Page 69 of The Duke of Lies
He stiffened when she said barbarous. “How?” He realized she could interpret that question a number of ways, but she answered how he hoped she would—with what heneededto know.
“It started small—he would belittle me in act and deed. The physical intimidation started on our wedding night. He was a brute in the bedroom, but often drank himself to a degree of, er, nonperformance. Eventually, that became my fault too.” Her hand pressed flat against his chest, and he could feel her pulse in her wrist. Steady and strong, as she’d had to be living with that monster.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Physically?” She nodded slightly. “Sometimes. But he preferred to torture me in other ways—making me stand in the corner all night and watch him sleep. I would ponder all the ways in which he might die.” Her hand balled into a fist on his chest, and Kit covered it with his, squeezing her.
“He can’t ever hurt you again.”
She relaxed, her hand flattening once more against his chest. “Then he went to London, and shortly thereafter, I found I was expecting Beau. I was terrified for the child and thought of running away.”
Kit’s heart squeezed, and he longed to find Rufus Beaumont and kill him if he wasn’t already dead. He hoped for the man’s sake he was, because Kit would not make it quick or pleasant.
“But then he disappeared,” she said, exhaling. “It was like a reprieve. For months, maybe even years, I was afraid he’d come back, but eventually we—Beau and I—settled into a comfortable routine.”
She had to have been horrified when he’d arrived. “I’m so sorry for the anguish I caused you when I showed up,” he said, stroking her back and shoulder. “If I’d known the truth, I wouldn’t have tried to be him.”
“Now you see why it was difficult to believe you were Rufus. You were so different in every way. Everyone noticed.”
“Does anyone else at Beaumont Tower know—definitively, I mean?”
She looked up at him. “Not that I’m aware. I didn’t tell anyone you’re Kit. Did someone say something?”
“No, but I have to wonder who Cuddy was talking about when he said someone else knew my secret.”
She pushed up to a full sitting position, her face creased with concern. “That’s a problem. As is the constable. What are we going to tell him?”
Kit blew out a breath. He’d cocked that up for certain. “I should just have told the truth.” Surely the constable would have believed a duke’s account of what had happened. Kit needed to remember hewasthe duke and start bloody acting like it. “It was incredibly selfish.”
She cupped his face, her touch gentle against him. “It’s hard not to be selfish when we both just want to keep this happiness we’ve found.” God, she understood. “I don’t want to lose this either.”
He turned his head and kissed her palm. “We won’t. If the constable comes, I’ll think of something.” He didn’t want her to worry about it.
She gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll be on our way to London in a couple of hours anyway. I doubt we’ll have to speak with him.”
She was, of course, wrong.
* * *
Despite working hardon preparations the day before, it was past midmorning before the two coaches were ready to depart for London. Beau was beyond excited as they packed things into the coach for him to do along the way. Verity tried not to think about when he grew tired of the confines of the vehicle. Just as she helped him inside, her heart leapt into her throat as an unexpected visitor rode into the courtyard.
The constable.
He brought his horse to a stop near the coaches and dismounted. A groom rushed to take his reins, and the constable offered a nod.
Verity sidled closer to Kit, who stood beside her. “That’s the constable. Mr. Jeffers.”
Kit touched her arm. “Don’t worry. And definitely don’t let him see you worry. Do I know him?” He kept his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes, but not well. Just act as if you do.”
“Should I act…normal?” They’d discussed earlier whether he ought to behave differently in London. Though Rufus had visited for only a short time, he might have left an impression, given his general behavior of aloofness and scorn. They’d decided that he had to be who he was—which wasn’t Rufus. To that end, he would likely find himself apologizing for quite some time.
“Act as you’ve been. Like we talked about earlier.”
“Right.” He took a deep breath and smiled as the constable approached. “Good morning, Mr. Jeffers. I would say I’m glad to see you, but I believe you’re here because of a distressing matter.”
Jeffers, a pock-faced man of at least fifty with a genial smile, bowed. “Good morning, Your Grace.” He performed the same for Verity. “Your Grace.”
