Chapter 4
Four
It was one week later when Alaric found himself wandering into a darkened den of a drinking hole where a man of his status and worth would never ordinarily be seen. But that was also the point.
He had made sure to visit the week prior and speak with the establishment’s owner, paying a large sum of money to ensure that today the tavern would be empty.
And further to that point, to ensure that this visit of his was not spoken about to anyone.
It was not the first time he had done such a thing, and he knew the owner to be a man who would keep his mouth shut.
Not because of the coin he was paid, however, but the fear which Alaric instilled in him.
As expected, Alaric was not the only one to grace the tavern’s morbid depths. Where Alaric had booked the space for privacy’s concerns, those whom he was here to meet were just as aware of the imperative it was that this little meeting of theirs be kept a secret.
“Ravencourt, so nice of you to join us.” The Duke of Eastmoor rose when he saw Alaric coming.
“Eastmoor,” Alaric greeted him stiffly.
“Ravencourt,” Ronan, the Duke of (Ward) said next, not bothering to rise from his seat at the table.
“Ronan,” Alaric said with a single nod. “And Cassian,” he then greeted the third member of their little group. He was the Duke of (Blackmoor), a man who was as charming and duplicitous as he was devilishly handsome.
“Delighted,” Cassian said with a dazzling smile as he indicated to the seat across from him. “We were beginning to wonder if you would make it.”
“Worried for me?” Alaric took the seat.
Cassin chuckled. “Hopeful. As much as we enjoy your company, Alaric, I don’t think a man exists who would ever admit to being truly comfortable in your…
” His eyes flashed with mischief. “… less than warm presence.” He shuddered purposefully.
“Is there a breeze in here? Oh no, wait. That’s just Alaric’s chilly temperament. ”
“Give me an excuse,” Ronan grumbled as he took a swig from his tankard of ale.
“He’s been chatting like a fishwife since he arrived.
Giving me a damnable headache.” Ronan was a gruff sort, horribly scarred across the face from a wartime injury, unconcerned that it gifted him with a frightening allure which increased tenfold whenever he chose to speak.
“We thought you might have been preoccupied,” Eastmoor said simply. His first name was Sebastian, but nobody ever called him that. He was a cool, dispassionate fellow who was as ruthlessly intelligent as he was cunning and unscrupulous.
“Ah, yes,” Cassian chuckled. “Blissfully in love. Besotted and distracted, such that Alaric doesn’t have time for his dear old friends.” He pretended to pout. “Truly, man, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“It is not like that,” Alaric snapped. “I thought you, of all people, would know me better.”
“I thought that we did,” Cassian laughed.
“I figured she has something over you,” Ronan grumbled.
“Shall I do some digging?” Eastmoor asked with a cool smile. “See if I can find something on this… what was her name?” He looked about the table of men. “Lady Tremayne. Perhaps some pressure applied, and she will change her mind.”
“I thought one look at Alaric would have done that for her,” Cassian hooted, to which Ronan chuckled along.
“It is not like that,” Alaric growled and fixed the three men with a warning glare. “Now, can we drop it?”
“Not on your life,” Cassian said. “Tell us, Alaric. And no lies, for I will know if you fib. What in the name of King Edward is going on?”
It was a good question. A question that Alaric had known he’d have to answer upon coming here.
And he had his reasons prepared, ones he knew these men would swallow.
Even if I have to force them down their gullets.
But they were half-truths at best, lies that Alaric had spent a week convincing himself of.
The men whom Alaric had come here to meet were…
not friends, as that word felt too comfortable.
Rather, they were peers of his, allies formed in a world where such things were needed for political convenience and advancement.
Each man was a duke, and each man was of the type of character that most would do well to avoid the company of.
They knew it too, which is why they had dubbed themselves the Wicked Dukes Society.
A name coined by Cassian but embraced by all. A little too accurate, truth be told.
They were ambitious and judgmental. And he had known that they would take much convincing before supporting his marriage.
“The marriage is one of convenience only,” he assured them each. “Obviously, it is not a love match.”
“Whose convenience?” Eastmoor asked.
“Mine,” Alaric snapped. “You each know the pressure I am under from Parliament – those uppity bastards trying to rob me of my inheritance.” Indeed, a bill was currently being discussed aimed at re-examining certain land divisions, which, if things went against Alaric, would see him lose hundreds of acres worth of land and the money that went with it.
