The Matter of a Marquess Page 2
But now it could belong to Nicholas, just as Robert said in an incredulous tone. So Nicholas fought for a way to ignore it. To put up a barrier between them.
“Fortescue!” he snapped out.
The dog immediately sat at attention, locking his amber gaze with Nicholas’s. He bent with a wince of faint pain and swept up a stick from alongside the path. He tossed it, not quite as far as he might once have been able to, and the dog’s ears went higher at attention.
“Fetch,” Nicholas said, pointing out at the expanse of grass where the stick had fallen.
The dog barreled off, onlookers gawking at his sleek focus.
“Do you really want this?” Robert pressed.
Nicholas shifted. So much for putting up a barrier. “Yes,” he admitted at last. “I do. I was injured—I’ll never be the same. I’ve come to accept that. But perhaps this will make it all worthwhile.”
Robert stopped in the path and turned to him. His gaze was lit up, his cheeks flushed slightly. “No, it won’t,” he snapped. “Nothing in the world will make the fact that we almost lost you worthwhile. Or the suffering your family has watched you endure in the last two years. A bloody title won’t pay that debt. And I will tell you that I would trade my own fucking title if that meant none of it had happened.”
Nicholas caught his breath at the passion with which his brother said those words. “You wouldn’t trade being duke,” he said softly.
“Yes I would,” Robert insisted. “It’s not worth that much, I assure you.”
“You’ve never been without it,” Nicholas said.
“So you’ve said.” Robert gave a wan smile. “Twice, in fact. And perhaps you’re right. I can’t truly judge what you desire because I’ve always known it was my… I suppose some foolish fops would say my right. Which is ridiculous. I just happened to be the one son my father sired in the confines of a marriage. That makes me no better than you or Morgan or Selina or any of the vast number of others out there in the world.”
“Perhaps not,” Nicholas agreed. “But you are certainly viewed differently by those around you. People like me, people like Morgan and Selina, we have all…”
He trailed off and shook his head because his mind was trying to take him back to a place he refused to revisit. Even after nearly a decade, this topic always took him to that place, that afternoon at sunset when the consequences of his position in the world had been made perfectly clear.
Robert tilted his head. “Nicholas?” He looked like he would press more, but then he glanced past Nicholas and his eyes widened. “Bloody hell, has your dog brought back an entire tree?”
Nicholas pivoted and let out a long, heavy sigh. Fortescue had, indeed, found a different stick to return with than the one that had been thrown. A log, if one wanted to be more specific about it. As thick around as a strong man’s arm and probably the same height as Nicholas, himself, if stood up vertically.
“Fortescue!” he said, hoping to sound like he was admonishing the dog.
Robert laughed at his side and Nicholas joined in as the bullmastiff plunked the log down beside the path and looked up in pride and expectation that somehow Nicholas would casually toss this former tree for him.
Robert wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and straightened up with a sigh. “I won’t pretend that I know all of your life,” he said. “You are the most closed book of all my siblings.”
“No, that distinction goes to Fitzhugh, I think,” Nicholas said softly.
Robert flinched. “You may be right at that, since Fitzhugh doesn’t speak to me at all. Perhaps it is a judgment on me that I haven’t made more of an effort to read your book…or his. But my job as your older brother is to try to give you what you want, isn’t it? So if it is this title, I will do anything in my power to assist.”
Nicholas couldn’t help but be taken aback at the earnestness with which Robert said those words. He actually seemed like he meant them. But could that be trusted? Trust was not a commodity Nicholas doled out easily, nor came by naturally. Once upon a time, perhaps, but bitter experience had hardened him. Made him more jaded.
And so to avoid the intimacy of the fact that Robert wanted so much to give him this, Nicholas snorted in derision.
The remaining humor on Robert’s face faded and Nicholas thought he saw a flicker of hurt there in its place. But then it was gone. Wiped away by their family’s ability to hide emotion when it was not useful or safe.
“I know you judge my life,” Robert said. “Or what it once was. You think me too much like our father.”
Nicholas set his jaw. “That monster was never my father.”
Robert inclined his head. “Of course. But just because you think so low of me, you shouldn’t think I can’t help you. Being near me is, whether you like it or not, proximity to power, and that matters in these political situations. And if you don’t think I have the influence you desire, then you must know I have a great many friends with far more of it. And far more of the honor you value so highly.”
That gave Nicholas pause. Roseford was talking about his club of dukes, the 1797 Club they were called, though Nicholas wasn’t entirely sure why. Robert and nine of his friends. They were certainly a most powerful force to be reckoned with, filled with some of the most honorable men in the land.
“You think they would help your bastard brother,” Nicholas asked softly. “These men with such honor.”
Robert’s shoulders came back and a protectiveness flitted over his face. “You judge yourself far more harshly then they would do, for they are the best of men. They would help you of your own merit, but more so if I were to ask. Which I would do.”
Nicholas let out a long sigh and reached down to scratch Fortescue’s ears as he said, “Well, what do you have in mind?”
