Page 48 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Rowan glanced at the front window of the townhouse. The drapes were pulled closed, but a sliver of light shone through the gap between the hanging pieces of fabric. Closing his eyes, he pictured the layout of the room—two long lounges, several chairs and tables, an open hearth with a roaring fire, and his father positioned in the middle, surrounded by unfamiliar children. The woman he now knew to be Sasha, pressed close to his side as he read from a book to the gathering of kids. His father hadn’t been alone, despite his misdeeds and the betrayal of his family. And Rowan had done everything in his power to make certain his mother fared better. Yet, he was ever alone. Those around him seemed happier with others—his mother with Miss Pearl, and Tobias with Marce.

A shudder went through him as he pushed the memories aside and opened his eyes to once again stare at Craven House.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to possess the property. He never expected to again set foot inside the place that did nothing but bring back the hurt and betrayal his father’s actions had caused.

Eight years ago, he’d come here with clear intent: to strip everything from the family who’d stolen from his.

Now, Rowan had no plan. He hadn’t any notion what to say or what he meant to accomplish with this visit to Craven House. Certainly, he was not here to propose renewing their ruse, yet neither did he see his other option as favorable. His mother learning of his deception was unacceptable and would only be cruel to her. The mere shock of it all would likely further diminish her health. Rowan would not be responsible for his mother’s decline.

She’d fallen further and further into the clutches of her illness because of his father.

While his sire had needed to go outside their home to find happiness, the duchess had withered without him—and he either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

“Must I throw you from the coach by your trousers?” Tobias prodded, reclining on his seat. “I can say that a week ago, I would have been opposed to such a thing, but today, I would consider it an honor to push you toward your fate, Ro.”

Tobias intertwined his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and chuckled.

“My fate, huh?” Rowan hadn’t ever pondered such a thing as fate or how Marce—or his long-deceased father—played any role in his future. Certainly, he’d spent countless hours with his solicitor discussing future business ventures, and many days with physicians regarding his mother’s health, but his own future had always seemed far less important. “And what, may I ask, do you know about fate?”

“Just that it is a woman and she has a long memory…”

Rowan rapped on the ceiling of the coach, and his driver, Charles, pulled the door wide. When he made to set down the steps, Rowan called him off and leapt from the conveyance.

Straightening his coat and smoothing the wrinkles from his trousers, Rowan rounded on the coach to see Tobias framed in the open door.

“Fate may be a woman with a long memory, but is it not also my choice?” At that moment, he was uncertain what his future held—or even what the coming hour had in store. He would not allow his doubts to cast a shadow over his confidence. Defeat started inside oneself, and Rowan would not let the feeling take root and corrode him.

Instead, he moved toward the door to Craven House with Tobias’s mutterings following him on the afternoon breeze, “Fool enough not to know when loss is almost upon you.”

Rowan hadn’t lost anything.

“I will present myself, Charles,” he called to his driver. He couldn’t afford for Marce’s servants to turn him away, and it would be simpler for them to bar his entrance if his driver announced his arrival.

Walking up the drive, Rowan concentrated on his even, slow steps as if someone were watching his every move, attempting to spot his weakness. He made certain that his shoulders were not laced with tension and ensured his footfalls were solid as he once again marveled at how normal Marce’s home appeared, especially in the light of day. Would anyone guess the debauchery that commenced within once the sun set? Rowan would be hard-pressed to believe that these walls contained one of London’s most famed brothels if he didn’t know it already.

Craven House clung to the outskirts of a respectable neighborhood, on the fringes of being socially acceptable; however, its exclusivity was so high that Rowan had yet to meet a lord who’d frequented the establishment in years. No one spoke of what went on inside the brothel, and never had he come across even so much as a hint of a bet regarding the bawdy house in White’s betting book.

What was required for a lord to sample the delights only available within the house’s walls? What had Madame Sasha offered his father that had stolen him from his family and led him to purchase the establishment, giving control of it to his mistress?

If it were a mere ounce of the passion he’d sensed hidden under the surface of his and Marce’s kiss, then perhaps it was worth something grand, indeed. Had he found the connection with another person so lacking in Rowan’s life? What he’d searched so many years to find had been given to Julian, and all he’d needed was to overlook neglecting his family.

Startled, Rowan realized he stood on the stoop, his fist held high to knock.

With a deep breath, he rapped his fist on the door.

The portal was quickly answered; however, the young woman who greeted him was not at all what he’d expected. Before him stood a tall, thin girl of no more than sixteen or seventeen, her mahogany hair swept up into a loose coil atop her head. Her gown was reserved, but not that of a servant.

When the girl openly smiled at him as he searched his mind for the correct words, Rowan wished he’d brought Tobias to the door with him. He hadn’t wanted his friend to witness his failure at Craven House, but neither had he expected to be utterly at a loss for words.

“May I help you, my lord?” she asked, her brow rising in question as she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. When she continued to stare, Rowan realized it wasn’t because of any need to protect her person but simply as a common stance—almost verging on defiance. “May—I—help—you?”

Rowan cleared his throat and gave the woman his most charming smile. She looked oddly familiar, as if they’d seen one another at some point. “I am here to call on Lady Marce Davenport.”

It was the first time he’d spoken her true name to anyone besides Tobias, and it rolled off his tongue far easier than he’d expected.

“May I inform her of who is calling?” Her intense gaze traveled from his face, down his chest, and lower, before returning to meet his stare.

“The Duke of Harwich.” No recognition crossed the woman’s face at his name. Could she be completely unaware that she stood on the threshold of his property? He’d never guessed that Marce had kept their arrangement from her family—at least in her own household. However, the woman before him clearly had no clue whom he was. “Is she in residence?”