The Infamous Duchess Page 6

  “Do you still have it?” Viola asked in the hope of seeing the journal one day.

  “Florian does. I believe he keeps it locked away somewhere at his home.” They turned toward a corner where a pair of benches had been placed beneath a rose-covered pergola. “He told me once that it is his most prized possession.”

  “And so it should be considering the time and effort the two of you put into it.”

  The smile he gave her forced her to hold on more tightly to his arm. “It is more than that, Viola. That journal forged an unbreakable bond between us. It taught us to work together and support each other while creating something for us to be proud of.”

  “You care for him deeply, don’t you?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question except perhaps to have his sensitive side confirmed.

  “I love him fiercely.”

  His pronouncement was more than what she’d expected. It startled her because of how rare it was to hear a man speak so openly of his feelings. Her father had of course told her that he loved her, but it was not the sort of thing he would ever have blurted to anyone. Perhaps because it meant being vulnerable, which wasn’t at all what she would have expected from a man she’d only recently met, let alone from a rake.

  “Does that surprise you?” he asked. They had reached the benches, and when she removed her hand from his arm, he gestured toward the nearest one.

  Viola sat and waited for him to join her before saying, “No. Not really. I know you have done a lot for each other in ways of offering support. When you learned of his true parentage last year and that the two of you don’t share the same father, you didn’t allow it to change things between you. I know he was grateful for that.”

  Mr. Lowell glanced across the garden while sunlight spilled across his cheeks. It allowed Viola to catch a glimpse of stubble he’d yet to shave, and for an odd reason she could not explain, she found she liked him looking slightly unkempt.

  “Florian is a remarkable man. I have always held him in the highest regard, so it makes no difference to me if his father was England’s worst criminal. I only regret that he felt unable to confide in me sooner.”

  Sympathizing, Viola allowed for a bit of silence to pass between them while watching a couple of sparrows hopping along the path. “Do you have any pets?” she asked with some strange intention to further confirm that he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Indeed, she was starting to think that she might have misjudged him completely—that the entire world might be wrong about who Mr. Lowell actually was.

  “I have a cat named Newton.”

  “Really?” She tried to picture him with the creature and decided it suited him rather well.

  Lips quirking, he dropped his gaze to hers. “He shares his namesake’s solitary and untrusting nature.” A frown emerged upon his brow. “It makes one wonder if names can shape a personality.”

  He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, alerting Viola to their length and the sturdy outline of his thighs beneath his trousers. “I have two horses as well. A pair of Scottish Clydesdales.”

  Viola stared at him blankly. She knew absolutely nothing about horses. At least not enough to know what a Clydesdale was.

  “I know they’re not the customary choice for a London gentleman to ride,” Mr. Lowell went on, “but they’re extremely strong and energetic. In truth, I don’t think they get enough credit. And I absolutely love the feathering around their lower legs. It gives them character, if you ask me.”

  “They sound very handsome.”

  “Oh indeed, they are.” He held her gaze. “Perhaps I will have the chance to show them to you one day.” Before she was able to agree or object, he asked, “What about you, Viola? Do you have any pets?”

  “I have a dog,” she said. “My late husband gave him to me as an engagement present.”

  “I see. And does this pup of yours have a name?”

  “Rex.” It was her turn to smile at him with the knowledge that she was about to say the unexpected. “He’s a Rottweiler.”

  Mr. Lowell’s eyes widened just enough to convey his surprise. “Really?” He studied her a moment, until her skin heated beneath the intensity of his gaze. “I ought to have known, oughtn’t I? A strong woman should own a strong dog. Now I think of it, I imagine you and Rex are well suited for each other and that he is quite an effective protector.”

  A charge filled the air between them, born from the deep awareness of how well he already seemed to know her. It was slightly terrifying in a way. Most of all because she sensed that she also saw a part of him that he attempted to hide from the world. Not the rake, but a man with feeling and empathy for others. Her pulse quickened and panic took over. To like him too much would be far too dangerous, since she could not afford to become emotionally entangled with any man. Her past experiences wouldn’t allow it, and neither would her dedication to the hospital or her appreciation for independence. So she stood, forcing him to rise as well.

  They started back toward the door leading to the wing where Mr. Lowell’s room was located. “I think my late husband had the same thing in mind. But I do not need Rex to protect me. I’m perfectly capable of doing so myself.”

  “Indeed?” He eyed her with interest.

  Heat flared in her cheeks but the urge to astound him was far too tempting to be denied. “My father taught me to use a pistol most effectively. I carry one with me wherever I go. Just in case.”

  Mr. Lowell grinned the way a child might do when discovering the secret to a magical trick. “Of course you do.”

  “I have no husband or male relations to offer protection,” she explained.

  “I see I was wrong to think you were foolish for living alone for a while. On the contrary, you’re a smart woman, Viola, and your father was wise to teach you.”

  “To be honest, those hours of practice we spent together when there was time to do so are among the most precious memories of my childhood.”

