Chapter 4
June could hardly breathe. Her heart was hammering in her chest.
As Cameron took his seat beside her, she could only imagine what he must be thinking.
She’d wished for none of this. Certainly not to be seated next to the duke for two hours or more, surrounded by onlookers. Including her husband.
The earl sat at the head of the table, Horatia positioned just to his left. To the outside world, she was merely a beloved cousin, of course. To his right sat Miss Pembroke’s mother, Mrs. Caroline Pembroke. It was customary to put the highest-ranking gentlemen beside the hostess. And the duke was certainly that. Indeed, John had insisted June plan to charm the duke throughout dinner as much as possible–whatever that meant.
But that was when June had no idea who the duke really was. And before John had seen that sordid column.
If she had known what she now knew… Well, if she had known, she would not have shown her face at the house party at all. She would have pleaded ill. She would have fled in a carriage.
Of course, John would never have allowed that. He would have insisted she come down.
He would probably have chased down the carriage.
Either way, she would have been quite trapped.
But she would have done something. She didn’t know what. Only that anything would have been preferable to sitting here now, beside this man.
This man who should have been her husband.
Perhaps it would be all right, she thought. They could make polite, careful conversation. They could discuss the weather. Or better yet, not speak at all.
John would be furious afterwards. She knew he would be watching them throughout dinner. He would hope to see the duke smiling and happy–and as intoxicated as possible. Primed for John’s persuasion.
Silence would be best, June decided. She would look at her plate not at Cameron. If anyone asked what was wrong, she would say she had a headache.
“How dare ye?”
June jumped. The voice was low and deep. Practically a growl in her ear.
“It is customary for the highest ranking guest to sit beside his hostess,” she replied, trying and failing to keep the distress from her voice. “I assure you, I had no idea…”
He snorted. “Aye. So ye say.” The implication was clear. He thought she wanted him near her.
And yes, at one time she would have done anything to see him again. But not like this. No, not like this.
June felt her cheeks pinken. “Do you really think I would have allowed my husband to invite you here if I had known the truth?”
The duke gave her an assessing look. “I don’t know what yer capable of, Lady Windermere.” He stressed her married name and she shuddered slightly at the sound of it on his lips. “I learned that long ago.”
June swallowed hard. “I am not the one who disappeared like a thief in the night, Your Grace.”
The duke let out a low chuckle that had no one bit of humor to it. “Is that yer claim? A thief, is it? Nay, yer only the one who is a brazen bigamist.” The duke nodded his head in John’s direction. “Does he know?”
“Know? About that?” June shook her head.
Slowly the word he had used began to sink in. Bigamist. Was that truly what he believed her to be?
The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew.
The duke looked disgusted. “Of course not. I suppose ye were only too eager to accept his offer as soon as ye could.”
“I was not eager. I accepted with the utmost reluctance.” June felt dizzy. She could not have this conversation. Not here. Not now. She took a deep breath. “I would never have invited you here if I had understood who you really were. I swear that. I had no idea where you were or what your title was. I apologize… for the terrible mistake.”
“Which one?” the duke said harshly. “For it seems to me ye’ve made a great many of them. Do ye mean marrying another man when ye were already handfasted to me or inviting me into yer home?”
“Please,” June beseeched. She glanced around. No one seemed to have heard. Everyone was chattering. The dinner seemed a lively success. Even John was smiling–at Horatia, of course. “Things are not what they may seem. You don’t understand. What I did was for good reason.”
“Aye. So ye say.” The duke smiled politely and raising his wine glass he looked down the table at June’s husband.
The distance between the two men seemed far too small to June now. The earl was watching them. June forced a smile of her own and John seemed to relax a little. He nodded at them both, then turned his attention back to the ladies on either side of him.
The duke turned back to June. “So ye say,” he repeated. “Yet when I look at ye, do ye ken what I see?”
June was fairly certain she didn’t want to know. She said nothing.
“I see a woman whose gluttonous desire for finery and riches trumped all else. A woman who was born into wealth and privilege and who plainly had no desire to leave it behind. I see a woman who secretly thought the man she claimed to love was beneath her. I see a woman who broke her oath. A woman who took a vow.” The duke’s voice was low but had reached a fever-pitch of intensity. “A vow before God, my lady, that should never have been broken.”
Claimed to love.
The words rang in June’s ear. If only they were true. If only she had merely claimed to love Cameron Fraser–now Cameron McBain, Duke of Tulloch–back when she had handfasted with him. Life would have been far more bearable.
If only she did not know, deep down in her heart of hearts, that she loved him still and always would.
The duke tossed his napkin onto the table. He’d had enough. He couldn’t stomach his food. He couldn’t stomach sitting next to this woman. This lovely, golden woman who by rights should have been his wife and who had instead married another man.
And not just any other man. A man who, so far, seemed to be her inferior in every possible way.
He moved as if to push back his chair.
A small hand gripped his arm.
“Please,” June whispered. She was facing straight ahead. A rigid smile was plastered on her face. “Please, don’t go.”
He looked down at her hand. For a moment, he was tempted to brush her off. To demand she remove it.
“I know how unbearable this must be for you.” He could hear the strain in her voice. “I know because it is equally unbearable for me.”
He looked at her profile, taking in her features.
She was as lovely as the last time he had seen her, standing there in that field as he rode away on his horse.
He had been so full of hope then. Life had seemed full of promise. It was just the beginning. Their lives together started that night, he had believed.
When in truth, it had been the end. The end of everything.
Now as he looked at her, Cameron realized she was not the same woman he had left in the field.
Examining her face he saw the hint of a bruise peeking through the powder she had so carefully applied.
If he had not been happy these past years, then it was quickly becoming evident that neither had she.
Perhaps, a nagging voice inside him suggested, she had even had it worse.
He tried to suppress the voice. ‘Twas nonsense. An oath-breaker deserved every punishment they received. Aye, even a woman.
But as he looked at the veiled bruise, he thought of what her life might have been like these long ten years.
“Why?” he demanded. “Why ask me to stay then?”
She turned her head then and the look in her eyes was enough to make even the duke heartsick.
“He willna like it then,” he deduced. “Yer husband.”
“He’ll blame me,” she whispered. “If you go. Or if I try to go. Believe me, I would like nothing more than to flee this table.”
Oh, she would, would she? She longed to escape him a second time? For some reason this knowledge stung more than it should have.
“Fine,” he said roughly. “I willna depart.”
He imagined himself leaving, then seeing her the next morning. Would she have more bruises? How would he know? Clearly the earl had been at this mistreatment for a long time. Men seldom beat a wife or a child just once.
He looked down the table at the earl and longed to stand up, yank him from his chair and thrash him with one of the fine candelabras decorating the table.
“Don’t,” June whispered, as if reading his thoughts. “Don’t…” Her voice hitched. “Please don’t worry about me.”
“I wasna,” the duke replied coldly. “I was thinking of how insufferable yer presence was and how I have no recourse but to bear it.”
She was quiet for a moment. He glanced at her and saw the hurt on her face. But he felt no triumph.
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” she finally said.
They passed some time in silence. Another course was served.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eventually. “Truly.”
The Duke of Tulloch did not reply.