Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
E loise sat rigidly on the edge of the settee, clutching her teacup with a polite but distant smile.
Stephen lounged comfortably in the armchair across from her, utterly at ease, as though he belonged at Kingswell.
It was the third time he had called on her that week which she found quite odd.
“Your Grace,” Stephen began, his tone smooth as ever, “I must confess, I envy His Grace. Such beauty and wit under one roof—one can only imagine the joy it brings him.”
Eloise managed another faint, polite smile, but she cringed inwardly at his words. The tea tasted slightly more bitter than usual although she tried to dismiss it.
“That is very kind of you to say, Stephen,” she replied, her voice cool. “Though there really is no need to keep complimenting me. I am certain we can find some other conversation with which to amuse ourselves. How are the renovations coming along?”
“Quite well indeed,” Stephen said. “And I must thank you for the most excellent recommendations you made in terms of staff. The gardening team has already done a wonderful job, and the new housekeeper is settling in nicely. Life here in Kingswell is beginning to appeal to me more and more.”
She sipped her tea, suppressing a sigh as Stephen droned on, casting searching glances her way that made her feel uncomfortably exposed.
She was certain that if she was not already married, Stephen would have made a move to secure her hand. There were, of course, issues with Felix, but even a life alone while her husband remained in London would be better than a life with the Viscount.
“Did I tell you that I am going to restore the west wing?”
“I cannot recall that you did,” Eloise replied dryly.
Eloise suppressed a sigh and examined the details in the wallpaper which were significantly more interesting than their conversation.
She wished Hannah was present for company, but she had claimed to be unwell.
Eloise wondered if she should have done the same. Her own stomach was growing unsettled, and she wondered whether it was due to her company.
She was beginning to see why Felix disliked Stephen so fiercely.
“It was apparently damaged in a fire a few years ago,” he continued. “Such a shame, the brickwork was phenomenal. I would like to restore it to its original glory if I am able. I do hope your husband can help in that regard. I have heard he has a great eye for such things. When did you say he will return?”
“I did not,” she said softly, her gaze drifting back to him. “I am afraid I do not know when he will be back. He is a terribly busy man, My Lord.”
“Of course.”
Eloise leaned forward and set her cup down, wondering how she could politely refuse to see Stephen the next time he came to visit.
Footsteps suddenly echoed down the hall as if in response to her question. They were not the quiet, timid footsteps of the butler or the rushed, dainty footsteps of the scullery maid.
These footsteps were determined. Authoritative.
Felix.
“Good afternoon,” he announced in a cold voice as he stepped into the room, his glaring eyes already upon Stephen.
Eloise turned and blinked at him. His cold and steely gaze narrowed at the sight of the two of them alone. She noted the way his hands clenched at his sides, hostility radiating from him as he scanned the room.
His gaze darted to the empty chair where Hannah should have been sitting, and his jaw tightened.
Eloise’s heart pinched. Despite the situation he looked handsome and regal. If anything, his fury made him even more alluring, but his magnetism did not distract her from worrying. He would not take kindly to her taking tea with the man whom he had already instructed her to stay away from.
“Where is Lady Hannah?” Felix’s tone was hard, his gaze moving rapidly from Eloise to Stephen, his suspicion obvious.
Eloise tilted her head, hoping to temper his brusqueness. She wished he could understand her need to remain polite and perform her duties as duchess, particularly during his absences.
“She was feeling unwell and thought it best to rest,” she replied. Her heart thumped forcefully in her chest, but seeing Felix again made her want to prove a point. “Lord Kaylocke was kind enough to stay and keep me company. It has been very lonely here since you left, you understand.”
She stared at him, daring him to question her, remembering with fondness the way they used to tease each other.
She felt her stomach cramp sharply and a wave of nausea washed over her, but she forced herself to stay composed.
“Whatever are you doing here, Your Grace?”
“This is my house,” he replied, his tone cutting as he looked back at Stephen, “and I had reason to return.”
“It is a pleasure to finally see you, Your Grace,” Stephen said. “It has been so long that your poor wife had almost forgotten what you looked like!”
Felix glared angrily at the Viscount.
As Eloise watched their exchange her mind became foggy, as though she was seeing everything through a haze.
She did notice that, despite Felix’s arrival, Stephen had remained seated. He behaved as though this was his home, his drawing room, and his wife.
Eloise turned to Felix, trying in vain to focus on his words, which now seemed to come from far away.
“I cannot say the same to you, Kaylocke. I do not think it has ever been a pleasure to see you.”
Felix looked around as if searching for something. Eloise could feel the doubt, worry, and fear radiating from him. She wanted to reassure him, but her tongue felt thick and furry in her mouth as she struggled to speak.
“How much tea have you consumed?” Felix asked, looking at her intently.
