The Price of Deception (9 page)

He offered his arm and pulled back the curtain and
Robert directed his wife to a large hall. Patrons mingled together
in a buzz of chatter. Champagne floated by on silver trays held by
servers. Robert plucked two flutes and handed one to his wife. He
took a quick sip while glancing over the crowd. A dreaded voice
called his name, and he jolted.

“Why, Lord Holland, is that you?”

Madame Laurent sauntered toward him in a dark purple
gown with a brown mink fur around her shoulders. At her side stood
a tall, unrecognizable gentleman, no doubt her escort. Robert
sucked in a breath and braced for all of Hades to break loose. She
stood with a broad, sly smile on her face and glanced at his
wife.

“Lord Holland, don’t be rude, who is this lovely
woman?”

She fluttered her long black lashes at Jacquelyn.
Robert felt like a cornered animal. He loosened his tight grip on
the champagne flute, which was about to shatter from the pressure
exerted by his hand. Robert cringed as he proceeded with the
introductions.

“It’s Duke Holland now, Madame, and this is my wife,
Duchess Jacquelyn Spencer-Holland.”

He brandished a look and a raised brow at Madame
Laurent that screamed
keep your mouth shut
, before
proceeding with the remainder of the introductions.

“Jacquelyn, may I introduce to you Madame Laurent.
She is a member of The Jockey Club. I’ve not had the pleasure of
seeing her for many years. How long has it been now, five?”

“Yes, five years I imagine,” Madame Laurent replied,
her eyes filled with questions and curiosity.

Robert hoped the woman would keep the real nature of
their acquaintance secret and her painted red lips tightly
shut.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Duchess.” She turned to
her escort and apologized for neglecting his introduction. “Please
forgive me, Duke Holland. May I introduce Monsieur Belafonte, a
close business associate of mine.”

Her companion nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Duke Holland, and of course, your
lovely Duchess.”

Jacquelyn stood curiously silent throughout the
entire exchange and then abruptly spoke. “Robert, will you please
excuse me while I visit the ladies’ parlor?”

“Yes, of course, dear.”

He set her flute of champagne down on a table along
the hallway, and Jacquelyn retreated leaving the threesome alone.
Robert watched her departure with concern and then turned to Madame
Laurent.

“I appreciate your discretion in the matter,
Madame.”

“Of course, Robert. Did you expect me to tell your
English wife you were my investor and patron at the brothel? I dare
say that would have caused a scene, wouldn’t it?”

Robert heaved a sigh.

“So what happened to your purchase the last we met?
Did you get your money’s worth?”

“And then some,” Robert replied snidely. A deep
agitation rose when he remembered her traitorous action of selling
Suzette to Marquis Barone behind his back. His jaw clenched as he
spat out his final words. “I don’t believe that is a topic I wish
to discuss in depth. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my
leave.”

Robert walked away and left the dejected Madame
Laurent with her escort. He did not intend to inform the witch what
happened to Suzette—none whatsoever.

As he reached the end of the hallway, he saw
Jacquelyn emerge from the ladies’ powder room. Her face looked
distraught.

“I hear the orchestra tuning their instruments,
Jacquelyn. Intermission is nearly over.”

He offered his arm to his wife but noted a hesitation
on her part. She remained silent. Her suspicious eyes roved over
him searching his soul for secrets untold. Robert felt an extreme
embarrassment that surprised him. It remained one thing to be
unfaithful to an unsuspecting spouse, but quite another to be
unfaithful to a wife who knew all of her husband’s escapades.

“Yes, of course. I don’t wish to miss the second
half,” she finally responded.

Robert escorted Jacquelyn back to their private box,
relieved to see that Madame Laurent had disappeared. He sat next to
Jacquelyn as before, only this time he reached out and picked up
her hand that lay lifelessly in her lap and held it throughout the
performance.

Unable to concentrate on the operatic display, Robert
relived each moment of the past two days in horror. An occasional
glance over at this wife’s face spoke the same, as she showed no
interest or enjoyment on the stage below. Had she sensed the
identity of the outrageously dressed Madame Laurent or perhaps knew
of her reputation?

Robert hoped to salvage what remained of the evening.
The performance ended, and the couple remained aloof and quiet
while they returned home. After their arrival, both retreated to
their upstairs suite. Robert made it a point to close the door
behind him. He had promised himself earlier to attend to his
wife.

