The Courtesan Duchess (16 page)

“There was never anything other than flirtation with Lord Wyndham, which is more than I can say for
you,
Colton. How many women have you bedded since we recited our marriage vows?”

“That is immaterial,” he snapped. “I don’t run the risk of carrying a bastard.” He gestured to her abdomen.

“This child is
not
a bastard, you dolt.” Oh, he made her furious. Her blood almost boiled inside her skin. She sat up straighter. “You will acknowledge it, and then you will leave London. Go back to Venice. Or go to St. Petersburg. All I need is for this child to carry your name.”

“That will never happen. I know that babe belongs to another man. Any child of yours will not carry my name.”

She saw he really believed it. There would be no telling him otherwise. She was furious, yes, but also had the sudden urge to cry. With her emotions rioting, she wished to be alone. To think over how to resolve the mess she’d made. “Get out, Colton.”

“If you think tears will sway me, madam, you are sorely mistaken.”

Her fingers came up to her face, feeling wetness on her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she’d started crying. She took a long, shaky breath. Her morning meal threatened to make another appearance, and the last thing she wanted was to humiliate herself in front of her husband again.

She stood up. He remained seated, the arrogant arse, merely quirking a brow at her. “Good day, sir.” Stepping around his chair, she moved toward the door.

In a flash, he jumped up and grabbed her arm, stopping her. “You cannot dismiss me, duchess,” he gritted out, his breath hot against her ear. “And you cannot get rid of me in order to carry on with your pack of lovers here in Town.” She stiffened and tried to pull away but his grip was strong. “Is it Winchester’s? Are you having Simon’s baby?”

Her free hand flew up and, before she could prevent it, cracked across Nick’s face. She froze, shocked at what she’d done, as the sound, harsh and ugly, echoed throughout the room. He slowly turned his head back to look at her. His gray eyes glittered with hatred, rage, and—much to her surprise—desire.

He dragged her up against the hard planes of his body, her breasts crushed to his chest. Her pulse picked up, but shamefully, not out of anger. She was stunned. How could she still feel anything for this man after the hurtful things he’d said?

Then his free hand slid up the side of her rib cage to rest beneath her breast, his thumb tracing the plump underside lazily. She closed her eyes against the swift and sharp rush of need that swept through her. Her breath came fast and harsh, and it was all she could do to not push her breast into his palm. They were tender, the pregnancy making them more sensitive, and they ached, desperate for his touch.

“You were so willing to play the whore for a duke,” he murmured, his thumb gliding higher to tease her nipple through her layers of clothing. “Would you be so willing to play one for a husband, I wonder?”

Gasping, she jerked away from him—and this time he let her go. “You bastard,” she hissed before stomping out of the room.

Nick left his wife’s town house and strode to his carriage, more shaken than he wanted to admit.

Damn her. No matter what she’d done, his body still wanted her. Nay,
craved
her. She’d stared daggers at him, furious and indignant, while all he could think about was pulling her down to the carpet and thrusting his cock into her sweet slickness, fucking her. Hard.

After what she’d done, he should hate her. And he
did
hate her. But the instant he’d grabbed her and felt the heavy weight of her breasts on his chest, his cock hardened to the point of pain. Bloody hell, what a mess.

“Home, Fitz,” he snapped before climbing inside his carriage. He settled against the squabs and watched the familiar streets of Mayfair out the window. Eight years he’d managed to stay away, lived in places where no one knew or cared about his reputation or the scandal. Eight blissful years of near anonymity, free from his past. Now he was back. Forced to return home by his lying, cheating wife.

His chest bursting with rage, it was all he could do to sit still as the vehicle carried him home.

She was every bit as beautiful as a blonde—perhaps more so. The golden color of her hair—rather than the bold, brassy red locks from Venice—made her seem delicate and ethereal. Though she’d been anything but delicate when he insisted he was not the father of her child. No, then she’d been a warrior queen with regal posture and snapping blue eyes, adamant the child was his.

Not that he believed her.

They turned the corner and the Seaton town house came into view. A stand-alone monstrosity made of gray stone and black ironwork, it was forbidding and cold—exactly what you’d expect from the Seaton legacy. His ancestors, including his own parents, were not exactly known for being warm, kind-hearted people.

At least his parents were dead. When he returned to London, it had been a relief to discover that his mother would not be here to torment him. The last time he’d seen her, after Harry’s funeral, she’d informed him he was no longer her son.

She hadn’t even attended Nick’s wedding, as brief and forgettable as it had been. Not that one could much blame her—
he
hadn’t wanted to attend his wedding, either. But his father had seen to that. Apparently, nothing worked like threats and blackmail to force your son to fall in line.