“Just a little,” she replied.
She shifted, pressing a hand over her stomach as another cramp took hold. She picked up her teacup, hoping a little tea might help soothe her discomfort. Her mother had always told her that tea was the solution to everything.
“Eloise,” Felix said, his voice low but urgent, “stop drinking the tea.”
She frowned and hesitated, the cup halfway to her lips. “Why? It is just?—”
“Do. Not. Drink. The. Tea.”
Eloise stared up at him, a picture of beauty and innocence. Her eyes were out of focus, and he could sense that she was confused.
Felix moved closer to her, knowing his increased presence would be unnerving, and she dropped the teacup down in a rattle. He nodded then turned his attention to the man he had come to see as a villain.
Felix’s wrath remained sharp, directed at the man who had dared to sit alone with his wife, sipping tea that reeked of malevolence.
His eyes drilled into Stephen, observing every nuance in the man’s expression. Where there had once been an easy smile, Stephen’s face had become shadowed by uncertainty.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to maintain his composure.
When he finally spoke, Felix’s smooth voice was infused with menace.
“You have been such a gracious guest, Kaylocke.” he drawled. “Keeping my wife company. Making sure that she was well looked after during my absence. Then you will not mind taking a sip from her cup, will you?”
Stephen faltered, his charming facade cracking as he attempted a look of confusion.
“I… I do not follow, Your Grace,” he replied, forcing a feeble smile.
Felix picked up Eloise’s teacup and handed it to Kaylocke.
“Drink the tea,” he commanded, his tone dropping to a dangerous growl.
Felix’s demand left no room for misinterpretation or argument. If he was wrong, then Stephen would happily drink it, and Felix would apologize, but his instinct told him his suspicions were correct.
The silence thickened as Stephen hesitated, his eyes darting between Eloise and Felix. Eloise looked on with a dawning horror as she pieced together what Stephen had done, her hand moving to her stomach as another wave of pain and nausea swept through her.
Did he poison Hannah too?
Stephen cleared his throat, chuckling nervously. “Your Grace, I am not certain that is necessary,” he stammered, trying to deflect. “I would not wish to overstep…”
Felix’s patience snapped. He strode forward in a single, swift motion, his hand reaching for the cup and thrusting it into Stephen’s face, his eyes deadly.
“If you are innocent,” Felix hissed in a low, lethal tone, “then drink it.”
Stephen’s hand trembled as he reached for the cup. His terrified eyes began searching Felix’s face for any sign of mercy, but there was none. The sheer vehemence in Felix’s face pinned him in place.
Stephen’s fingers retreated from the cup as though it burned, and he let his hand fall to his lap.
“I have nothing to prove,” he muttered in a shaky voice.
“Oh, you already have.”
Stephen’s eyes widened, his mask of charm dissolving as he realized he had been caught. His mouth opened in a weak attempt to speak, but Felix did not give him the chance.
His fist collided with Stephen’s face, sending him tumbling backward. The sickening crunch of bone was followed by a gush of blood from Stephen’s nose, staining his finely pressed collar.
Gasping, Stephen picked himself up from the floor and staggered, trying to regain his footing, but Felix did not relent.
He grabbed Stephen by the lapel, hauling him forward, then threw him to the floor with such force that it rattled the room. Felix barely registered Eloise’s startled cry as he crouched over him, unleashing one punch after another, the force of each strike fueled by venomous hate.
“You thought you could hurt her?” Felix seethed through clenched teeth.
He landed another punch, and Stephen whimpered, blood now running from his mouth. “You tried to poison my wife ? You are nothing but an evil, despicable swine.”
Stephen tried to raise a hand in a feeble attempt at self-defense, but Felix’s grip tightened on his lapel and hauled him to his feet with a cold, lethal calm.
“I should kill you for what you tried to do,” he snarled, his eyes blazing.
Stephen stammered, his words slurred by the blood trickling from his mouth, “I—I wanted… revenge… for Radcliffe…”
Felix’s grip tightened, his gaze chilling.
Revenge for what? Felix may have taken Radcliffe’s money, but Radcliffe took his own life. Radcliffe had put himself into debt by gambling. Felix was not responsible for Radcliffe’s decisions; he was merely a bystander.
With a quick, ruthless shove he slammed Stephen against the wall, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
“Get. Out. If I ever see you again, you will wish I had killed you today.”
Felix thrust Stephen out into the hallway, the finality of his words hanging in the air like a death sentence. “Leave the country. And if you ever come near Eloise again, I will hunt you down and finish you.”
Stephen stumbled away, bloodied and petrified beyond words. He knew without a doubt that Felix meant every word.
Limping badly, he scurried out of the house like a cockroach, disappearing into the night.