Chapter Seventeen
Alexander squinted as the sunlight hit his face. He was rarely up this early and frankly, wished he was still in bed. His temples pounded so fiercely the beat had him a bit unsteady on his feet, and lord knows, Alexander needed no help with that.
As a lad, he was forever tripping or stumbling.
Stubbed his toes on everything. Damon grew exasperated but Aunt May only hugged Alexander tight and whispered he would outgrow his awkwardness.
But he never had. Several physicians were called to examine the Duke of Roxboro, but not one found anything wrong with Alexander. He was just…clumsy.
Good lord, his entire staff at The Pillory lived in fear that he’d trip over a rock and land in the pond at his estate and drown.
To be entirely fair, he had tripped into the pond. Damon eventually found him, thrashing about and covered with wet reeds, and fished Alexander out. An excess of spirits made the problem worse, but ironically, more acceptable. No one batted an eye at a drunken duke tripping about. Mostly.
“Headache powder, Timmons,” Alexander ordered the butler as he came to the bottom of the steps.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The shiny black exterior of his carriage gleamed in the sunlight like a bit of onyx as it waited to make the trip to the train station. The Roxboro coat of arms stared boldly back at Alexander.
His steps paused.
Alexander had stayed roaring drunk since his wedding night, the best way to avoid his new duchess, who he was not averse to. At all.
Oh, he had heard her moving about in the rooms beside his own, the connecting door all that separated Alexander from temptation. Stone, his valet, was instructed to lock that damned door leading to the duchess and pocket the key, which his valet had done without question.
Good man, Stone. If he wasn’t such an excellent valet, Alexander would make him butler, therefore ridding himself of Timmons, who he cared for less and less as time went on.
Alexander had stared at that door, ears cocked as Sophia spoke to her maid last evening, all the while swallowing copious amounts of scotch to alleviate his unwelcome desire.
Why he had such…a thirst for his bride, Alexander had no idea.
But when Sophia snapped that she would kick him in the cock if he dared touch her again, Alexander had been so aroused, his baser instincts had nearly overridden his common sense and caused him to break the vow he’d made to Damon.
Please don’t let her say anything of the sort today.
Alexander might not be able to exhibit any sort of control in his weakened state. He’d end up fucking her in the carriage.
I cannot. I promised Damon.
Timmons reappeared with his headache powder, and Alexander took the packet in one swallow, washing away the bitter taste with the brandy his butler offered. Taking a deep breath, Alexander approached the carriage. Sophia was waiting inside. The remainder of the day was bound to be unpleasant.
The footman bowed and opened the door to reveal…the empty interior.
Alexander took in the black leather seats where Sophia should have been sitting and was not. He looked at the top of the carriage. Every trunk was his. “Timmons,” he demanded. “Where is the duchess?”
Had she left him? Run back to her family?
A terrible, hollow feeling expanded inside Alexander at the sight of those empty leather seats. Of Sophia being gone. As unexpected as the desire he felt for her.
“The duchess has already departed for The Pillory, Your Grace.”
That little shrew. “When?” He turned to his butler.
“Yesterday, Your Grace. I made the arrangements myself.” Timmons cleared his throat. “Lord Damon suggested it might be best if the duchess left before you so that she might become more quickly acquainted with her new home. He suggested as much and the duchess agreed.”
“And no one thought to inform me.” Alexander was furious. He hadn’t even known his uncle had called yesterday. Now the silence coming from Sophia’s rooms today made a great deal more sense. He must have slept through her departure.
“Lord Damon,” the butler stammered. “Said you were under the weather and did not wish to be disturbed, Your Grace.”
“Under the weather,” Alexander repeated.
Intoxicated. Drunk. A feckless sot.
“I assure you, Your Grace, Lord Damon—”
“Is not the Duke of Roxboro. I am,” Alexander ground out. “A reminder, you are in my employ, Timmons. Not that of Damon Viceroy. If you dare circumvent me again, you will be sacked. I don’t care if Lord Damon is carrying a note from Her Majesty.”
The butler shrank back. “Yes, Your Grace.”
His uncle handled a great many things when Alexander was ‘under the weather,’ most of which he didn’t give a fig about.
But in this instance—how dare Damon send Sophia on ahead without first consulting Alexander.
She was his bloody wife. Instead of being pleased that his uncle had solved yet another obstacle by removing Sophia from Alexander’s orbit today, he was furious.
I should be pleased Damon intervened.
Alexander climbed inside his lavishly appointed carriage and settled into well-oiled leather seats.
Yet, I am not.
The previous evening, Damon had accompanied Alexander to Binson’s and failed to mention he had sent the Duchess of Bloody Roxboro—Alexander pressed his fingers into the seat, trying to tamp down his temper—to The Pillory without informing her husband.
He took a lungful of air, letting his chest expand.
Damon was only trying to help.
Alexander should stay in London. Not climb aboard that train. The only reason Alexander was visiting The Pillory at all was that he couldn’t very well send Sophia alone. Canterbell would object.
He took a deep breath. Then another. The ache in his temples began to recede.
On his wedding night, Damon must have sensed his nephew might forget the vow to not touch Sophia. He’d suggested a visit to a brothel, Madame Lucret’s, a favorite. But Alexander had declined, preferring to hole up in his study where a bottle of scotch sat awaiting him.
Then Sophia appeared.
Adorable in her stupid doily. Foxed on a bottle of wine she’d somehow managed to acquire.
She’d been so…lovely to him. Allowing him to call her Lady Sausage and hurling insults.
Taunting him with a list of his character deficits.
Of which he had many. No one else dared speak to him in such a way.
Damon or Violet on occasion, but mostly, everyone around Alexander treated him with an outlandish amount of deference.
The longing for Sophia dressed like a tea cake had been…insurmountable.
Damon must have guessed, or Timmons, who was absolutely going to be sacked, warned him.
Another deep breath and most of his anger receded.
His uncle, as usual, only sought to save Alexander from himself.
“John,” he said to his driver. “I believe I won’t be taking the train.
We’ll go the long way to The Pillory.” Maybe, if he stayed away from Sophia for just a bit longer, the thirst for her would simply fade.
The Pillory was overly large, like most ducal estates and he could go days without seeing Sophia.
Alexander would stay for a week and return to London.
Canterbell would be satisfied, after all, his daughter had made it clear she wished to be sent to the country.
And there would be no danger of consummating the marriage.
“You’ve a hankering to visit The Sheepshead, Your Grace?”
John was a good man. He knew his duke well. This wasn’t the first time Alexander had decided not to take the train but take the longer journey to The Pillory so that he might stop at the Sheepshead.
Timmons stood frowning at the bottom of the steps. “Your Grace?”
“I may even stay the night,” he said to John, ignoring Timmons.
“I’m in no rush.” The Pillory was barely two days from London by carriage.
Not a great distance and the passing countryside was appealing.
The Sheepshead boasted an excellent lamb stew as well as a rather delicious barmaid, Nell. Both were favorites of Alexander.
He was hopeful the buxom flax-haired woman would renew his…enthusiasm for bedsport. Because since meeting Sophia, there wasn’t a woman in London Alexander wanted to fuck except his wife. Which was entirely unacceptable considering he couldn’t.
But I dearly want to.
Damon, thankfully, had been logical. Cooped up in first a carriage and then a train with Sophia. Sipping on a flask of brandy. The worst could transpire, ruining all their plans.
What had his uncle said as they entered Binson’s?
Six months. I think that fair. Keep her in the country most of the time. What little appeal she possesses can be flaunted upon the cows and pigs.
Alexander pulled out his flask and took a sip before rapping on the carriage roof. “Let us be off, John.”