Page 29 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“I am not sulking.” Rowan drained his tumbler once more and held it out for Tobias to refill. When his friend’s brow rose in question, Rowan shook his glass a bit. “Be a dear and see to my thirst.”

Tobias obliged and moved to the billiards table. “A game perhaps?”

Rowan’s eye twitched, and he rubbed at it, attempting to keep his mind straight. This was exactly what he wanted from his friend—his loyalty and time. “It appears you are already entangled in a game,” Rowan mused.

Tobias turned sharply to face his friend. His shoulders tensed. “If you have taken issue with something, come out and say it, Ro.”

Rowan flinched when he saw the look of hurt cross Tobias’ face.

“Fine, remain silent if that suits you; however, if something interests you, I would advise you do something about it…sooner rather than later.”

Every inch of Rowan went on alert. “What in the bloody hell does that mean?”

When Tobias only shrugged and turned to collect his cue for a match, Rowan followed him. The earl knew something he wasn’t telling Rowan, and his decision to remain at Hadlow—even after Rowan had insulted him—meant the man wanted to tell him more.

“It is not my place to speak on the matter.” Or perhaps he did not.

Rowan stared at Tobias’ back as he racked the balls, and the opportunity to slip back into their comfortable companionship waned. “Not your place to speak on the matter? Do not talk in riddles, Tobias.”

“If there is something you wish to know, I suggest you ask your wife.” The earl spun around, holding out the cue to Rowan. “Until that comes to pass, let us enjoy a friendly game, shall we?”

Rowan shouldn’t have to ask Marce anything. Tobias should have enough integrity to come out and say it; admit that he enjoyed Marce’s company far more than Rowan’s. His friend was well aware of the bargain between Rowan and Marce. While they posed as a wedded couple at Hadlow, neither had any designs on the other’s time.

So, why did it have Rowan seeing red to think of Tobias and Marce enjoying time together without him?

Running his hand through his hair, Rowan settled his cue and took aim at the twenty-one colored balls aligned in the precise fashion of snooker, but the hues blurred and swam before him until he could not decipher green from blue and red from orange. It was of no use. He pushed away from the table and tossed his stick at Tobias.

“Perhaps it is best I speak with Marce.” Rowan strode to the door, pulling it open with enough force that it slammed against the wall behind it. The windowpanes rattled in their metal frames, and a maid shrieked and disappeared down the corridor toward the kitchens.

“Ro, wait!”

But Tobias’ call faded as Rowan stormed from the room and started up the grand staircase. The sooner he knew for certain, the sooner things could go back to normal. Whatever this new normal was, it would not include his best friend finding companionship with Marce Davenport.

The woman was the proprietress of Craven House…a bloody brothel. A house of ill repute. A place where men sought to slake their lust with willing, highly paid consorts. Certainly, Tobias was not ignorant of this fact.

Servants leapt from his path as he stomped down the corridor, but he did not continue past Marce’s room as he did on most occasions. Instead, he halted before it.

Chapter 13

Marce stared into the looking glass long after she’d dismissed her maid. Peculiar, but she wasn’t one to spend her precious time taking in her appearance. That had always been Samantha’s crutch: vanity. Her younger sister had spent so many hours perfecting the turn of a coy smile or arranging her auburn hair in just the right fashion that Marce had feared the woman would fall in love with a man as haughty as herself. Blessedly, that had not come to pass, and Elijah, Lord Ridgefeld, was the perfect lord for Sam. He was solid, steadfast, and thought through every action and decision before moving forward. He countered Sam’s tendency for impulsiveness far better than even Jude, her twin, could.

And Jude—Marce’s heart swelled at the thought of her quiet, pensive sister—had found Simon. Their love and devotion had been apparent from the moment they entered the same room. It filled Marce with pride to see the way Jude had taken Simon’s younger sister, Lady Theo, under her wing. She would be a fine mother when the time arrived.

There was no doubt Marce was thrilled by the happiness her sisters had found, yet it did not stop the spark of jealousy from slamming into her every once in a while when she allowed her guard to slip and her mind to wander—despite her best efforts to control it.

Resentment was never a rewarding way to spend one’s emotional energy.

Marce was overjoyed for her siblings, and she took great pride in knowing she’d raised them all as best she could.

Even Payton had settled into her post as a governess for Lord Ashford, a widowed baron in good standing among the ton. The man had sought out Marce to fill the position of tutor and caregiver for his two young children. Word had spread among the Londoners that Craven House was no longer what it once was. She—and her sisters—helped many women in need find homes and positions of employment, or make the journey back to their families. It just so happened that Payton had intercepted the missive from Ashford stating his need for a governess and the requirements for the position. The girl had begged to be granted permission to apply for the job, and Marce could find no reasonable objection to deny her. Perhaps caring for two children would keep Payton from the gambling tables…at least for the time being.

Yes, her siblings were a varied lot. Sam had once been suspected of being a mistress. Jude, a thief. And Payton was always drawn by the allure of a rousing card game. It was beyond comprehension that Garrett, their brother, seemed the least scandalous of the bunch.

Marce smiled at her reflection, noting the facial similarities between her and her siblings. Not many people saw what Marce did—her heart-shaped face matching that of Sam’s and Jude’s; her hair color and eyes matching Garrett’s; and her long, curling hair, though a different color, matching Payton’s. Beyond the minute similarities in physical appearance, they all possessed sharp minds, which could only be attributed to their mother.

Marce had a right to feel a certain measure of pride in everything her sisters had accomplished over the last year. That she had yet to find her own happiness was neither here nor there. If there was one thing Sasha had taught her eldest daughter, it was that things were rarely about her. Life was unpredictable and could never be trusted to justly provide for those who thought themselves deserving. Perhaps her due was exactly what she’d garnered in the last two years: happiness for her siblings.

Deserving.