Chapter Four
Alexander was jolted back to consciousness by the snapping of his uncle’s fingers directly in front of his nose.
“Wake up. You fell asleep.”
“Sorry. I’m still recovering from last evening.
” Alexander sat up and cracked an eye to survey the room.
“Oh, they’re gone. Thank goodness. The entire discussion was ridiculous.
I wouldn’t ruin that little harpy if you begged me.
Did you hear the way she spoke to me? I hope you sent them packing and informed Canterbell that under no circumstances would I wed the shrew. I don’t care what they claim.”
“You missed a few pertinent points, Your Grace,” Damon returned in a tired voice.
“She’s lying. Anyone can see it.” Alexander said, his legs only a little unsteady, as he stood and made his way to the sideboard. “Another brandy?”
Damon did not look pleased. Not at all. “Yes, thank you.” The lines of his jaw grew taut. “You were at the Perswick ball, Alexander.”
“I was not. I was with Oakhurst and Lady Maxwell. I distinctly recall Lady Maxwell commenting on my coat and asking when I’d had time to change it.
” Alexander shrugged. “I’ve no idea what she meant.
But at any rate, I wasn’t there. Lady Perswick detests Oakhurst even more than me. We would never have attended.”
“Oakhurst is untrustworthy.” There was an ugly glint in Damon’s eye. “And you are usually full of scotch in his company. How would you know…anything?” His uncle took the refilled glass from Alexander’s hand.
“Even if I had been there, by some…miracle. I would never have touched that girl.”
“Alexander.”
“If she were compromised, which considering her personality I find…improbable, it would have to be a desperate man, or perhaps one that was blind. Or, someone far worse than I.”
“Worse than you?”
Alexander waved a hand and nearly fell into a table. “Yes. A…tradesman perhaps. Or a footman.”
“So this tradesman resembled you?” Damon scoffed. “Enough to convince Lord Canterbell and Lady Brokeburst? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
It did sound unlikely. Alexander, while he enjoyed his brandy a great deal, also dressed exceedingly well. No footman could carry off the coat he was presently wearing, for instance.
“Perhaps it is a scheme of Canterbell’s to make his daughter a duchess.”
“You can’t possibly—does Canterbell strike you as the sort of gentleman to make false accusations? Do you sense any dishonesty in one of Her Majesty’s most trusted confidants?” Damon’s voice rose.
“But even had I—she’s unappealing.” Alexander took a swallow of brandy, letting the liquid burn a path down his throat.
“I would never have engaged that chit in conversation, let alone lured her into the darkness for a kiss,” he stated dramatically before falling back into his chair. “Good lord, she’s terrible.”
Alexander, as a rule, didn’t mind terrible. Had she behaved in such a manner towards him at the Perswick ball, he might have—No, absolutely not. He wasn’t there.
“Just because I’m accused of lechery by that old bat, Lady Brokeburst, doesn’t mean I must wed Canterbell’s daughter. Lady Brokeburst is nearly eighty. She has terrible eyesight and—”
“Marriage.” Damon paced back and forth across the rug before pausing before the window, his back to Alexander.
“Marriage,” Alexander repeated, bitterness flooding his tongue.
This was a catastrophe. He didn’t want to wed anyone.
Honestly, he’d always assumed he’d drop dead before having to do his duty and provide Roxboro with an heir given the way he lived.
Damon was still hale and not yet fifty. He’d inherit and make a much better duke than Alexander.
“I’ll find a way out of this quagmire. This is only a setback to my plans,” he said, turning to face Alexander. “All is not lost.”
Damon’s plans. His political aspirations.
A wash of regret filled Alexander. Damon’s sole purpose in life was not…him. Or at least it shouldn’t be any longer. “I—played hazard at Binson’s. Tupped Lady Hastings. Stopped at the opium den.”
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should hang Oakhurst from the rafters for his care of you last evening.”
“The visit to the brothel after the opium den is less clear.” Except for nearly having his throat slit, which he decided not to share with his uncle.
Damon disapproved of Oakhurst. “There was a great deal of scotch involved. Possibly gin. Opium. Naked breasts on at least two occasions. I don’t recall much after that,” he admitted.
“A walking vice. You are living up to your name, nephew, and which taints Violet and Rose by association.” Damon raised a brow.
“I’m not to blame for their behavior.”
“Not all of it. But you set a poor example of a duke. When I encouraged you to enjoy life, take your pleasures as Charles never had a chance to—well, I didn’t think you would become London’s worst libertine.”
