The Price of Deception (26 page)

Philippe looked at the Duchess in shocked disbelief.
All that he had recently gained happened by the hand of the man he
detested. Like a poisonous spider, he had weaved a web of deceit
and ensnared Philippe during a moment of weakness. When he lay
unsuspectingly trapped by the lure of a bright future, the creature
had taken its prey.

“He is most definitely, as I suspected all along, a
man without integrity or scruples,” Philippe growled.

He stood to his feet and pushed all the papers off
his desk in a blind rage. All of his efforts during the past few
months had been for nothing. He had wasted his honorable name and
time chasing a lie in order to receive money from a scoundrel. His
nostrils flared, and his eyes grew dark. He glared at the Duchess,
who batted her eyelashes in satisfaction. The truth lay before him
like a rancid meal on a table.

“How you propose to stay with a man like him is
beyond my comprehension,” he bitterly confessed. “But I see you
wish to keep him away from his desires as a means of
punishment.”

The thought of Suzette being with Robert intimately
continued to poison his soul toward his wife. Perhaps the Duchess
could remain. At that moment, he didn’t know if he had the strength
to stay with his wife knowing about her infidelity.

“I cannot promise you anything, Duchess Holland. At
this moment, my soul feels as if it has been thrust into Hell
itself. It burns.”

“It’s understandable, Monsieur Moreau. You have much
to consider and think about. I have told you what I intend to do.
It’s all out in the air now. No more secrets. No more deceit.”

The Duchess stood to her feet and straightened her
skirt. Philippe sensed her outer façade shielded the heart of a
broken woman. She had chosen hate to gain strength, rather than
love to show weakness.

“I understand,” she added, with a tone of sympathy,
“that you struggle due to your newborn child. She should, of
course, be your main concern. How you deal with my husband’s son,
is entirely up to you. I’m surprised you don’t throw him in the
gutter where he belongs with the other illegitimate children of
whores.”

Philippe’s eyes darkened at her cruel comment. “Your
bitterness, Duchess, seems to be rooted in the jealousy that your
husband has sired a child with another.”

Her lips pursed tightly together in response to his
comment. “Yes, indeed. His seed seems to plant far better in the
womb of other women than it does in mine. Nevertheless, there is
nothing that can be done about it.”

The Duchess stood from her chair and headed toward
the door. She stopped and hesitated for a few moments, as if
pondering what to say next. Jacquelyn slowly turned and faced
Philippe and offered a suggestion.

“Do keep in touch with me. I would be interested in
knowing what you decide. After all, this affects us both in many
ways. Perhaps we can meet and speak again sometime. Misery loves
company, so they say.”

“Perhaps,” Philippe replied cautiously considering
the wisdom of such a meeting.

“I can keep you apprised of my husband’s moves, which
I would think is valuable information to you. Why don’t we plan to
see each other again? An innocent meeting in that nice park where
we first crossed paths might do. What do you think?”

Philippe’s mind tumbled to and fro with thoughts of
offense and revenge. He reeled from the revelations and could not
focus upon meeting the Duchess anytime soon.

“Perhaps. I cannot say right now, but I know where
you reside and will send notice should I wish to speak with
you.”

“A nice walk in the park with your daughter in her
baby carriage might do you both well.”

Jacquelyn opened the door and exited the room.
Philippe flopped back down into his chair and brought both hands to
his face. The shame of Suzette’s unfaithfulness poisoned his soul.
His hatred toward Robert Holland ebbed into a tidal wave about to
crest toward a ruinous end. He would not allow the man go
unpunished for his deeds.

His clerk came through the doorway and noted the
papers strewn about the floor. “Monsieur Moreau, are you all
right?” he inquired. He bent over, picked up the sheets one by one,
and replaced them on top of the desk.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice choked with
emotion. “I need some fresh air.”

Philippe took his hat and left his office. He flung
the door open and ran out into the streets, as he stumbled and
bumped into passing pedestrians on the sidewalk. His vision
blurred, and his pace quickened. Out of breath and with his heart
pounding against his ribcage, he hailed a hansom cab and climbed
inside.