Land that belonged to him! “A marriage is an assurance to those on the fence that I am worth backing on the floor. It suggests stability and reliability. It is strategic and nothing more.”
That was the half-truth that he had spent the week convincing himself of. It was easy enough to believe, too, as the logic was sound and made perfect sense. Enough that he was able to sleep with his decision, anyhow.
“True, true,” Eastmoor mused. “Although do not take us for fools, Alaric.”
“What do you mean?”
“The scandal,” Cassian chortled. “Do not think we did not hear of it. You pretend that politics is why you married, but we all know it was to avoid too many eyes falling across your brooding shoulders.”
“Oh, well, yes, obviously that was also considered.”
“I do wonder how long you have been ruminating on this little plan,” Cassin continued with a wicked grin. “Is that why you approached her at the Ashworth Ball? Very clever, if so.”
Alaric grimaced. “Yes, of course. It was always part of the plan.”
“Very clever,” Cassin chuckled.
“It still doesn’t make sense to me,” Ronan grumbled.
“Not by half.” He fixed Alaric with a stern, no-nonsense gaze made all the more morose by the scars across his face.
“Weren’t you always saying that you never intended to marry again?
After what happened with Helena, you swore off it like a priest does the drink. ”
Alaric winced at the mention of Helena’s name. Even after all this time, it still hurts to hear…
“Easy now,” Eastmoor said. “There is no need for that, Ronan.”
“Just reminding him of his own words.”
“I know what I said,” Alaric said, making sure to harden his gaze on Ronan.
Despite the man’s scars and gruff exterior, Alaric was still the power at this table, and he needed the others to know it.
“And I assure you, it will not be an issue. This marriage is to last a year at most, and then we will live respectably and separately. There are to be no children. No emotional entanglements of any kind. She will live with me, but that is as close as she and I will become to a true marriage.”
“And she knows this?” Eastmoor asked curiously.
“She does,” Alaric assured him. Still, they watched him curiously, as if they weren’t buying it. “I would be lying too if I said I did not feel some guilt over what I did to her. The least I can do is offer her some sense of protection from the scandal.” The moment he said it, he regretted it.
“Look who has a heart suddenly,” Cassian cooed.
“Quiet,” Alaric snapped.
“I have not seen this woman,” Ronan agreed. “But it sounds to me like there is more to it than…” He scoffed. “Convenience. What does she look like? This Lady Tremayne?”
“Like Helena, I bet,” Cassian added.
They thought they had him figured out. That this marriage was some attempt for Alaric to atone for past sins. And maybe it was, in its own way.
More or less. More lies. More deceit. But it’s easier for me to swallow them than admit to how I really feel.
He had done much thinking about Lady Tremayne of late.
Far too much, for his liking. And how she looked, how she made him feel, had plagued him with more tenacity than he liked to consider – not to mention the reasons these attributes of hers were so enticing.
What he thought of most was who she was as a person.
She was a kind, lost soul. Possessed of a big heart.
Trapped in a situation that was not of her making.
Brave too, of that there was no doubt, he could sense that there was more to her than what most suspected.
But her lot in life had never allowed her to explore this side, as she was a prisoner to her father and the expectations of society.
She deserved more than what she had been given.
She deserved more than Alaric. In this way, he hoped to protect her.
From both the scandal and from himself. Thus, his intent to deem this marriage one of convenience was done as much for her as anything else.
So that she would have a chance at a future beyond the harrows of being married to the Duke of Ravencourt.
“She is nothing like Helena,” Alaric snapped at Cassian. “And I will thank you not to mention her name again in my presence.” A darkness swept over him—over the room—one which the others could feel in their bones.
“Yes, yes…” Cassian held up his hands in defense. “We are just joking.”
“Don’t.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Eastmoor drawled. “It is done now. Or it will be next week. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into, Ravencourt.”
Alaric scoffed. “Worried for me?”
“Not for you…”
The implication hung in the air between the three men, confirming the same fears that Alaric had sat with all week. Although he knew he had to commit to this marriage, for a myriad of reasons that suited both himself and his future wife, he also knew he had to be careful.
Lady Tremayne was about to enter a dangerous new world of which she could not possibly comprehend. If she was lucky—and if he was—she would come out the other side in one piece.