Two weeks after Harry’s funeral, the duke had roused Nick out of a drunken stupor to marry Julia. When he’d refused, the old bastard cleverly threatened to reveal the true circumstances behind Harry’s death. Nick felt guiltily enough over what happened. He knew Harry’s memory did not deserve to be dishonored in such a way, for the world to find out he’d hung himself in the study at Seaton Hall. So Nick had gone through with the ceremony, only to leave that very night, vowing never to return or consummate his marriage.

Vows now broken because of his wife’s perfidy.

Nick heaved a sigh and buried the old pain as the carriage rolled to a stop. Once on the ground, he turned to Fitz. “I want her town house watched. I want to know who goes in and when they come out.”

Fitz nodded. “Round the clock?”

“Yes, definitely round the clock.” If she received late-night visitors, he most assuredly wanted to know. “I want regular reports. Go find someone to start now. Take the carriage.”

Fitz nodded again, and Nick headed for the house. He stomped up the steps, where the door promptly opened. Marlowe, the butler, appeared.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace. I trust your appointment went well?” Marlowe relieved Nick of his hat and greatcoat.

“Fine,” Nick muttered, and started for his study. He needed a drink.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor,” Marlowe called after him.

Nick froze. “Who?”

“Lord Winchester awaits in the library. Would Your Grace care to see him now? He was quite insistent on waiting until you returned.”

Instead of answering, Nick stalked to the library door, threw it open, and discovered Winchester lounging in a chair.

Winchester glanced up, a glass of claret cradled in his palm.

“Comfortable?” Nick sneered. “Somehow I do not remember offering you a drink.” He braced his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. Other than his wife, Winchester was the last person he wanted to see right now. “Or allowing you inside, for that matter.”

“Marlowe has better manners than you ever did,” Winchester remarked. “So are you planning to hit me again, or are you ready to talk like a sane, rational person?”

Nick took a step closer. “I couldn’t say. Why don’t you stand up and we shall find out.”

Winchester sighed. “I think I’ll stay seated, then.”

Nick strode to the sideboard lined with decanters. He picked up a crystal glass and poured some of his father’s best brandy. A cur, his father, but a fine judge of spirits nonetheless.

Nick took a seat across from Winchester and glared at his former friend. He could almost picture him with Julia, their blond heads close together as they whispered and kissed. Plotted. A hot jealous rage bubbled in his gut. He threw back a good portion of his brandy, relieved when the fire from the liquor burned his insides instead.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You are not prepared to make this easy, are you?”

“Why should I? You’re damned fortunate I haven’t yet demanded your seconds.”

“
My
seconds?” Winchester exploded. “You . . . idiot. I should demand
your
seconds for the shameful way you’ve treated Julia.”

“Careful,” Nick warned in a deadly soft voice. “I wouldn’t threaten me, were I you. And in the future, do not address my wife using her Christian name.”

Winchester shook his head at the ceiling, exasperated. “You fool. You bloody conceited, arrogant fool. You are going to owe me quite a large apology when this is over.”

Nick made a derisive sound, and Winchester’s eyes narrowed. “I see you don’t believe me. God, I don’t know why I care. If it weren’t for your wife . . .”

“Yes? By all means, finish your sentence. I do so want to hear of your feelings for my wife,” Nick taunted. “Have you fucked her, Winchester?”

Winchester glared at him with such indignant anger that Nick knew the answer. His friend hadn’t bedded Julia. Relief cascaded through him briefly, until he remembered she’d bedded
someone
other than him.

“You know I have not. I would not dishonor you in such a fashion, and Julia has been like a sister to me. And if you do not hold your tongue and listen to reason, Colton, I shall be forced to knock your teeth back in your throat.”

Nick opened his mouth to dare Winchester to try, but the other man held up a hand. “No, for God’s sake, man, do not dare me to do it. What I have to say is too important. Just cease speaking until I finish.”

At Nick’s terse nod, Winchester began. “I’ve known your wife since she was seven.” Nick gave a sound of impatience, and Winchester snapped, “I know this is not new information, but let me get it all out.

“Though I am almost nine years older, your wife is the sister I never had. Every holiday, I came home from school and there she was, running around with the villagers as if she wasn’t the daughter of a marquess. Their title can be traced back to Charles II, but Julia wasn’t snobbish or judgmental. Everyone liked her. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known, man or woman.”

Nick shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear of his wife’s virtues just now—or ever, really—but he didn’t interrupt as Winchester continued.

“Now what you are unaware of is that her father had creditors banging down the door. We didn’t find out until it was too late, of course, but he had quite a gambling problem. She had no dowry. And because your father and the marquess were friends, the duke paid a good deal of money for Julia. Money that was soon gone a few years later.”

