Chapter 16 A Rude Awakening #2
Within a quarter hour, Eleanor found herself in the darkened carriage across from Simmons and Jack, both of whom sat rigidly upright, their weathered faces set in grim lines.
Neither spoke as they navigated London’s narrow streets, but Eleanor could feel Simmons’s disapproval radiating like heat from a kiln.
The establishment proved to be a surprisingly well-maintained building in a respectable part of Covent Garden, its discreet brass nameplate the only indication of its true purpose.
Eleanor steeled herself as Simmons helped her from the carriage, every instinct screaming that this was precisely the sort of scandal that could destroy everything she’d worked to build.
The door opened before they could knock, revealing a woman of perhaps forty years with elaborately dressed hair and a gown that, while expensive, left little to the imagination. Her painted smile faltered slightly at the sight of Eleanor’s imperious bearing.
“Your Grace,” the woman said with a curtsy. “I am Madame Rousseau. I do apologize most profusely for the circumstances requiring your presence here.”
“Where is my husband?” Eleanor’s voice, composed and cold, surprised even herself, as what she truly wished to do was scream.
“This way, Your Grace. I must warn you, he is not himself at present.”
Eleanor followed the madame through tastefully appointed corridors lined with red silk wallpaper and gilt-framed paintings of dubious artistic merit. The scent of expensive perfume and something medicinal and cloying hung heavy in the air.
Madame Rousseau stopped before a door at the end of the corridor. Jack stepped forward and leaned toward Eleanor, his voice lowered so only she could hear. “Your Grace, perhaps I should enter first to assess the situation?”
“Not necessary. Open the door,” Eleanor commanded.
“Your Grace, perhaps you shouldn’t—”
Eleanor hated the pity in Jack’s voice. “I’ve seen things before, Jack. Hospital rooms, at Madam Tansley’s… Now, open the door,” she hissed.
Nothing had prepared her for the sight that greeted her.
The duke lay sprawled across a large four-poster bed, completely naked, his powerful frame entangled with two equally unclothed women who appeared to be unconscious.
All three were utterly insensible, their breathing deep and rhythmic in a way that suggested more than mere intoxication.
Eleanor’s training in running a business and managing crises served her well. She felt her emotions recede behind a wall of practical necessity, even as her heart cracked at the tableau before her.
“Jack, Simmons,” she said without turning around, “please dress His Grace and prepare him for transport.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Simmons replied quietly.
“Madame Rousseau, a word in private, if you please.” Eleanor’s voice remained steady despite the turmoil within.
The older woman led Eleanor to a small sitting room across the hall, decorated in the same opulent style but mercifully free of unconscious bodies.
Eleanor remained standing, her hands clasped before her.
She stood tall, willing herself to appear every inch the imperious duchess despite the urge to crumble.
“Madame Rousseau,” she began, “I confess myself puzzled by your decision to summon me here tonight.”
The woman’s practiced composure slipped slightly. “Your Grace, I had little choice. His Grace was in such a state that my girls couldn’t rouse him, and we haven’t the men employed here who could carry the duke to a carriage. The scandal if word spread—”
“Indeed,” Eleanor interrupted smoothly. “The scandal would be considerable. Which makes your choice to involve me all the more curious.” She fixed the madame with a penetrating stare.
“No proprietress with any sense would summon a duchess—a duchess—to a brothel, regardless of the circumstances. The risk to your establishment’s discretion would be enormous. ”
Madame Rousseau’s face went pale beneath her rouge. “Your Grace, I assure you—”
“Unless,” Eleanor continued relentlessly, “someone instructed you to create precisely this situation. Someone who wanted me to witness my husband in such a compromising position. Someone who perhaps offered you compensation for ensuring I saw exactly what you wanted me to see.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of her servants’ efforts in the adjoining room and the distant laughter from the establishment’s common areas.
“Who was it?” Eleanor asked, her voice deceptively gentle. “Who paid you to orchestrate this little tableau?”
Madame Rousseau’s expression shuttered immediately. “Your Grace, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re suggesting. His Grace arrived in a most unfortunate condition, and I simply—”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence,” Eleanor interrupted smoothly. “No proprietress with any sense would summon a duchess to witness her husband’s debauchery unless someone made it worth her while. The risk to your establishment’s reputation would be enormous.”
The woman’s face went pale beneath her rouge, but she maintained her facade. “Your Grace, I assure you, I was merely concerned for His Grace’s welfare—”
“Were you indeed?” Eleanor stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than a shout.
“Then perhaps you’d prefer I discuss your ‘concern’ with the magistrates?
I’m certain they’d be fascinated to learn about your establishment’s unusual method of ensuring customer welfare. ”
Madame Rousseau’s composure cracked slightly. “Your Grace, please, you don’t understand the position I’m in—”
“Then enlighten me,” Eleanor said with deadly calm. “Because my alternative is to make sure that every respectable family in London knows exactly which establishment their errant sons and husbands frequent. The scandal would destroy your business within a fortnight.”
The madame’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Lord Croft,” she whispered. “He said… he said you needed to know what sort of man you’d married. That it was a kindness, really, to show you the truth.”
Eleanor felt no satisfaction at having her suspicions confirmed. “And what did Lord Croft promise you in return for this kindness?”
