The Price of Deception (25 page)

“That won’t be necessary,” Robert assured him. “We
will return to England soon, and I will pursue the matter there
with our family doctor, if necessary.”

“Very well. As I stated, she should sleep through the
night.”

The physician donned his hat, nodded, and left the
residence. Robert watched him depart, and then found Dorcas to
convey his whereabouts.

“I am leaving,” he informed her. “I trust that you
will look after your mistress. Even though the remaining staff has
arrived, I am staying elsewhere. If you need me for some medical
reason on behalf of my wife, you may find me at the Hotel de
Louvre.”

Dorcas merely nodded. Robert, spent from emotion,
left the townhouse and headed back to his hotel room. The moment he
stepped across the threshold, he made a decision. He would not stay
under the same roof as his wife ever again.

* * * *

Jacquelyn woke when the sun filtered through a crack
in the heavy brocade curtains of her suite. When the rays struck
her eyelids, she squinted from the light and moaned in pain from
the pounding in her skull.

It took a few moments for her thoughts to clear. Her
brain felt clouded and fuzzy—her body weak. She turned her head
from the window and rolled over. When she did, a surge of memories
and anger flowed through her mind like pins and needles.

Robert’s face and words pranced before her eyes, as
if he had just spoken the filth to her face.

“I want a divorce.”

The reason behind his words came back with rabid
torment. He loved his former mistress, not her. They had a son
together—a son! The suspicions about the boy in the park months ago
resurrected. Certainly, the documents she discovered in his desk
revealed a pile of deceit.

Jacquelyn sat up. The room spun around like a Ferris
wheel, and she clutched the edge of the bed for support. She
remembered the doctor who had come into her room the night before.
He gave her something to drink; after that everything went black.
No wonder her head pounded. He told her that it would make her feel
better and feel better it did. A few minutes later, she had passed
out upon her pillow until the sun had intruded her dreams only
moments ago.

“Dorcas! Dorcas!”

A moment later, her lady’s maid burst through the
door and ran to her bedside.

“Duchess, are you all right? I’ve been so
worried.”

“Yes—yes, I’m fine,” she sputtered. “Help me out of
bed and draw a bath for me. I have things to do.”

“The doctor thought you should rest.”

“To hell with the doctor.” She looked straight into
Dorcas’ eyes. “Where’s my husband?”

Dorcas glanced away and muttered softly. “Gone, my
lady.”

“Gone where?”

“Elsewhere. He’s not staying here but at a
hotel.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes narrowed as she considered the fact
Robert had crawled away like a coward to hide from her wrath.

“Did he say what hotel?”

“Yes, Hotel de Louvre.”

Jacquelyn took note. Dorcas fetched her slippers and
slip them onto her mistress’s feet. “Here let me help you,” she
offered, as her hand steadied Jacquelyn as she stood. “I’ll draw
the bath for you now.” She sped off and left Jacquelyn to her
thoughts and shaky legs.

Vivid memories of the previous day played before her
eyes like a risqué show on a cabaret stage. She saw Robert on top
of the whore, her breast protruding, her nipple filling his mouth,
and his hand up her inner thigh, fondling her to make her ready.
Suddenly, the thought of whether they had shared the bed in his
chamber flushed her cheeks.

Quickly, she spun around to the adjoining door and
flung it open. The curtains were drawn, and the darkness engulfed
her with an eerie sense of betrayal clawing at her heels as she
reached the window. With a quick thrust, she pushed back the
draperies and twirled around to see what the sun revealed. His bed
lay exposed down to the sheets, with blankets and pillows in
disarray.

“You unfaithful bastard.”

Jacquelyn walked over to the bed sheets and began
ripping them from the mattress. She filled the room with curses as
she envisioned her husband’s betrayal.

Dorcas came running toward her Jacquelyn’s screams.
“Duchess!”

“Burn them.” She angrily pulled the last sheet from
the bed. “Burn them all. I want the sheets, pillowcases, and
blankets burned. If I find them back in this house again, there
will be hell to pay.”

Dorcas looked at the heap of bed linen in the middle
of the floor. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll see that the housekeeper takes care
of it immediately.”

