The Duchess War
Page 69
Lucky her.
He had to laugh at what had happened. If he didn’t laugh, he would cry. She couldn’t have understood it until just that moment—because at that moment, she knew that she had to laugh, too, or burst into tears on his behalf. He looked at her with such urgency that she could not bear to force the issue.
“Yes,” she said quietly, entwining her fingers with his. “I do see that, now. It is funny.”
THOSE FIRST DAYS IN PARIS seemed like jewels to Robert. As if he’d lived all his life behind clouds and the sun had come out in blinding force.
They woke. They walked. They visited museums and places of interest; they found their way back to their rooms in the afternoon and made love. Boxes at the opera went unused in favor of more time in bed.
“You said you thought of me on my knees,” she said one afternoon. “How on earth would that work?”
So he’d explained. And then she’d insisted on trying it—and after a little instruction, trying had turned into his c**k hard in her mouth, his hands on her shoulders. He’ gasped as she took his length until he spilled. After that, it had only seemed fair to return the favor. It had taken him a little longer to grasp the gist of it, but it was worth the effort.
If you’re good in bed, I might fall in love with you.
He was determined to become good, and he had years of fantasies to explore.
Sometimes, the things they imagined proved anatomically impossible, and they ended up collapsed in a laughing heap on the floor. Sometimes—like the time he bent her over the desk—it was very, very good.
On their fourth night in Paris, he put rubies around her neck—just rubies, after he’d taken everything else off—and had his way with her.
Afterward, she fingered the gems around her neck. “Are these supposed to be a bribe?” she asked. “You should realize by now that you don’t have to offer me anything to get me in your bed.”
“I would realize that,” he said cheerfully, “but luckily for you, lust makes me stupid. You get rubies.”
She had only smiled.
But she’d been right. They had been a bribe. Not for her favors; he didn’t like the idea of paying for sex as a married man any more than he had as a bachelor. But by this point, he wanted her to love him. He wanted it with a deep yearning that he couldn’t have explained. He almost told her himself that night, that he loved her. But they had nearly a week left. There was time for love to come. No need to rush at all.
He fell asleep with his arm around her and woke the next morning in the same position. The rubies at her throat winked at him in the early light, a blood-red portent of things to come.
He stared at them and shook his head to clear it of such a strange, unsettling thought.
And that’s when someone pounded on the door.
MINNIE WOKE TO A COLD DRAFT and the memory of a ruckus. She opened her eyes; their bedchamber was empty. She blinked and looked around. It was only then that she heard the murmur of voices in the main salon. She got up, found a robe, and made her way to the door between the rooms.
There was a garçon standing there. He handed Robert, who was also encased in a dressing gown, a plain brown envelope. Robert slipped him a coin. “Wait outside in case there’s a need for an immediate reply.”
He shut the door.
“A telegram?” Minnie asked. “I hope it’s not bad news.” The rubies he’d put on her last night seemed heavy on her throat, out of place while she was garbed in nothing but an embroidered outer covering.
Robert slid his index finger under the flap to break the seal. “I’m going to guess it’s from Carter, my business manager. It can wait until after—” He spoke carelessly, flipped open the envelope, and glanced at the paper inside.
Minnie watched all the color wash from his face. He stared at the message, his lips moving softly. Finally he looked up.
“It’s from Sebastian.”
“Mr. Malheur? Your cousin, the scientist?”
His breath hissed in, snake-like. “That very man.”
“Robert, what is it?”
He was still staring at the page. His face seemed hewn from marble—hard and white. “Tell Rogers to pack my things.” He spoke in cold, clipped tones. “He can have them on the next train.” He pulled a watch from his pocket, frowned at it, and then opened the door to the waiting garçon. “Send a reply: ‘I’ll be there immediately.’” He tossed another coin to the man, who disappeared.
Robert still hadn’t met Minnie’s eyes, but he turned around. “I must be on the nine-thirty express. That gives me almost an hour. I haven’t time to—”
“What’s wrong?”
She had to follow after him into the dressing room, trotting to keep up with his long strides.
The snarl on his lips softened momentarily as he looked down at her. “You stay,” he said more gently. “You’ve shopping to do, and there’s no need—”
She put her hand on his chest. “No need but the fact that I gave you my vows just days ago. Through better or worse, Robert. Do you think you’ll be running off on me already, leaving me here to guess what has happened? If you’re leaving, I’m coming.”
She had thought he might argue, but he simply shook his head and rang for his valet.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“It turns out they’ve charged a suspect with criminal sedition for distribution of my handbills,” Robert said. “Found—ha. Arrested. Indicted.”
“What? They’ve charged you in your absence?”
“No. Not me.” His lips curled even more. “The man they have is innocent, but that won’t stop them from pursuing the matter. Perhaps they think to embarrass me, without thinking that they’re destroying the life of a man who is, and always has been, my superior.”
“Who? Who is it?”
His face contorted, and his hands gripped hers. “Oliver Marshall,” he said. “My brother.”
Chapter Twenty-three
ON THE EXPRESS TRAIN FROM PARIS TO BOULOUGNE, Robert booked an entire first-class compartment. Not for luxury; he would hardly have noticed at this point. It was simple self-preservation. If he had to make polite conversation about his journey, he would never survive. Instead, he stared at the passing countryside as the sun climbed in the sky. The hours passed.
He didn’t sit in any of the comfortable seats, didn’t partake of any of the charming fruit-and-cream-laden pastries that Minnie must have ordered for him. He tried a biscuit at her urging, but it tasted like ash in his mouth, and he laid it aside after one bite. He stood near the front of the compartment, one hand on the wall, the other holding a cigarillo out the open window.