Roseford gave a flash of a wicked smile, the only indication that he felt he’d won in this exchange. “A week-long country party at my estate. With some of my most influential friends attending. And there will be others who have the ear of those deciding who gets a title and who doesn’t. I’ll invite Selina and Derrick, as well. Morgan and Lizzie were already going to attend.”
Nicholas worried his lip. As much as he liked the idea of seeing his siblings and making the best impression he could, Robert wasn’t just asking him to his estate. He was asking Nicholas to their father’s estate. Nicholas had never been there. Never seen the place where his father had lorded over the world. The place where he’d take advantage of and later abandoned Nicholas’s mother all those years ago.
Did he want to see it?
“I don’t know,” he said.
Robert clapped his hand around Nicholas’s bicep and squeezed gently. “It’s only a week, brother. You can endure anything for a week, I know you’re more than strong enough. And you could come out of it with what you desire secured.” He hesitated. “Please. I have never been able to do much for you. Let me do this.”
Nicholas shifted. “May I bring the dog?”
Robert glanced down at Fortescue, who was glowering at him because he’d touched Nicholas. It was only good training that was keeping him from bearing those terrible teeth.
“Your dog hates everyone,” Robert pointed out. “But certainly. He would be welcome. I’m sure he’ll enjoy running free all over the grounds at Roseford.”
“Then…” Nicholas let out a long sigh. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”
Robert clapped his hands together with
a laugh. “Excellent. Give me a few days to make the arrangements and I’ll send word with all the particulars and a few names of those who’ll be in attendance so you may strategize.”
Nicholas motioned toward the path and they began to walk again. Fortescue trailed behind, dragging his tree with him. “Thank you.”
Roseford cast him a side glance. “No thanks necessary. You may not like it, but we are brothers. And I’ll do anything for my family.”
Nicholas didn’t know how to respond to that statement that felt too intimate and close, so he said nothing. And prayed he wouldn’t regret taking Roseford’s offer of help…and family.
Aurora gripped her hands at her sides and prayed that she looked cooler and more collected than she felt as she walked up the cracked staircase to the worn-down building above. A faded sign hung from rusty chains above the door. The Cat’s Companion. She shuddered at the smells from the docks nearby and the glances she was receiving from the men gathered by the door, waiting for entry.
A big man with only half his teeth and a cruel glint to his eyes seemed to be managing who entered and who was refused. He noted her approach and licked his lips as he looked her up and down. She touched her hair to be certain her wig, worn to conceal her true identity, was still in place, and tugged her shawl closer, but that only elicited a burst of laughter from the men.
“Might as well not try to cover it up, sweet. It won’t take long to get it off!” called out one faceless voice from the crowd.
She ignored it and girded herself for talking her way into the house of ill repute. “Sir,” she said.
“New girls go ’round the back,” the doorman said, his gaze flitting over her. “Maggie will like you. You look…fresh.”
She swallowed hard, but ignored the bile rising in her throat. So he thought she was a new girl, come here to make her way on her back. That was fine. It would help her gain entry. She could only pray she’d find what she came for.
She nodded and slipped past the men in the line, around toward the alleyway that led to the back entrance. It was dimly lit, entirely unsafe. She knew the risk she was taking coming here at all. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was Imogen. She had to find Imogen.
There was a door open around the back and a bored-looking woman stood there, smoking a foul-smelling cigar. As Aurora approached, she pulled it from her lips and puffed smoke in Aurora’s face. “Come to work?”
Aurora coughed, waving at the smoke that seemed to stick in her nose and throat. Her heart was all but pounding out of her chest and her eyes stung with fearful tears as she nodded, playing out the lie that would get her inside. She didn’t belong here. Of course, she hadn’t belonged in many of the places she had been in the past few weeks. But she still went to them because her best friend had gone missing weeks before and Aurora had heard she was in one of these…places. Her desperation turned to action that would surely change her forever.
“Go inside then,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “Maggie’ll deal with you.”
Aurora stepped through the door. Inside the place was far too hot and there was a faint stink of sweat and sex in the air. She shifted, looking for the twice-mentioned Maggie. She had no idea what she’d say to the woman who ran this house of sin, at least not without causing herself a great deal of trouble.
There was no one waiting for her in the small foyer inside the back entrance. No one was there at all. She looked around at the scuffed wooden plank walls, the stained furniture where a guest might wait to be received. She certainly hoped Imogen wasn’t here.
How had things come so far? Just shy of a year ago, she and Imogen had both been somewhat unhappily married but sheltered in their homes, able to turn to each other for comforting conversation when their husbands humiliated them at places just like this one. It hadn’t been much of a life, perhaps. Aurora had many regrets, ones that kept her up at night, haunted by a face she hadn’t seen in almost a decade.
But it had been safe. It had been comfortable. And then in a span of just a few weeks, both her own husband, Viscount Martin Lovell, and Imogen’s husband, the Honorable Mr. Warren Huxley, had died. Lovell of a sudden apoplexy in a place very much like this one, Huxley in a carriage accident, racing his phaeton like the fool he had always been.