Winchester took a sip of claret. “This is important because of what happened when you left. Julia’s father died a year after your wedding. Upon his death, she discovered everything would need to be sold off in order to pay his gaming debts. She received no inheritance from him whatsoever.”

Nick cursed softly, and Winchester nodded. “Indeed. Julia had a little money of her own, left to her when her mother died many years ago, but it was not much. She did, however, receive a stipend from the Colton estate, arranged by her father at the time of the wedding. It was little more than pin money, really. Your mother did not even want Julia to have that, but could not prevent it. She did prevent Julia from living in any of the ducal properties, however. So Julia was forced to be careful and frugal, and along with whatever money her aunt had, the two of them rented their small town house in Mayfair. Remember your second cousin, Lord Templeton?”

Nick shrugged. “Barely.”

“A few years after your father died, Templeton produced documents asserting his position as guardian to the Colton estate in your absentia. Your mother could have stopped him, but she didn’t, and Templeton continued to wrest more and more control—and money—away for himself.

“He’s been whittling down Julia’s stipend for the last three years. When she realized her funds were desperately low, your wife paid a visit to your mother.”

Nick winced, thinking as he swirled the brandy in his glass. Julia must have been quite desperate to see the dowager duchess. No doubt his mother would refuse help to anyone having anything to do with her least favorite son. So why hadn’t Julia written to him? Winchester had known where to find him over the years. His wife could have asked for help, and he . . . might have interceded on her behalf.

Winchester said, “One can imagine how that conversation went over. Julia became desperate when your mother refused to help her. And then Templeton came to see her one more time, informing her of a further reduction in her stipend. This made her quite frantic because they were already financially strapped. When she protested, your cousin told her how she could supplement her stipend—by performing sexual favors for him. And if you dare suggest she agreed to it, I will strangle you with my bare hands.”

Nick said nothing. Several theories swirled in his head but none were suitable for sharing with Winchester. The man would defend the duchess with his dying breath, apparently.

“You’ve left her alone for eight bloody years, Colton. She’s been preyed upon, cheated, and left nearly destitute because of your family. You are the one who stood before God and promised to care and provide for her—and you’ve done neither. The scheme to seduce you, while unwise, was her last effort to gain a bit of control for herself. She believed if she could give birth to your child, the Colton heir, your mother would provide more financial support for her.”

Nick swallowed more brandy, absorbing Winchester’s words. Yes, he had promised to love and honor his wife, but it had been a vow made unwillingly. He’d never wanted to be married. But perhaps leaving her to fend for herself for eight years had been rather . . . uncharitable of him.

Still, she had no right to trick him. And the idea she’d been a virgin that first time was ludicrous. She’d ridden him in a
chair,
for God’s sake. Ladies of quality were raised to undertake marital relations only while in bed, in the dark of night, under the covers with only the smallest amount of contact. He’d spilled his seed in her
mouth
. No gently bred lady would allow such a thing. No, he and Julia both knew the truth. Time would prove him right.

Winchester was watching him carefully, so Nick asked, “Are you finished?”

Winchester sighed and nodded.

“You might believe that tale, but I do not. I bedded her, and I’m telling you she was no virgin. Experienced in ways no untried lady could ever claim to be.”

Winchester began to protest and Nick held up a hand. “No, I listened to you, so now you listen to me. While the story of financial woe certainly rings true—which I will rectify at my first opportunity—I believe she found herself with child, coerced you into bringing her to Venice, and seduced me to legitimize her bastard.”

“That is
preposterous!
” Winchester bellowed, claret sloshing in his glass as he flew to his feet. “She was experienced because she’d hired a courtesan to give her advice. Jesus, Colton!” He began pacing. “Must you think the worst of everyone? I know your mother ignored you and your father was an arse, but the rest of the world is not
all
like that. Julia would never trick you in such a manner. Not in a hundred years. She has too much pride.”

Nick rose as well. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out when the child is born, will we not? I’ve done the counting. If the baby is mine, it shall be born in September.”

“And Julia is supposed to wait seven months for you to acknowledge the child she carries? God, you are stubborn. Do you know what the tabbies and printmakers will do to her reputation in that amount of time? I know you are angry, but to allow them to rip her apart is extraordinarily cruel—even for you. And what of your child’s reputation? Think of someone other than yourself for a change, Colton.”

Nick had not considered the gossip, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Winchester. A small amount of guilt nagged at him. Then he came up with a solution that solved both the problem of Julia’s reputation as well as whoever was cuckolding him. “Fine. I’ll send her away from Town, to Seaton Hall.”

Winchester chuckled. “If you think she’ll agree to that, you’re cracked.”

“She won’t have a choice.”

“Nick, you should know—” Winchester started, then stopped. He shook his head and looked away.