He had to laugh at what had happened. If he didn’t laugh, he would cry. She couldn’t have understood it until just that moment—because at that moment, she knew that she had to laugh, too, or burst into tears on his behalf. He looked at her with such urgency that she could not bear to force the issue.
“Yes,” she said quietly, entwining her fingers with his. “I do see that, now. It is funny.”
THOSE FIRST DAYS IN PARIS seemed like jewels to Robert. As if he’d lived all his life behind clouds and the sun had come out in blinding force.
They woke. They walked. They visited museums and places of interest; they found their way back to their rooms in the afternoon and made love. Boxes at the opera went unused in favor of more time in bed.
“You said you thought of me on my knees,” she said one afternoon. “How on earth would that work?”
So he’d explained. And then she’d insisted on trying it—and after a little instruction, trying had turned into his c**k hard in her mouth, his hands on her shoulders. He’ gasped as she took his length until he spilled. After that, it had only seemed fair to return the favor. It had taken him a little longer to grasp the gist of it, but it was worth the effort.
If you’re good in bed, I might fall in love with you.
He was determined to become good, and he had years of fantasies to explore.
Sometimes, the things they imagined proved anatomically impossible, and they ended up collapsed in a laughing heap on the floor. Sometimes—like the time he bent her over the desk—it was very, very good.
On their fourth night in Paris, he put rubies around her neck—just rubies, after he’d taken everything else off—and had his way with her.
Afterward, she fingered the gems around her neck. “Are these supposed to be a bribe?” she asked. “You should realize by now that you don’t have to offer me anything to get me in your bed.”
“I would realize that,” he said cheerfully, “but luckily for you, lust makes me stupid. You get rubies.”
She had only smiled.
But she’d been right. They had been a bribe. Not for her favors; he didn’t like the idea of paying for sex as a married man any more than he had as a bachelor. But by this point, he wanted her to love him. He wanted it with a deep yearning that he couldn’t have explained. He almost told her himself that night, that he loved her. But they had nearly a week left. There was time for love to come. No need to rush at all.
He fell asleep with his arm around her and woke the next morning in the same position. The rubies at her throat winked at him in the early light, a blood-red portent of things to come.
He stared at them and shook his head to clear it of such a strange, unsettling thought.
And that’s when someone pounded on the door.
MINNIE WOKE TO A COLD DRAFT and the memory of a ruckus. She opened her eyes; their bedchamber was empty. She blinked and looked around. It was only then that she heard the murmur of voices in the main salon. She got up, found a robe, and made her way to the door between the rooms.
There was a garçon standing there. He handed Robert, who was also encased in a dressing gown, a plain brown envelope. Robert slipped him a coin. “Wait outside in case there’s a need for an immediate reply.”
He shut the door.
“A telegram?” Minnie asked. “I hope it’s not bad news.” The rubies he’d put on her last night seemed heavy on her throat, out of place while she was garbed in nothing but an embroidered outer covering.
Robert slid his index finger under the flap to break the seal. “I’m going to guess it’s from Carter, my business manager. It can wait until after—” He spoke carelessly, flipped open the envelope, and glanced at the paper inside.
Minnie watched all the color wash from his face. He stared at the message, his lips moving softly. Finally he looked up.
“It’s from Sebastian.”
“Mr. Malheur? Your cousin, the scientist?”
His breath hissed in, snake-like. “That very man.”
“Robert, what is it?”
He was still staring at the page. His face seemed hewn from marble—hard and white. “Tell Rogers to pack my things.” He spoke in cold, clipped tones. “He can have them on the next train.” He pulled a watch from his pocket, frowned at it, and then opened the door to the waiting garçon. “Send a reply: ‘I’ll be there immediately.’” He tossed another coin to the man, who disappeared.
Robert still hadn’t met Minnie’s eyes, but he turned around. “I must be on the nine-thirty express. That gives me almost an hour. I haven’t time to—”
“What’s wrong?”
She had to follow after him into the dressing room, trotting to keep up with his long strides.
The snarl on his lips softened momentarily as he looked down at her. “You stay,” he said more gently. “You’ve shopping to do, and there’s no need—”
She put her hand on his chest. “No need but the fact that I gave you my vows just days ago. Through better or worse, Robert. Do you think you’ll be running off on me already, leaving me here to guess what has happened? If you’re leaving, I’m coming.”
She had thought he might argue, but he simply shook his head and rang for his valet.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“It turns out they’ve charged a suspect with criminal sedition for distribution of my handbills,” Robert said. “Found—ha. Arrested. Indicted.”
“What? They’ve charged you in your absence?”
“No. Not me.” His lips curled even more. “The man they have is innocent, but that won’t stop them from pursuing the matter. Perhaps they think to embarrass me, without thinking that they’re destroying the life of a man who is, and always has been, my superior.”
“Who? Who is it?”
His face contorted, and his hands gripped hers. “Oliver Marshall,” he said. “My brother.”
Chapter Twenty-three
ON THE EXPRESS TRAIN FROM PARIS TO BOULOUGNE, Robert booked an entire first-class compartment. Not for luxury; he would hardly have noticed at this point. It was simple self-preservation. If he had to make polite conversation about his journey, he would never survive. Instead, he stared at the passing countryside as the sun climbed in the sky. The hours passed.
He didn’t sit in any of the comfortable seats, didn’t partake of any of the charming fruit-and-cream-laden pastries that Minnie must have ordered for him. He tried a biscuit at her urging, but it tasted like ash in his mouth, and he laid it aside after one bite. He stood near the front of the compartment, one hand on the wall, the other holding a cigarillo out the open window.
