the same thing.”

It hadn’t been mindless lust that bound he and Livian. The minute their worlds collided, he and Livian were destined for one another…maybe long before that; since the beginning of time.

Her expression instantly hardened. “Let us be clear about one thing, Mr. Latimer. I am not the one who hurt Miss Lovelace.” She ran her eyes derisively over him. “You managed to do that all on your own, without any assistance from me.”

That accurate barb proved all the more vicious for the brutal truth to it.

Everything hurt inside. Everything hurt on the outside.

He’d been so sure nothing else mattered more than asserting his place in the gaming hell world. He believed it so much he’d spent these past days with Livian, seeing them as finite. When the truth had been there all along: if she left or wed another man, and if Latimer were separated from her forever, he’d cease to be.

There was no life without her in it.

Except, that’s precisely how he existed in this hellish nightmare—alone, with her gone, and out of his life.

“If you tell me, despite the affection you clearly carry for Miss Lovelace, that your business matters more to you,” the duchess said quietly, “and if you are still willing to enter into a union, I will still hold to the agreement we haven’t yet discussed, but that Lord Dynevor would like us to enter. I’m a woman who was in love with another man. You are a man who is himself clearly in love with another. We share that in common. In sharing those similar grounds, we’d certainly share far more than the majority of couples in polite society.”

She’d marry him still. Everything he wanted for his financial and revengeful future was still within reach.

The only problem was, at this moment, Livian was not, and Latimer couldn’t live without her.

The Duchess of Argyll moved her shrewd gaze over Latimer’s face. “I see, Mr. Latimer,” she murmured.

“Forgive me,” he said solemnly. “I did not—”

The look she gave Latimer turned lethal.

He’d said the absolute worst and wrong thing to the self-assured peeress.

A proud woman such as Lady Argyll wouldn’t take kindly to rejection; she’d take even less well to being an object of pity.

“Now, that we have sorted through all of this,” she said, stiff as stone, “pack your belongings, Mr. Latimer, and remove yourself from my property, at once.”

The Duchess of Argyll started to go.

“Wait!” Latimer called out, unable to stop himself. Not that he would have allowed pride to get in his way. He had already made that mistake once, and it’d nearly cost him Livian.

It might still cost you your lady , the voice inside his head delighted in tormenting Latimer.

For a moment, he believed the regal duchess wouldn’t turn back. And he’d now just ascertained he wasn’t too proud to beg either if need be.

Finally, after an eternity, the duchess faced him.

“Yes, Mr. Latimer?” Her features were so even, and her voice so calm, one may have believed she’d already gotten over her ire.

Latimer made himself speak calmly and measured so as to not further offend. “You are certain you cannot tell me where she is?”

“I’m afraid not,” she answered with so much glee there could be no doubting how very much she was enjoying this moment.

Certainly, he deserved both her loathing and the pleasure she found in taunting him. He’d not been forthright, but then, in fairness, he’d not been forthright with himself about Livian—until now.

His mind continued spinning out of control. Livian being the person she was, would always put other people’s well-being before her own. Given her sister and brother-in-law were expecting a new babe, she’d want to go to them. But would she, given the circumstances that had prompted her to return home?

Which raised terrifyingly insidious thoughts about Livian on the road once more. He’d forced his way inside her rooms—be it unknowingly that a woman rested her head there. What if on this latest journey it were some other man, a dishonorable one, with vile intentions?

Sweat slicked his skin.

The hauntings continued coming.

Strong as she was and had proven against the viscount’s assault on her, last night had proven her vulnerability. Had Latimer not arrived when he had…

Bile climbed his throat, and he attempted to forcibly thrust the imagery parading in his mind; of the bloody nobleman or some other man who exerted his influence and force over her. Forced her against a wall, yanked her skirts up…

A tortured moan gurgled in his throat and spilled from his lips, like the last gasping breaths of a dying man.

And I am.

For surely there could be no greater anguish than the waking hell he found himself trapped within. He, who’d been stone cold and incapable of loving or feeling, now found himself crumbling.

Latimer dragged his hands through his hair and tugged at the ends.

“Mr. Latimer?”

Crazed, he looked frantically at the duchess.

“I can offer you some assurances about Miss Lovelace,” she said.

The slow, dull thought of his heart picked up in tempo and hammered hard at his chest.

“Yes?” Latimer rasped.

“You are most likely concerned about the young lady’s well-being. However, you may rely on Miss Lovelace being in very capable hands. The Earl of Wakefield provided the lady with a personal escort.” She paused and flashed another taunting smile. “Last evening.”

“Last evening?” he choked out.

With that, hate-filled, knife-like jibe, the duchess took her leave, and Latimer found himself thrust deeper into hell.