“Hotel de Louvre,” he ordered the driver. When he
settled into the seat, he noticed his trembling hands. His
indignation toward Robert burned in his veins like molten lava.
Philippe struggled with the need to defend his honor. The heartless
rake had ruined his life.

Unsure what he would do upon his arrival, Philippe
carefully thought about his plan of action. With Robert owning half
of his business, his entire livelihood precariously stood on the
brink of loss should he pursue the course that his anger and pride
pressured him to follow. Not afraid of the peril he could suffer,
Philippe decided justice had to be served or he’d never rest.

Chapter Twenty One

Robert woke to a day of worry and frustration. The
prior encounter with his wife shook him to the core. Never in a
thousand years did he think she would leave England on her own to
investigate his absence in Paris. He couldn’t help but wonder if
his mother had even tried to prevent her from embarking on such a
ludicrous trip.

Jacquelyn had walked in on his playful tryst with
Suzette. Mortified that his wife had caught them in the act,
burdened his heart. He had subjected Suzette to shame and ridicule,
relegating her to the title of whore once more.

The hard slap from Jacquelyn’s hand across his
sweetheart’s face enraged Robert. He had wanted to smack his wife
in return. Never had a woman elicited such anger and irritation
from him as she had at that moment.

Finally, after Dorcas removed her from his presence
and took her upstairs, he gathered a tearful Suzette into his arms
to comfort her about Jacquelyn’s tirade. He assured her of his
protection and that he would shield her from further physical and
verbal outbursts from his wife.

Barely able to control her own shame over the
situation, Suzette left confused and frightened. He promised her
that he would keep in touch, before helping her into the carriage
that would take her home. After he watched it depart down the
narrow back street of his residence, he turned to face a thorny
encounter with his estranged wife.

Robert had decided then and there as he stomped back
inside the townhouse that he needed to tell her the truth about
Suzette and be done with it. He would let the chips fall where they
may, but he had not anticipated that Jacquelyn would fly into an
uncontrolled physical rage after his revelation. Perhaps her love
ran deeper than he realized, or perhaps the awareness that he had
sired a child with another woman had pushed her over the edge.

Convinced it was the latter that took her to the
brink of unconscionable behavior, he tried to feel an ounce of
compassion for her sorrow and loss. However, he could not bring
forth any empathy, for his heart consumed itself with thoughts of
Suzette.

Philippe had probably disembarked by now and returned
to her side. He couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything,
transpired between the two. Had she told him of her love or had she
hidden the fact they had reunited? Unable to contain his curiosity,
he yelled for his assistant.

“Giles!” he called out, as he paced the floor in a
worried frenzy.

“Yes, Duke, is there something you require?”

“A carriage,” he mumbled. “Order me a private
carriage. I wish to go out.”

Robert decided to drive by Suzette’s residence, if
only to be near her for a moment and look upon her house. Perhaps
she would leave for a walk or to shop, and he could spirit her away
to talk.

At the same time he pulled his jacket over his linen
shirt, he heard a knock at the door of the suite. With Giles gone
to the front desk to procure transportation, Robert answered the
door without a second thought, thinking the maid had arrived to
service the room.

He grabbed the handle and pulled it open to find
Philippe Moreau on the other side. Robert inhaled a surprised
breath, immediately struck by the man’s agitated appearance. Wrath,
written across his face like that of a demon, spoke of one
thing—his visit was not a friendly one.

“You son-of-bitch!” He clutched Robert by the throat
and pushed him back into the room. “You fucked my wife!”

Robert stumbled backward into his suite, gasping for
breath over the chokehold that Moreau had placed around his neck.
His footing landed him into a side table, which pushed it on its
side and sent a lamp crashing to the floor. Philippe’s eyes burned
with hatred as his chokehold became tighter.

Instinctively, Robert grabbed hold of the madman’s
death grip around his neck with both of his hands. A rush of
defensive adrenalin shot through his body. At last, after moments
of struggle, he pried Philippe’s fingers from around his throat and
flung his hand away.

