Chapter Eight #2
On the walk home, Cassandra became lost in deep thought.
Her son would never welcome an open dialog about his father’s true nature, nor would he entertain a bargain with the most notorious crime lord in all of London.
But if she could find a way to ensure both parties met with mutual understanding, then perhaps there could be a solution that benefited every party involved.
By the time Cassandra had reached the steps of her home, her head pounded and her limbs ached from the tension pulsing through her.
How could she possibly be expected to find a solution?
This was far more than she’d ever expected to undertake.
Was she so ignorant that she had not seen the corroding flaws in her husband’s character?
Sure enough, he’d been a heartless cad. A gambler and philanderer. He’d taken his anger out on her in any and every way. But in public, he’d been the epitome of a well-bred gentleman, living up to the standard expected of a duke.
Cassandra knew the truth. Her husband had been a brute and a bastard. The world, and she, were better off without him. But leaving their son to assume his debts with a notorious villain?
She shivered at the thought but blamed it on the cold as she escaped into the safe confines of her home.
A meeting with Mrs. Gallagher would put her at ease.
Tomorrow, she would call on the infamous lady and ascertain for certain whether Cassandra had just sold her soul to the devil or found redemption from a cursed existence.
*
For the second consecutive day, the dowager duchess left the confines of her home, leaving Reuben to tend to his duties without distraction.
When she’d returned from her visit with Lady Corby the previous afternoon, she’d seemed to have regained her confidence.
But still they maintained a distance between them.
Reuben did not have the heart to inquire further, lest he break the precarious truce.
His feelings on the matter and for her specifically had not been altered.
Until they reached a deeper understanding of their desires and their prospective goals, keeping to himself proved to be the wisest course of action.
Once Her Grace departed the house on her errand, Reuben breathed a sigh of relief.
Remaining beneath the same roof after having tasted her, after experiencing such exquisite delight in bringing her pleasure, brought nothing but torment since he refused to allow himself to indulge again. Not while so much uncertainty remained.
After speaking with Mrs. Johnson, the cook, Reuben left the kitchen and climbed the servants’ stairs at the rear of the house. He had just reached the second-floor landing when the sound of the front door closing echoed through the corridor.
It could not be the dowager returning so soon. She had only been gone for a little over an hour. Perhaps something had happened that necessitated an expedient return. Curious, Reuben crept forward to glimpse down the main staircase leading to the entryway.
A flash of black fabric caught his eye and the distinct outline of a gentleman’s profile.
He gritted his teeth. Only one man would enter the house unannounced as if he owned it—for he did.
Reuben prayed for strength, knowing an encounter with His Grace would only lead to another disagreement and his possible dismissal.
The duke made no pretense about his feelings toward Reuben.
In another life, they could have been amicable acquaintances passing on the street, but his current situation was not so simple and carefree.
Reuben endured years of suspicion and loathing from the young duke.
It took all of his restraint not to tell the entitled toff exactly what he thought of him.
Taking a deep breath, Reuben straightened his waistcoat and tie.
There could be no positive outcome to this encounter, and yet he saw no logical way to avoid it.
When the duke realized his mother was not at the residence, he would single out the person responsible for the household—which would be Reuben.
Better to endure the daunting task than to prolong the inevitable.
With measured steps, Reuben descended the stairs.
Deep inside his mind, he erected a barrier in which to confine his thoughts and emotions.
He would not allow the duke to draw him out as he attempted to do on many occasions.
It was as if His Grace took pleasure in his criticism of Reuben’s presence in the house—both due to his age and past conflicts between them.
Pausing outside the study, Reuben transformed his expression into a mask of indifference. Only then did he cross the threshold.
“Your Grace.” Reuben bowed upon entering the room to find the duke pouring himself a dram of whisky from the crystal decanter. “My apologies. I was unaware of your arrival.”
“Evans. You are still employed here?” The duke scowled at him and took a drink. “Where is my mother?”
“Unfortunately, Her Grace had a prior engagement this afternoon.” He stood at attention, his tone dispassionate. “I can pass on any message you have when she returns.”
“And how can I trust that any message I leave with you will reach her?” The duke drained the contents of the glass and set it aside. “Considering it pertains to you.”
Reuben’s heartbeat quickened, but he maintained an easy calm. “I am certain I do not understand, sir.”
“Why are you still here, Evans?” The duke slowly circled Reuben. “I made it clear to my mother that I was displeased with your presence in this house and yet she maintains you are irreplaceable.”
“I am sure I do not know,” Reuben replied, keeping his expression controlled while a storm raged inside of him. “Is there some reason you find my occupation of the current position unsuitable?”
“Yes, several, in fact.” The duke rocked back on his heels, a slow grin spreading across his lips.
“You know, for years, I could never quite pinpoint exactly what it was about you that nagged at the back of my conscience. I believed it was your age, but when I learned exactly how you came into my father’s service, I began to question the validity of your training—and the references you provided. ”
“I made no secret of the fact that His Grace won my services in a game of chance among peers.” Reuben stood tall, watching the duke with a wary eye.
