The duke’s face reddened. “No, you fool! That cat!”
Jennings hesitated, then took a step toward Clara.
Anger flushed through Clara like a hot wave. She held up a hand toward Jennings. “Stop!” As the butler did so, Clara turned on the duke. “You, sirrah, are a guest in this house. You will not order my servants about as if they were your own. You will not tell me how to live in my own home or whether I may keep my beloved kitten in my skirt. I am not yet your wife, and you will not yet treat me as if I am.” She turned and motioned to Radcliff, who scrambled forward. She passed the kitten gently to her maid, whispering, “She’s terrified. Take her to the garden and be kind to her until she calms down.”
“Yes, my lady.” Radcliff curled the kitten against her body and fled.
Clara looked at Jennings. “Thank you, Jennings. You may wait in the hall. I’m quite sure the duke will be leaving shortly.”
Jennings backed away, and Clara was sure she saw a gleam in his eyes, even though Jennings would never be so bold in front of guests.
Clara turned back to Wykeham, who still quivered with rage. “You are beyond the pale—”
She pushed her shoulders back. “You forget yourself, sir. And apparently you are already assuming qualities about me I do not possess. I have acquiesced to be your wife, in part because of my father’s wishes and health, and because you said you valued my feistiness, my ability to stand up to you in conversation. You will need to also understand that feistiness has two sides to it. If you think I will yield to everything you command just because the law says I must, then you have sorely underestimated my will. Your mother may have made your life unpleasant, but know now I have the capacity to make it a living hell, in the same way you can mine. The road to hell, apparently, has two lanes.”
The Duke of Wykeham glowered, but his shaking had stopped. One hand clutched his cane so tightly his knuckles whitened. The two of them stared at each other for quite a while, neither moving. Finally, the duke tapped his cane twice on the floor. When he spoke, his tenor voice held a low growl. “In truth, Lady Clara, you are exactly who I thought you were. I did not expect this side of you to put in an appearance before the wedding, but I was quite convinced it was there. I wanted a woman unlike the rest of the ladies of theton,and you repeatedly demonstrate you are such a woman.”
Clara relented, well aware the scene she had just provoked could have—should have—ended the courtship. “An interesting assessment, Your Grace.”
“But apt, as I usually am.”
Good God, she despised this man.“Of course.”
He stepped away from the chair. “And you are also correct. I should take my leave. I have a busy evening ahead, as I am sure you do.” He stepped toward the door, pausing as Jennings once again appeared in the doorway, this time holding the duke’s top hat. The duke faced her, bowed, then snagged the hat from Jennings and strode into the hallway.
Clara sank down on the settee, leaning back and closing her eyes. Once the anger had lifted, she was left only with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.
“That was an interesting display of tempers.”
Clara opened her eyes, peering at her father, who stepped into the room and closed the door. “I thought sure you had fouled it for all of us.”
“So did I.”
Jerome Durham eased down on the settee next to her, stretching out his leg. Clara felt a shot of agony at how gray his face was. “I hope I did not cause you too much distress.”
Durham shook his head. “As I listened, I think you trapped him with a bit of information he did not realize you had. Information that could become a weapon were he to set you aside.”
Clara straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me about his debts.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Wednesday, 24 August 1825
Madame Adrienne Chenevert’s modiste shop
Half-past ten in the morning
“Peculiar.”
“How so?” Michael shut the door to the modiste’s shop, which appeared oddly abandoned.
Robert peered through a curtained door at the back. “No one in there either.”
Michael pulled the note from his coat pocket. “It does say half-past ten. We’re a bit late.”
His brother looked around at the empty salon that fronted the shop. “But not by that much. And the nobility in this city is not exactly known for its punctuality.”