  “I gather he was a busy man.”

  “As busy as most physicians, I suspect. Just consider your brother.”

  Mr. Lowell nodded. “It is part of the reason why I insisted he take the trip he’d been planning with his wife. I’m glad he did, for no one deserves some time off more than him. Except maybe you.”

  They reached the door and went back inside. “My work means the world to me, Mr. Lowell. I do not wish to take a break from it for any reason.” When he looked ready to argue, she added, “It fills my days completely and gives me immense satisfaction. I do not have time for anything else in my life.”

  He didn’t respond for a long while after. Not until they reached his room and prepared to part ways. Turning to face her, he spoke with feeling. “You may not think so, but I intend to change your mind on that score. I mean to prove to you that making time for me will benefit you greatly, not only professionally, but”—he dipped his chin and whispered close to her ear—“privately too.”

  His breath stroked her cheek, and Viola’s stomach contracted in response. Before she could get her brain working again and voice an answer, however, he was gone, leaving her more rattled than ever before. Because in spite of her efforts to stop him from trying to pursue her, it seemed she’d achieved the opposite.

  Irritating man!

  The effect he had on her was so distracting she could scarcely concentrate on her work for the rest of the day. Doing so was impossible when his words continued to chase her wherever she went.

  It wasn’t until she arrived home later that she was able to find the reprieve she required, though not at all in the way she had hoped.

  “The table’s already set so I’ll just have everything brought up to the dining room,” Diana said after greeting her in the hallway. She turned to go but paused to add, “I almost forgot. A letter arrived for you earlier today. I put it on the desk in your study.”

  Viola thanked her and went to see who the letter was from. It had not been posted but hand delivered. Apprehension nipped at her ski
n, turning to full-fledged anxiety the moment she tore the seal and read the bold script.

  Viola,

  I must confess I was both surprised and relieved to find you absent from Tremaine House upon my arrival. Still, there are matters between us that must be settled, which is why I propose we meet at my home tomorrow afternoon.

  In anticipation of your response,

  Robert Cartwright, Duke of Tremaine

  Inhaling deeply, Viola read the words three more times before dropping the letter onto her desk. She didn’t want to see the man who’d lost his inheritance to her. Not to mention the fact that she’d once been in love with him and that he’d broken her heart. But the most important reason of all was perhaps her decision to marry his father as he lay dying. The act still made her feel guilty, because she knew in her heart she was undeserving of the title she’d gained.

  A heavy sigh pushed its way through her. As much as she wished it, she couldn’t avoid Robert forever. So maybe it was best to get it over with. Perhaps she’d even discover that there was no reason for her to be concerned about seeing him again. He’d only promised her the world, after all. But that had been a long time ago, and they’d both married different people since.

  She’d also changed in the years between, she reminded herself.

  You’re stronger now than you were before. Show him that.

  Determining to do so, however, proved harder than she’d imagined when she found herself seated in his parlor the following day. She was familiar with the space—had spent countless hours here when accompanying her father on visits to the late duke; the man who’d ensured she would want for nothing when he’d given her his name and fortune.

  As she ought to have expected, Robert made her wait almost half an hour before he finally deigned to put in an appearance. The moment he did, Viola’s heart lurched and her stomach flipped over. It was as if no time had passed at all since the day he’d declared her unfit to be his bride. She was once again reminded of the naïve young girl she’d been, ready to trust and believe that the happily-ever-after she’d always dreamed of could be hers, as long as she did what Robert asked.

  Instead he’d destroyed her faith in men by showing her how easy it had been for him to fool her. As long as he’d tempted her with the one thing she’d wanted the most.

  Love.

  Concealing her distress beneath a façade she hoped looked as calm as it felt, Viola stood with as much dignity as she could muster. “Welcome home, Robert.” She dipped her head in greeting. “It is good to see you again after all this time.”

  He was closer now, having crossed the room while she’d spoken. His hair was the same brown shade she remembered, albeit with a little less luster, his eyes as blue as they’d been the first time he’d kissed her, though fresh creases at the corners suggested that life had not been easy for him while he’d been away. “I am the Duke of Tremaine now,” he told her. “Please remember that when you address me in the future.”

  Viola blinked, recalling how she’d instinctively used his given name. Because they’d been intimate once. Friends even. But all of that was now in the past.

  “Forgive me.” And then she forced herself to say it. “Your Grace.”

  He smiled as smugly as when he’d presented her to his fiancée five years earlier. It had happened in this very parlor the same day she’d given her body to him. Her father had been dead for almost a year by then, and she had been invited to live at Tremaine House under the old duke’s protection. When Robert had asked her to come and join him shortly after their lovemaking, she’d thought he meant to propose. Instead he’d announced his betrothal to Lady Beatrice. The introductions that had followed had been swift and jarring. Viola had felt it like a stab to her chest. She’d felt like a spectator in a nightmare, her body completely numb while the world crashed down around her.

  “But you declared your love for me,” she’d stupidly insisted later that day when she’d managed to find Robert alone.