“My previous employer was a bit—overextended and offered my services in exchange for the debt. But if you speak to him, I am sure he will confirm both my references and credentials.”
“See, now that’s just the thing,” the duke said, tapping his jaw with a finger. “I found the agreement tucked away in one of father’s ledgers and took it upon myself to do a bit of research.”
Reuben held his breath, terrified of what the man had uncovered.
Guilt and uncertainty twisted into a thick knot in his gut, leaving him in physical discomfort.
He inclined his head but said nothing in response, lest he contradict something inadvertently.
This was an extremely dangerous game he played.
Even though Her Grace knew of his agreement with Simon and his place in the house, her son did not.
And she was not present to reveal it to him to ease the tension suddenly pulled tighter than a bowstring.
“And do you know what I discovered, Evans?” The duke leaned closer, his eyes glittering. He resembled his father in so many ways, it was terrifying to behold. Like a specter from the grave come to haunt him.
“Please, enlighten me.” Reuben bit the inside of his cheek after he made the remark, knowing it sounded trite and laced with disdain.
“Your former employer, the Earl of Winterbourne, indeed confirmed your employment in his services for three years, but there is no trace of the Baron Rayne, your supposed employer before him, beyond a title that goes back to the fourteenth century whose line ended with no successor.”
“I fail to see your concerns, sir.” Reuben struggled to remain composed, but as his manufactured past slowly unraveled, he found it more difficult to breathe.
“I took my inquiry to a private investigator, who seemed decidedly eager,” the duke said, his wicked grin unwavering, “and do you know what he discovered?”
Reuben held his tongue, knowing any word from him would constitute an admission of guilt or a blatant falsehood. So he waited for the man to continue.
The duke withdrew a piece of paper from his inside pocket folded neatly into thirds. “This is the result of his inquiry. Do you know what it says?”
“Reuben Evans. Born 1863 in Whitechapel. Brothers: Daniel and Jacob.” The duke read the contents aloud, and Reuben flinched at the mention of his family.
“Sister: Hannah. Prostitute. Died at the age of seventeen in 1878.” The duke tutted.
“A whore murdered in the streets of Whitechapel, how original.”
Reuben dropped his gaze to the thick carpet beneath his feet. His hands clenched into fists. It would do him no good to lash out at the duke. Such a reaction would only garner him an immediate termination and imprisonment for assaulting a peer of the realm.
“I fail to see,” Reuben said through gritted teeth, “how my current position is affected by the unfortunate circumstances of my birth.”
“It is unfortunate, to be sure, but allow me to continue.” The duke tapped the paper in his hand.
“You and your brothers were taken in by the Lord of Devil’s Acre.
” He folded it and tucked it back into his pocket.
“Now, that is something I cannot abide. A criminal living beneath the same roof as my mother—in the service of my family.”
The admission was dangerously close to what Her Grace had learned only days before, and yet there were details here that Reuben had chosen to omit in his confession to Cassandra.
Most specifically the truth of his sister’s profession.
It had been neither the time nor place for him to reveal something that affected him so deeply. So intimately.
“What would you have me do?” Reuben asked.
The duke stood before him, shoulders squared, eyes burning with victory. “You will leave this house and never return.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I will have no choice but to reveal the extent of your deception to my mother and have you forcibly removed from the house.” The man’s amusement faded, taking on an icy edge sharp enough to draw blood.
“Then I will reveal your deception to all. You will never again find respectable work in England—or the Continent.”
“I have done nothing illegal. Nothing to warrant such a threat,” Reuben retaliated, his anger reaching a fever pitch.
“It does not matter,” The duke snarled. “Whom will they believe? A duke? Or an orphan of Whitechapel and the brother of a whore?”
Bastard! Reuben screamed inside his mind. Pivoting, he turned toward the window, unable to bear the persistent presence of the young duke. He took several deep breaths. In. Out. In. Ou—
A flash of crimson caught his eye out the window. The dowager duchess had returned. Reuben swore as he dragged his fingers through his hair. He could not allow her to see him thus.
“Damn! I’m late,” the duke muttered. “Out of respect for my mother, who is overly fond of you, I shall give you a week to vacate the premises of your own volition. If you do not, I shall speak to my mother and all will be revealed. Tick tock, Evans.”
Reuben stood as still as a statue, fury pouring through him like liquid flame. He cursed fate for putting him in such a position.
The sound of the front door opening drifted into the open study. In the distance, he heard the duke and Cassandra’s low exchange of greetings and her son’s promise to return for dinner the following week.
It was only when he heard the telltale click of the front door closing with finality that Reuben allowed himself to breathe fully. What had he done?
Cassandra already knew the truth of his ties to Simon, but he would not be able to bear the look of horror on her face when his secrets were revealed by her son with such obvious disdain.
Before him lay two choices, each more difficult than the last. He could leave and take his secret to the grave, but in doing so, abandon the one woman he cared for beyond reason.
Or Reuben could tell Cassandra the truth of his desire to find and punish the man who killed his sister in cold blood. To become that which he despised. He could only pray she did not look upon him in disgust.
He closed his eyes and held his breath, praying for guidance but knowing that only damnation waited for him.