Chapter 18
“Have you lost what little sense you previously possessed?” Tobias growled, slamming his hand on the mantel above the hearth in the Cresthaven study.
“I cannot imagine your mother will allow you to live long after she discovers her son made such lurid remarks—to a lady, no less. Do you think word will not get back to her?”
Rowan did not so much as flinch at his friend’s unusual outburst. Slouching lower in the overstuffed chair he preferred when visiting Tobias at his home, he swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler. There was nothing that could further impact his mood, either for the positive or the negative.
There was no denying that Rowan was an utter scoundrel. A blackguard. The least worthy of the title gentleman.
Since Marce’s departure, he had told himself at least that much.
For the last several days, his servants ignored him, and Pearl outright gave him the cut direct.
And worst of all, his mother continued in her contented ways, not knowing the fatal blow her heart would soon take when she learned of the duplicitous nature of those around her.
He was as alone as he’d ever been. Even coming to Tobias and admitting what he’d said and done had taken much from Rowan, especially when he’d openly accused Marce of dallying with Tobias behind Rowan’s back.
Tobias was his friend, but in this moment, the earl was far more loyal to Marce.
It was to be expected. Rowan actually believed she deserved Tobias’s friendship more than he did.
He sipped from his glass, stopping himself from draining the spirits and requesting another. Drinking was not likely to solve any of his problems. Of that, he was sure.
Why he’d thought Tobias would lend an ear without chastising him was still a mystery. Is that not what true friends did? Chastise you when you did something reckless and foolish?
“Mayhap I should return to Hadlow and tell my mother the truth,” Rowan mused before bringing his lips to the rim of his glass once more and—throwing caution to the wind—draining it. “At least then I can depart for Scotland. When I return in a few months, her anger should have subsided.”
“You think it is anger she will feel?” Tobias scoffed. “You have larger issues to contend with than I thought, Ro.”
“I was surprised Marce requested a coach back to London and didn’t flee to Cresthaven immediately after our argument.” Rowan set his empty tumbler on the table beside him, focusing his sightless stare on the flames in the hearth.
“Why in heavens would Marce come here?”
“Because the two of you are involved.” He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin falling to rest on his open palm. “I know it was preposterous of me to take offense that you found comfort with her. Even if the affair was behind my back.”
“Are you hearing the words coming out of your mouth, or are you spouting nonsense just to hear your voice?” Tobias snatched Rowan’s glass from the table and refilled it, returning it to his elbow.
“It is fine, Tobias. Marce did not deny my accusations when I confronted her with them.”
“There was no reason for her to deny such ludicrous and insulting claims,” Tobias said, slumping into the chair next to Rowan and facing the warmth of the fire.
They sat in silence for a few moments—so long that Rowan thought his friend was so bored with the conversation that he’d fallen asleep.
Finally, he said, “I have never had an interest in Marce beyond friendship. You brought her to Kent, forced her to pose as your wife, and all but left her to fend for herself when in residence. That was not fair.”
“I know that now.”
“No, I do not think you do.” Tobias turned to face Rowan. “Marce is a resilient woman.”
“I am aware.”
“She is beautiful…beyond the classic beauty favored by the ton.”
Rowan reached out blindly and collected this drink. “There is no question about that.”
“You stole her chance at a normal future.”
Rowan could only shrug. He’d done what Tobias accused him of. There was no reason to deny it.
“You blackmailed her into acting as your wife for eight years,” Tobias growled.
“Do you think this scandal will not make its way to London? The gossips may have been kept in the dark about your charade up until now, but once you take possession of Craven House, the scandal sheets will have their way. Marce will be ruined. And not only that, she gave up all these years to you. Years she should have been searching for a husband who truly loved her. Years where she could have had her own family. All for what? To satisfy your animosity toward your father?”
“She is but the proprietress of a brothel,” Rowan countered.
“How many prospects did she think to have? I allowed her to keep her family home. Her siblings had a roof over their heads because I did not walk in and cast them all from the property my dukedom rightfully owns. If anything, she should thank me.”
“If we were not longtime friends, and you did not have nearly six inches on me, I would demand retribution for your words.”