  He’d looked at her with the sort of pity she’d since determined never to inspire in anyone ever again. “You are a sweet girl, Viola, but you cannot seriously have thought I would ever consider marrying you.”

  She’d stared at him as if seeing him for the very first time. “Of course not.”

  “We belong to different social classes. It would never work.”

  “So you built an illusion for me out of lies?”

  He’d winced ever so slightly before hardening his gaze and saying, “You cannot lay all the blame at my feet alone when we both know you were more than eager to let me have you.”

  She’d done something then that she would not have thought herself capable of. She’d stepped forward and slapped him. And then she’d quit Tremaine House and hadn’t seen Robert again. Until now.

  “I cannot believe you married my father,” he said, spitting the words with disgust. He shoved his hands in his pockets and went to the window to look out over the garden. “And to think I almost felt bad for you after announcing my betrothal to Beatrice.” He snorted. “You seemed genuinely distressed, but instead you were only sorry to lose the ladder you hoped I’d provide.”

  “No.” She shook her head as he turned to face her. His jaw was more pronounced than it had been when she’d last seen him, and lines of hardship marked his brow. There was even a scar on his left cheekbone, she saw now, reminding her their lives had diverged in their years apart.

  “Liar!” His shoulders bunched angrily beneath his well-tailored jacket, puckering the superfine fabric. “You are a social climber, Viola, and when you couldn’t have me, you launched yourself at my father. Isn’t that right?”

  She shook her head, horrified that this was how he saw her—how anyone might see her—and yet she’d heard the rumors and had long since been forced to acknowledge how things looked.

  “Your father was a kind and generous man.” She sank down onto a nearby chair. “My father saved your life when you were an infant, Robert, and your father always believed he owed him a debt of gratitude for that. Marrying me and ensuring my continued well-being was his way of paying that debt.”

  Robert stared back at her for a long moment before saying, “No. It was your way of robbing me of my rightful inheritance.” He glared. “Somehow you managed to convince him to leave everything to you.”

  “That is not true.” She hadn’t even known the extent of the wealth Tremaine had willed her until after the funeral. “And he didn’t leave everything. There are still the entailed properties and—”

  “Much good that will do me besides incurring debt.” He started pacing, hands clutched behind his back. “You ought to know I intend to contest it.”

  “What?”

  He stopped and faced her, the planes of his face pronounced by hard shadows cast in relief on account of the afternoon light spilling in through the windows. “I’ve hired a barrister.” His eyes gleamed with the promise of vengeance. “He believes it will be fairly simple to prove that you took advantage of an old man on his deathbed. Especially since Findlay happened to mention that my father was prone to moments of confusion before he passed.”

  Viola’s stomach began to churn. “But . . .” She shook her head. “Most of the funds your father left me have been spent. I have little to give you.”

  His lips curled, deforming his features with anger. “That is not the point, Viola. It is no longer about the amount of money I hope to get out of this. It is about watching you suffer the same kind of loss you have forced me to endure.”

  A bleak chill swept over her, blanketing her in despair.

  “If I win,” he continued in the calmest voice he’d used until now, “you shall have to return the funds my father left you to the best of your abilities. Even if that means parting with your precious hospital.” He smiled the sort of smile that declared his hate for her. “I’m sure the building itself will fetch a pretty penny when I sell it. So prepare yourself, Viola, because I have every intention of taking what’s rightful
ly mine.”

  Chapter 5

  Crossing the street, Henry clutched his most recent purchase under his arm and tipped his hat in greeting while passing another gentleman on the pavement. He felt much improved today and had therefore decided to go for a walk. Hell, he could use the exercise after spending the last several days in bed. When his valet had offered to spoon-feed him this morning, Henry had finally had enough. He would not be treated like an invalid when all he’d sustained was a shot to the shoulder.

  Quickening his steps, he appreciated the exertion, the strain the brisk walk put on his body and the way it pushed his muscles and tendons to perform. Up ahead, a woman turned the corner and began coming toward him with what appeared to be a massive dog by her side.

  Henry smiled. He’d know that particular silhouette anywhere. It was without a doubt Viola, strolling along with a hound the size of a small pony.

  Approaching her, he noticed the exact moment when she recognized his identity. Because she actually stumbled slightly and drew to a halt. Intent on discouraging her from pretending she hadn’t seen him, from crossing the street as if meaning to call on one of the houses opposite, or attempting some other ridiculous ploy to avoid his company, he called out her name like a common street vendor selling his wares.

  “Viola!”

  She stared at him and looked about, as if trying to decide whether she was willing to draw attention by admitting that she was the woman he’d called to.

  He grinned, enjoying her discomfort and her silly way of thinking because the only other person in the street besides them was the man he’d greeted earlier. Henry obviously wasn’t calling to him.

  “Good afternoon,” Henry said when he was finally within speaking distance. He glanced at the dog, who was panting so much that drool was dripping from each side of his oversized mouth. “Fine day for a walk.”