Jacquelyn sauntered back into her chamber after
carrying out her decree of retribution.

“Is my bath ready?”

“Yes, Duchess.”

“Good. I plan on having a leisurely bath. I want
breakfast ready in the dining room, and then I shall be leaving for
a few hours. I have business to attend to. Very important
business.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered sheepishly, afraid to
cross her distraught employer.

Dorcas left, and Jacquelyn sat down in front of her
vanity. She picked up her hairbrush and began pulling it through
the disarrayed blond locks cascading over her shoulders.

She looked at herself in the mirror. “Now it’s time I
paid a visit,” she announced to her reflection. “Time to cause some
hell in the lives of those who have dared to betray me. Hell hath
no fury, Robert, like a woman scorned.”

Jacquelyn laughed.

Chapter Twenty

Philippe left for his office early the next morning.
Upon arrival, he began to write his monthly report to his anonymous
investor. He felt proud to report the procurement of the West
Indies account. Ecstatic over the increase in income, he had begun
to make plans to hire a new crew and captain for a second ship.

He picked up the quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and
started to write his accounting. Roland, his clerk, interpreted him
just as he penned the first line.

“Monsieur Moreau, there is a lady in the outer office
who wishes to speak with you.”

Philippe raised his head. “Who?”

“She says her name is Duchess Jacquelyn
Spencer-Holland.”

The pen between Philippe’s fingers dropped to the
paper below making a blotch of black ink where it fell. He quickly
picked it up and put it back in its holder, and then scrunched up
the ruined sheet and threw it in a nearby waste can.

“Holland?” He attempted to collect his thoughts at
the surprise arrival of the Duke’s wife, speculating about the
reason for her visit.

“You may show her in. After you do, close the door
behind you.”

The clerk nodded his head, and a few moments later
Philippe saw the figure of Duchess Holland. She stood in the
doorway and glared at him. Quickly, he jumped to his feet in awe of
her imposing manner and stark beauty. Her haughty eyes glanced
suspiciously at Philippe from head to toe. He wondered if the
recent reunion between her husband and his wife had brought her to
his office to discuss the matter.

“Duchess, what a surprise to see you here.”

He held out his hand and offered her a seat in front
of his desk. She glanced about the room with an air of superiority.
Jacquelyn looked at the chair as if it was unworthy of her resting
upon. The office, decidedly decorated in his male tastes, did not
offer the supreme comforts that a Duchess such as herself
required.

She wiped her white gloved hand across the bottom of
the chair and then looked at her palm to check for dirt. “Very
well.” Jacquelyn sat down and fixed her gaze upon him.

Not knowing what to do or what to think, Philippe
blurted out a nervous greeting. “And what can I do for you,
Duchess?”

“What can you do for me?” she purred, like a stalking
cat. “One thing you can do for me is to keep your damn wife away
from my husband. That is what you can do for me.”

Philippe observed her facial expression of beauty
turn frightfully dark.

“So you know,” he declared. “Apparently, they have
been seeing one another during my absence.”

“More than that, I’m afraid. I found your whore of a
wife in a compromising position on my divan in my own parlor, for
God’s sake. Her exposed nipple filled my husband’s mouth, while his
hand fondled her between her legs to make her ripe for the
taking.”

An arrogant abhorrence stretched across her face.
“Had it not been for my surprise arrival from England, I’m sure
that Robert would have taken her then and there.” She inhaled a
breath and spat the remaining vitriol. “No doubt he’s already
visited your wife’s cunt and taken the prize many times before I
arrived. I found evidence in his disarrayed bed.”

The Duchess’ crass comment took Philippe by surprise.
Only a hardened sailor would use such language, but her face was
contorted with such disgust over his wife’s immoral behavior, he
understood her anger.

A piece of hair had fallen into one of her eyes, and
she flipped it back with her fingers. “You see,” she said, with
obvious aversion, “my husband is an unfaithful bastard, and your
wife is an unfaithful whore.”

Philippe’s gut tightened as he sat listening to the
description of Suzette’s body bared to his foe. A heavy blanket of
humiliation covered him while he thought of her brazen
unfaithfulness. It was sickening, after everything he had done to
save her reputation and care for her illegitimate son. He pulled
his eyes away from the Duchess, and realized that he had balled his
fists in response to the pain of betrayal cutting deep through his
soul.

