Page 8 of The Duke of Lies
“The Blue Room hasn’t changed,” she said. “Do you remember where it is?”
He looked at her in consternation. “I’m afraid I don’t.” A low chuckle sounded in his chest.
Smiling and laughing. She could count the number of times she’d seen him do that on one hand. “Up the stairs and through the drawing room, first room on the left.”
He stared at her a moment, making her mildly uncomfortable, but not for the reasons she would have expected. He looked at her with something he never had before—curiosity. “I want to be sure you understand that I don’t expect our marriage to resume as it once was.”
As it once was… Was he trying to say he was going to be a better man? She couldn’t bring herself to ask. What he’d put her through, that horrid, dark time—it wasn’t something she talked about. It wasn’t something shethoughtabout. And, as he’d indicated about his time away, she preferred to leave it in the past.
“You seem…changed. Perhaps we should behave as if we just met.” She made this offer but wasn’t certain she could forget what he’d done, who he was. Or who he’d been, if he truly had changed.
“That seems a wise idea.” His head dipped briefly. “Let me know what you want to do regarding the boy. I will await your direction. Until later, then.” He inclined his head before stalking toward the stairs and climbing to the upper floor. She watched him disappear into the drawing room and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Her body wanted to collapse, but she fought the drain of tension and anxiety that threatened to send her into a puddle. Instead, she turned, and made her way from the King’s Hall through the Great Hall to the stairs that led to her private quarters in the corner opposite the drawing room.
She went up to the study that adjoined the ducal chamber and strode immediately to her writing desk, where she penned a short letter to her cousin Diana, begging her to come at once.
Verity’s hand shook as she finished. She needed her cousin, the person to whom she was closest in the entire world, the person who would help her face what she must.
Rufus washome.
Gone were her plans to reclaim her future and forge a path for herself and Beau. A scant hour ago, she’d been filled with hope and excitement as she planned for the changes that would allow her to fully inhabit her role as duchess and ensure her son became the duke she wanted him to be.
Now she had to answer to her husband once more. A man filled with more cruelty and anger than ought to be possible for a person to feel. And yet, the man who’d arrived today was not him. He was perhaps something worse. An unknown who could take away every freedom she currently enjoyed. Or more terrible still: her son.
No, she wouldn’t fall to pieces. She would hold strong—for Beau. She stood to take the letter downstairs and vowed that she wouldn’t let Rufus ruin their lives. She’d protect herself and Beau at any cost.
Chapter 3
The steamfrom the bath had long since ebbed, and the water had gone tepid. He stood, sluicing water over the edge of the tub, and reached for the towel that sat on a nearby table.
Stepping from the tub, he dried off, then deposited the towel over the back of a chair pushed under a wide oak desk. He padded into the small dressing chamber adjoining the bedroom and found his meager belongings tucked away.
There wasn’t much to choose from, but he found something suitable to wear. Tomorrow, he would need to find a tailor to come and measure him and make new clothing. Unless… Had the duchess saved any of his clothing? Should he ask?
Damn, she’d been skittish. But what did he expect after a nearly seven-year absence.
He turned to the glass to tie his cravat and paused at the reflection staring back at him. He didn’t look like a duke.
Probably because he wasn’t one.
Christopher Powell blinked. What the hell was he doing? If he went through with this… He snorted. Too late. He’d already committed.
The cravat almost tied itself as his fingers threaded the silk. It wasn’t the same as knotting rope on his ship, but he was as good at either. He supposed a duke needed a valet, but he didn’t.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Kit turned from the glass and finished buttoning his waistcoat, frowning at the lackluster gray fabric. Yes, new clothing would be necessary since the fire had claimed most everything he’d owned, including his finery.
He reached for his dark blue coat and shrugged it on before smoothing his hair back from his forehead. And now what? He couldn’t leave his room for fear he’d run into the boy.
Good Lord, he had a son. Or had to pretend he did anyway. When the duchess had mentioned him, he’d tried to cover for not asking about him straightaway. But then it had seemed she hadn’t expected him to know, so he’d had to cover for that too. Hell, he was going to have to be on his toes.
At least the boy hadn’t known him—Kit could perhaps relax with him. No, he couldn’t do that. Hell, he didn’t even know what to say to him. Perhaps he should consider that first.
He turned back to the glass and smiled. “Beau, I’m your father.”
He winced and tried again. “Look at what a big boy you are. I’m pleased to meet you, I’m your father.”
Scowling he turned away from the glass and chastised himself once more. This hadn’t been his plan. He’dplannedto find his way onto the estate and into the castle from which he’d steal something valuable but of little import that would scarcely be missed. The place had to be full of costly artifacts that would provide the remaining funds he needed to replace his ship and hire a new crew. He doubted he’d be able to recruit any of his old hands, but he’d try. They’d had to move on after Kit’s ship had gone down.