“Get hold of yourself, man,” he screamed, in a
frightened squawk. “Have you lost all senses?” Robert rubbed the
base of his neck where the knot of his ascot had been shoved into
his windpipe cutting off his air supply.

Philippe’s chest heaved up and down in rapid intakes
of breath, while his eyes bulged from his head. “I should kill you,
Robert Holland. You’ve stolen everything from me!”

“I suppose I deserve a punch in the jaw,” Robert
confessed, “However, I doubt my death would solve anything.”

“You’ve soiled my honor as a man. You’ve stolen my
wife. You’ve weaseled your way into my livelihood,” he railed,
eyeing him up and down. “Anonymous investor, I could spit in your
face! I deserve retribution for what you’ve done to me and my
family.”

Robert dropped his hand from his neck, astonished
over Philippe’s vile ranting. Had Suzette told him that he’d
invested in Moreau Shipping?

“I saved your ass from bankruptcy,” Robert flung in
return. “You should thank me for saving your family from the
gutters of Paris.” His eyes narrowed as he cautiously looked at
Philippe awaiting his next move.

“Your wife visited me this morning,” he smugly
replied. “She tells me that she will not divorce you. So where does
that leave you with my wife, eh? Do you think you can continue to
use her as a mistress for your sexual pleasure, as you once
did?”

Philippe took a step closer to Robert with clenched
fists, and Robert backed up.

“You’ve ruined me and sullied my honor. I demand
satisfaction for you taking my wife behind my back. I want
retribution.” He pulled a glove from his pocket and threw it at
Robert’s feet.

The word
satisfaction
struck Robert’s gut like
a punch in the stomach, as he understood full well his intent. The
thrown glove confirmed the challenge.
The damned French and
their code of honor,
he thought with disdain.

“I will not fight you, Philippe, forget it.” He
kicked the glove aside and walked away from him.

“You will,” Philippe growled. “Or I’ll make sure
you’ll never see your bastard son again.” His eyes narrowed as he
played his ace. “You forget, Duke, he lives under my roof and under
my care. I can send him away where you’ll never find him again as
long as you live.”

Robert’s rage spewed from his mouth over the audacity
of the threat. “You goddamn maniac!” Robert spun around in anger.
“You’ll do no such thing! Suzette would not allow it and neither
will I!”

Philippe merely smirked in return. “And how will you
stop me? One word from me and he’s gone.” He snapped his fingers.
“Your precious little bastard is gone forever.” A smug laugh of
confidence left his mouth before continuing. “You either agree to a
pistol duel at dawn Friday, or I promise you,” he hissed like a
snake, “your bastard son will wish he’d never been born.”

Philippe’s hand glided across the leather belt around
his waist, catching Robert’s eyes and the meaning behind it.
Robert’s fingers tingled as mortification shot through his veins.
The thought to kill Philippe here and now turned his blue eyes into
a stormy sea. Everything stood to be lost—his son, his love, his
life.

“You’re insane,” Robert replied, throwing out his
last attempt to dissuade him. “Duels are illegal in France, and you
know it. Do you think either of us wounding or killing one another
will solve anything?”

“I don’t give a damn, Holland. I’ve despised you
since the day I met you. You’re a blackguard with no regard for
anyone but yourself. I intend to carry out the duel and be done
with it. You’ll either leave dead or in shame wounded by my hand.
My satisfaction will be complete. Then I promise you that you will
never see Suzette or your son again.”

Robert, cornered and threatened, stood rigid before
Philippe. His heart pounded ferociously in his chest. He wanted
nothing more than to permanently rid himself of Philippe Moreau,
even if it ruined his own name and reputation. His love for Suzette
and his son pushed him to accept the challenge.

“Fine,” he resolutely accepted. “Friday at dawn. I
expect a neutral third party to oversee the match and have the
pistols examined and loaded.”

“It is done, then. I shall have my representative
contact you with the location and exact time.” Philippe started to
turn and head for the door, but Robert stopped him cold.

“Don’t take your leave just yet, you pompous ass. Now
I make my demands,” Robert said sharply. “If my shot is on target
and you are wounded, Suzette and the boy are mine. You will release
your hold and divorce her for adultery immediately.”