“I can see you are surprised, Monsieur Moreau. You
should probably know, too, that your son is not yours, but belongs
to Robert.”

Philippe lifted his eyes. On the verge of tears, he
inhaled a deep breath. “I’ve known all along,” he admitted.
“Suzette was his mistress five years ago. I won her back from your
husband to give her a life of respectability and to save her from
the shame of bearing a child out of wedlock. Robert never knew that
she carried his child, but I assume now he knows the boy belongs to
him.” He paused, hesitant to hear the answer. “Am I correct?”

“Oh, yes, you are quite right. My husband’s dream has
come true; he has a child.”

“And you have no child,” Philippe spoke, remembering
their comment in the park.

“No.”

The room fell silent for a few moments. Each drifted
into their own bitter thoughts. Finally, Philippe spoke in a raspy
voice.

“I was informed last evening of my wife’s comings and
goings while I was away, but now that I know for sure—”

“And what do you intend to do about it?” she abruptly
interrupted.

“I’m not ready to confront her yet.”

“Are you a coward?”

“Coward?”

“Yes, a coward. Your wife is an adulteress. What do
you intend to do about it? Will you divorce her?”

“Duchess, you are pressing me for answers I do not
have,” Philippe protested.

“Well, before you decide what to do, perhaps you
should know that my husband wishes to divorce me. In fact, he’s
asked me to divorce him and to feign other circumstances so that he
might be free of me as his wife. And why do you suppose he craves
to be free of me?” She glared at him. “Certainly, Monsieur, you are
no damn fool.”

“It’s obvious what he means to do. He wants to marry
my wife.”

“Well,” she huffed, in determination. “I’m not
divorcing my husband. I told him that he could rot in Hell for all
I cared, but I would never free him to marry that whore.”

Philippe narrowed his eyes at the term she continued
to hurl at him like dirt. He wanted to protect Suzette’s honor, but
what honor had she left him to defend? Adulteress, yes. Whore?
Perhaps a whore, or she would have been at one time since she made
that choice years ago in order to survive.

“I cannot tell you what I will do. Perhaps she will
come to her senses for the sake of our daughter, Angelique.”

“You have a daughter?” she pressed, leaning
forward.

“Suzette gave birth to our first child nearly four
months ago. We named her Angelique,” Philippe replied proudly.

“A baby girl. How sweet. Well, it seems to me that we
are, Monsieur, of the same mind. Neither of us will allow our
unfaithful spouses the satisfaction of leaving us in order to
marry.”

Philippe shook his head at her suggestion. It made
sense. The two of them could prevent their spouses from making a
damnable mistake. After learning of Suzette’s duplicity, however,
he wasn’t sure he wished to keep her.

“Are you staying in Paris long, Duchess?”

“I haven’t decided. My husband is not staying at our
townhouse. He’s apparently taken a room in the Hotel de Louvre.
Right now I couldn’t give a damn where he lays his head.”

Philippe noted the location of Robert’s
whereabouts.

“There is one other nasty piece of information, I’m
afraid, that you may find quite upsetting.”

“Really? What could be more upsetting than what
you’ve already told me about my unfaithful wife, Duchess? Surely,
there is nothing that you could tell me to top this betrayal.”

“My husband, Monsieur, is your anonymous investor.
Duke Robert Holland owns half interest in your little shipping
business. It was he who sent you away for two months so that he
could seduce your wife while you were gone.”

The blood drained from Philippe’s face. Jacquelyn
chuckled over his reaction to the revelation.

“Surely, you must admit, that’s the
pièce de résistance
to the news I bring you
today.”

“Are you sure?” he demanded, with icy contempt.

“Quite sure. I read the correspondence between my
husband and his solicitor having found it in his desk upon his
departure here to Paris.” She smiled at him. “You must give Robert
some credit. He’s a sly bastard, is he not? He’s weaseled his way
into your business and in between your wife’s legs. With clever
maneuvering, the rogue sent you to the British West Indies, so that
he could steal her fidelity while you pursued a deal halfway around
the world that was already sealed before you arrived.”