“Protection,” the madame admitted. “My establishment operates under his patronage. When he suggests something, it’s hardly a suggestion.”
“I see.” Eleanor moved closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
“And now you find yourself in quite the predicament, don’t you?
You’ve betrayed the confidence of one peer of the realm at the behest of another.
You’ve chosen a viscount’s interests over a duke’s trust. Most uncomfortable indeed. ”
“Your Grace, please—”
“However,” Eleanor continued, “I’m not without sympathy for your position. Lord Croft can be most persuasive in his demands.”
Hope flickered in the madame’s eyes. “You understand then—”
“What I understand is that you now have a choice to make.” Eleanor smiled sharply. “You can continue as Lord Croft’s creature, in which case I will ensure your demise.”
The woman’s face went ashen.
“Or,” Eleanor continued pleasantly, “you can choose a new patron. One who values discretion and rewards loyalty appropriately.”
“What… what are you proposing?”
“Information,” Eleanor said simply. “Lord Croft’s activities, his associates, his plans—particularly as they relate to my family.
In exchange, I will ensure your establishment continues to operate unmolested, and I will see that you’re compensated far more generously than Lord Croft’s meager protection. ”
Madame Rousseau stared at her for a long moment. “You’re offering to protect me from Lord Croft?”
“I’m offering you the opportunity to protect yourself.
Lord Croft trades in other people’s secrets and weaknesses.
I, on the other hand, prefer mutually beneficial arrangements.
” Eleanor’s voice hardened. “But make no mistake—cross me, and you’ll discover that a duchess scorned can be far more dangerous than any viscount. ”
“And tonight? What do I tell Lord Croft about tonight?”
Eleanor smiled despite feeling no warmth whatsoever. “You tell him exactly what he wanted to hear. That you summoned me, that I witnessed my husband’s debauchery, and that I was appropriately devastated by the revelation. Let him believe his plan succeeded perfectly.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“Will handle her own affairs, thank you.” Eleanor moved toward the door. “You have until tomorrow evening to decide, madame. Send word through the usual channels when you’ve made your choice.”
She paused at the threshold. “And, madame? Should you choose to continue under Lord Croft’s protection, I trust you’ll understand that tonight’s little performance will have consequences for everyone involved.”
Eleanor departed the sitting room with her head held high, steeling herself for the unpleasant task that awaited her.
She found Jack and Simmons wrestling with the duke’s unconscious form, attempting to force his arms through the sleeves of his coat. Her husband’s head lolled backward, his face slack with whatever substance had rendered him insensible.
“How is he?” she asked quietly.
“Alive, Your Grace, but thoroughly drugged. Laudanum, most likely, mixed with something stronger.” Jack’s voice was grim. “This wasn’t natural intoxication.”
Eleanor felt another piece of the puzzle fall into place. “Lord Croft wanted to ensure he’d be found in a compromising position. A duke who could remember the evening might prove inconvenient.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Jack replied, understanding dawning.
Eleanor took one last look at her husband’s slack features, her heart aching despite her anger. She chose to believe it was humiliation that gnawed at her core, not a heartache.
The journey home passed in tense silence. Eleanor sat rigidly upright while Jack and Simmons supported her husband’s unconscious weight on the opposite bench. The duke’s head rolled with each jolt of the carriage, and she found herself studying his face in the intermittent glow of streetlamps.
Even unconscious and disheveled, he was devastatingly handsome.
The strong line of his jaw, the aristocratic nose, the sensual mouth that had kissed her with such passion days ago—all served as a stark reminder of the man beneath the surface.
But it wasn’t his physical beauty that made her chest ache as she watched him.
It was remembering his raw vulnerability when he’d spoken of Dominic, the way his voice had broken with guilt and love.
The three years he’d sacrificed wandering foreign countries, abandoning his own life and prospects to save his brother.
His gentle treatment of young Tommy in the garden, the respect he’d shown her independence even when it frustrated him.
The way he’d trusted her with his deepest fears in that cottage on the heath.
All of it served to remind her of what she’d allowed herself to begin feeling for this thoroughly vexing and devoted man.
“Your Grace,” Simmons said quietly as they neared Mayfair, “what you did back there… it was well done.”
Eleanor didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was weary. “Lord Croft underestimated me, Simmons. He assumed I would react as most wives would—with tears and recriminations and public scandal. Instead, he’s given me exactly what I needed.”
“Your Grace?”
“Proof that he considers me a threat worth neutralizing. And now I have an agent in his own operation.” Eleanor’s smile was shrewd. “Lord Croft may have intended to humiliate me tonight, but instead, he’s handed me a weapon I can use against him.”
The carriage drew to a halt before their house, and Eleanor felt a familiar determination settle over her. She had survived her husband’s death, Abram’s machinations, and the challenge of establishing her independence in a world designed to thwart women at every turn.
She would survive this too. And when she was finished, Lord Croft would rue the day he chose to make an enemy of the Duchess of Westmore.
But first, she needed to determine whether her husband was truly the debauched rake Lord Croft wanted her to believe, or if tonight’s performance had been completely orchestrated and as out of character for him as she hoped.
Either way, Eleanor vowed as Jack and Simmons carried the duke’s unconscious form into the house, she would uncover the truth. And then she would decide whether the Duke of Westmore was worth fighting for—or if she should simply let Lord Croft destroy him.