They’d never spoken it out loud, but Aurora knew they’d each felt a sense of…relief? Amidst the sadness and shock, it had been there. The end of their marriages should have meant the beginning of new lives with freedom, for both men had been well off.
Except Lovell had left Aurora with very little. Her family had its own struggles since her father’s death, so she’d kept most of her plight from them. Huxley had left Imogen with nothing at all. Desperation had set in. Despair. A constant fight to stay afloat had led to conversations about other options. Even unthinkable ones. When Imogen turned to this life, it hadn’t been a total shock to Aurora. But when she disappeared into it?
That was another story.
And so Aurora searched for her, praying she’d find her and convince her to come home. They would figure it out. They had to figure it out, together. Only she kept coming to these places and never finding Imogen.
She drew in a shaky breath. If the woman who ran this place wasn’t here to greet and assess her, that actually helped her cause.
Aurora stepped forward and slipped into the darker hallway off the foyer. It was nothing but a long series of doors. Thin doors, behind which she could hear various sounds of pleasure. She swallowed hard and crept along the hall, listening for Imogen’s voice.
She stopped at a room that was quiet. No moans, no voices. There was some restless shuffling, though. Could it be Imogen inside? She had to take a risk and find out.
Her hands shaking, Aurora opened the door and eased her way inside the room. There was only a man there. His jacket was draped on a chair, his cravat on top of it, and his shirt was undone. She gasped as she realized it was her late husband’s best friend, the Earl of Roddenbury.
She backed up, preparing to scramble out of the room, but her heel bumped the door and the thump made the man look up. His eyes met hers and he smiled.
“You kept me waiting, you naughty minx,” he purred as he moved toward her. “But you’ll make it worth the wait.”
Aurora’s heart leapt. It didn’t seem that Roddenbury had recognized her, probably thanks to the dark wig that hid her blonde hair. But if she stayed too long with him, that would change swiftly. So she pivoted, turning her face away.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, making her voice lower. “I’ve come to the wrong room.”
She had never known Roddenbury to be anything but civil in the years she’d been in his acquaintance. He looked at her a little too long, of course, but he’d never been untoward. So she was utterly unprepared for him to lunge forward, catching her wrist in a cruel grip as he yanked her toward him.
“Now wait a moment. I’ve been standing in this room for at least ten minutes, and you’re not going to tease and leave. You’re here and you will do your job, girl.”
Her lips parted at the cruelty of his tone and his touch. She yanked back. “I’m not meant for you, let me go!”
He refused, tugging her even harder. She snaked out a hand and, without thinking, slapped his cheek. His dark eyes grew even darker and his mouth set in a thin line. She could see she’d made a terrible mistake and her fear flew higher than ever. His grip loosened and she took the opportunity, pivoting away from him toward the door.
She wrenched it open, but he grabbed for her. In the struggle, he managed to grip her bun. Of course, she was wearing the wig, so as she pulled away, the pins came loose and her own blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders as he pulled the false hair away.
“Aurora Lovell?” he gasped.
She froze, her name echoing in the hallway, which was now filling up with half-naked people who were wondering what the fuss was about. She recognized a great many of the men, just as they recognized her.
> She pivoted back toward Roddenbury. “How dare you?” she whispered, wishing she sounded stronger.
He looked anything but chagrined as his gaze flitted over her from head to toe. “I always wondered what it would be like to fuck you.”
She gasped at his crude words and equally crude expression. He reached for her again and she reacted out of pure instinct, lifting her knee hard into his groin.
He immediately dropped to his knees with a cry, clutching his manhood as he glared up at her. “You bitch!”
She ignored the slur and ran into the hallway, back out the door she’d come in. She ignored the sound of her name, echoing from the rooms, echoing from Roddenbury screaming it out into the night where the world could hear.
She hurtled herself into the carriage she had paid to wait for her and huddled in the dark as the driver turned the rig into the street, back toward the sad little home her husband’s family had deigned to bestow upon her.
She had only made everything worse by coming here. She hadn’t found Imogen, and now the foulest elements of her world knew what she’d done. They would assume even worse. And they would spread this tale far and wide. She covered her hands, shaking as she wept into her fingers.
What little she had left was gone. And she had no idea what to do next.
Chapter 2
Aurora paced the parlor in her small home, trying to ignore the worn, lumpy furniture and the low fire that didn’t warm the room. Once she had resided in a fine home just off Hyde Park, but now…
Well, her late husband’s family hadn’t allowed her to be settled with much. And she feared things would only get more dire now. It had been two days since she was caught at the Cat’s Companion, and since then her greatest fears had come true.
The word of her appearance there had spread through the ton like wildfire. Friends had stopped speaking to her, invitations had dried up and it had even been a barely blind item in the weekly Scandal Sheet newspaper.
She sank onto the uncomfortable settee and covered her eyes. Everything was falling apart. While she was normally an optimistic person, one who sought to make the best in numerous bad situations she had found herself in over the years, she could not find that positivity today. Nothing could be done to fix the awful place where she found herself perched.