“Those are the only reasons?” Rowan prodded, glancing at this friend from the corner of his eye.
“Those, and I would hate for your mother to be disappointed with me.”
“Something I obviously have no qualms about.”
“I do not believe that to be true.”
Rowan chuckled bitterly. How could Tobias still think there were redeeming qualities to him? “Mayhap I deserve to be called to account for my behavior.”
“That will solve nothing, and likely injure us both,” Tobias mused. “What would better serve would be for us to discuss your plans to fix this. After what you did to Marce, and her brother’s betrayal before you, she will surely never trust a man again.”
“What of her brother?” Rowan crossed his legs at the ankle, refusing to alert Tobias to his piqued interest in the change of topic. “I have heard they are close.”
“Not Lord Garrett.” Tobias shook his head, staring down into his tumbler as he swirled the liquid. “Her eldest brother. Buckston.”
“The Marquess of Buckston?” Rowan’s neck heated, and his pulse increased. “I was not aware that Marce’s mother was Buckston’s mistress at one time.”
“Not mistress.” Tobias’s voice echoed in the room as if he’d shouted it. “Wife. Marce’s mother was the Marchioness of Buckston, the former Lord Buckston’s second wife. Marce and Garrett were born of their marriage.”
“That would make her the current Lord Buckston’s half-sibling. She’s Benton’s sister?” Rowan stood, fleeing the fire’s warmth as his skin heated past the point of being tolerable. “Davenport. I never suspected that she was from that Davenport line.”
“Not many do.”
“But how did Sasha, a bloody marchioness, come to run a brothel?”
“Benton cast the lot of them from their home after his father’s death. Left them with only the measly funds his father had earmarked for a dowager allowance.”
“That blackguard!” Rowan paced the room, needing a way to expel his irritation. “And she accused me of possessing a black soul.”
“Oh, your soul is still black as night, my friend. Do not think that learning any of this absolves you of your misdeeds. Marce may not be here to hold you accountable, but I am. You did to her exactly what her brother did.”
It is not the same at all. Rowan couldn’t bring himself to utter the words aloud…because it was a lie. Yet another falsehood compounded on the many he’d already told himself, his mother, Tobias, and Marce.
“Marce was thrown from her home at the age of seven,” Tobias sighed.
“Lady Buckston’s friends turned away from her and offered no assistance after she was shunned by Buckston’s son and heir.
She did what she had to do to support her family, much as Marce has been doing all these years with her siblings. ”
It was too much to comprehend. Rowan longed to escape the room and return to his home. Or, even better, leave Kent altogether in an attempt to distance himself from the truth he’d blinded himself to all these years.
“What have I done?” Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Besides make an utter ass of yourself?”
“Tobias, you are not helping my predicament.”
“Oh, I was unaware you sought me out for assistance. I thought you merely came to accuse me of dallying with your wife.”
Rowan stomped across the study and sank back into his chair. “She’s not my wife.”
“For all intents and purposes, dictated by my code of honor as your friend, and as a gentleman, Lady Marce Davenport has been your wife for eight years. Therefore, off-limits to men such as myself. Never would I jeopardize our friendship and the perfect set of my nose by crossing that line. And it would be highly inappropriate to involve Marce in such a scandalous situation.”
“Who do you count as friend?”
“Can I not pledge my undying allegiance to you both?”
“I am not certain that will work in this situation.” Rowan swallowed, hoping to keep his baser motives from being verbalized. He needed a friend in this moment. No, not just a friend, he needed his closest confidante to be there for him—with him.
“Then I choose Lady Marce.” Tobias’s flippant reply bore deeply into Rowan’s already injured pride.
“What? Surely you jest.” Rowan glared at Tobias. They’d shared tutors in their youth and traveled all over England together for business. “Why is she more deserving of your loyalty than I?”
“Simple.” Tobias stared back at him, his eyes wide and his speech slow as if Rowan were a mere child and incapable of understanding. “She has never demanded I choose between the pair of you. And if I were doomed to spend the rest of my life with one of you, it is her I would pick.”
“Because of her beauty?”
“Heavens, yes,” Tobias gasped. “But also because she possesses a wit unparalleled and would make certain I am well cared for.”