The mention of Charles Viceroy never failed to dampen the mood.
Damon lived with the knowledge he hadn’t been able to save the older brother he’d adored.
Alexander’s father, Charles, had been murdered by thugs.
Dragged from his carriage and stabbed so many times the wounds couldn’t even be counted properly.
Damon suspected the assailants had been hired by Lord Cotswold, the lover of Alexander’s mother, Marianne.
The thought of his mother had Alexander’s stomach souring.
Cotswold was an adversary of Charles in Parliament as well as Marianne’s lover.
Damon pushed aside the gossip and his suspicions, not wanting to believe Charles was truly in danger.
He blamed himself for his brother’s death and as his penance, shouldered all the responsibility of Roxboro.
Alexander was never given any duties. No obligations.
Only told to pursue his pleasures. Live the life Charles hadn’t been allowed.
“I doubt I’ll be stabbed, unless I trip and fall on the blade myself.” Alexander gave a short laugh to lighten the mood.
“Don’t make a joke,” Damon said quietly.
“I live with my regret every day. Cotswold is dead and will never see justice.” His shoulders sagged.
“But do you see how the situation you find yourself in is similar to your father’s?
Marianne was an ambitious woman. One who would never have become a duchess except through dishonest means.
She, too, accused Charles of ruination.” His brow furrowed.
“I should have demanded answers from Marianne. Made Philpot believe me.”
Philpot had been the previous duke’s solicitor.
“But I was barely twenty,” Damon said. “Something of a rake myself.” Sadness laced his words. “And I thought all marriages to be so contentious. I had no idea, until it was too late, that your mother—I failed Charles.”
“You did not. You have given me everything. Raised me as your own.” Alexander shut his eyes at the light streaming through the window. He really needed to lay down. “You would never fail me.”
Damon gave him a sad smile. “Yet I’ve allowed you to fall prey to the same circumstances as your father. I do not think Canterbell capable of such deceit. But his daughter? She is another matter entirely.”
“I blame Oakhurst.” Alexander pressed a palm to his forehead.
“I think he may have purchased some gin that wasn’t—I think it must be from St. Giles given the way I feel today.
And while I do not believe I was ever at the Perswick ball, I admit that I cannot account for the appearance of Lady Maxwell in our carriage.
” His brows drew together, sending a sharp pain through his temples.
Damon turned to face the window once more.
“Thank goodness you changed your coat, Your Grace. The wine stain was quite unlike you.”
Alexander could hear Lady Maxwell’s voice in his mind quite clearly. He’d been annoyed at her because not only would he not permit his clothing to be stained, but Alexander didn’t drink wine. Ever. He’d had a most unpleasant experience with the stuff when a lad. The smell alone made him ill.
“But you recall the brothel you visited?” his uncle asked.
“Music. Perfume. Great loads of scotch. Oakhurst can tell us.” Alexander sat up. “Timmons,” he summoned the butler who stood just outside. “Send a messenger to Oakhurst immediately. Ask him to call upon me. The matter is most urgent.”
Timmons bowed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. But Lord Oakhurst has left for the Continent. He was to sail this morning.”
Damon turned from his perusal of the street outside. “Oakhurst has fled to the Continent?” he said in a casual tone, though his entire body grew taut. “How like him to leave you with such a debacle.”
“I know you don’t like him, Damon. But he’s my closest friend.” Alexander looked at the butler. “How do you know of Oakhurst’s plans, Timmons? Were you eavesdropping again?”
“No, Your Grace. He…mentioned as much after arriving with you, though you…may not recall. Lady Maxwell waved goodbye from the carriage window. I recognized her as she…has called upon you several times in the past.” The butler paused, stared at the floor, uncomfortable at the news he was forced to relate.
Bloody hell.
What Timmons meant, by his stumbling speech, was that Lady Maxwell and Alexander had been lovers for a time, and she’d stayed the night more than once.
Timmons had seen her breasts in at least one instance after throwing open the door of Alexander’s study upon hearing her scream while she was being tupped.
Terribly embarrassing for Timmons. He was something of a prude.
Alexander and Felicia were no longer lovers and hadn’t been for at least a year. They’d parted amicably. And it wouldn’t have been the first time he and Oakhurst had shared lovers. So why had his friend never mentioned taking up with her?
“Did Oakhurst leave me a note? Or an address where I might reach him?”
The butler eyed him with regret. “I’m afraid not, Your Grace.”