“You needn’t stay with me tonight, Robert. I’ll
understand.” Jacquelyn’s words fell from her lips as a confession
of defeat.

Robert approached her from behind and turned her
around to face him. “No, I wish to spend the night with you.” He
hesitated then forced a tender touch on the side of her face.
“Perhaps tonight will be the night.”

He softly kissed his wife and slowly unbuttoned the
back of her gown. She accepted his advances, doubtless yearning for
his seed rather than him.

Robert knew it would not be the night she would
conceive nor would there ever be a night she would conceive. He had
finally accepted the terrible truth of the barren womb that would
never be filled. He felt as empty when he touched her flesh.

He closed his eyes and took her to their marriage
bed. It would have been easy to lose himself in such a gorgeous
creature, if she would only respond to his touches. All he wanted
was an ounce of desire for the satisfaction he could give her
body.

Instead, Jacquelyn lay cold and unresponsive. Her
usual aversion of an intimate touch that would give him pleasure
continued. How in the world did she ever expect him to ejaculate
when she lay so impassive underneath him?

Frustrated and losing interest, Robert found it
impossible to perform. The encounter had drained every ounce of
sexual arousal.

“I cannot,” he groaned. He rolled off her and flopped
onto his back. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair
wiping away the beads of sweat on his forehead—apparently the only
thing he could work up to at that point.

“Why must you be so unresponsive, Jacquelyn? A man
needs more than a piece of frigid flesh underneath his body! You
exasperate me!”

In anger, he sat up in bed, swung his feet around,
and grabbed his trousers from the floor pulling them up to his
waist.

“What do you expect from an unloved woman? Passion?
Response? I’m nothing to you, so why should I try to be anything to
you!” she yelled, as she threw her pillow at him and slammed him in
the back.

Robert spun around and looked at her in disdain. She
continued to rant and rave.

“Why do you think I want a child so badly? I need to
love a baby, and I need a baby’s love in return. You give me
nothing, you unfaithful bastard! No doubt the whores you bed in
Paris keep you in prime performance!”

“I’ve had enough,” Robert seethed.

“How much seed have you spread about Paris and
wasted, Robert? What whores have aborted babies they’ve given you
without your knowledge? Hum? Do you even know or care?”

Her sour statements broke his restraint. “I doubt my
seed is the problem, Jacquelyn, so don’t blame me for your empty
womb. If you were half as beautiful inwardly as you are outwardly,
perhaps I’d find an ounce of desire and love for you in my
heart!”

His words cut cruelly like a knife. Robert had never
been so vocally malicious toward Jacquelyn before. She had hit a
raw nerve that pushed him over the brink and out of control.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” she screeched. “Get out!”

“I’ll gladly get out,” he spat. “I’ll stay out, too.
Who shall fill your womb then with precious seed, Jacquelyn
Spencer?”

Robert hastily grabbed his remaining clothes and
boots from the floor then flung open the door to the suite. It
banged loudly against the wall. Jacquelyn continued to scream
curses at him, while he walked down the hallway, waking the entire
household staff.

He flew into his own room and locked the door behind
him, then threw his things onto a nearby chair. At that moment, he
felt like bellowing at the top of his lungs and shoving his fist
through the wall. Instead, he wandered over to the decanter, poured
a full glass, and determined to drink himself drunk until he passed
out.

Robert’s situation proved impossible. His trapped
existence and loveless marriage would be the end of him.
If only
Suzette was still alive—if only,
he cried inwardly. He’d move
Heaven and Hell just to spend another moment in her arms and
confess his love he never articulated years ago. He had been a
foolish ass indeed.

Chapter Eight

The days passed, and Jacquelyn and Robert barely
spoke to one another. She had decided to treat her sorrows to a
lavish spending spree on the newest fashions and kept her promise
of buying a new hat for her mother-in-law.

Robert spent his evenings drinking and playing cards
with friends, and made one last stop to Nadine’s bed before he
departed back to England. He had told her he would not return, but
decided after further spurning from his wife, he damn well deserved
a good lay. He enjoyed the Nordic beauty and tipped her generously
once more for the heated comfort.

It seemed as if time flew by, and the day approached
for their return home. Robert attended to some business, in the
early morning hours, before they were to leave. He knew that every
unanswered question swirling around his mind would haunt him until
he discovered the truth. After obtaining a recommendation from
friends, he sought professional assistance from a Parisian
solicitor.

“Duke Holland, please have a seat,” he motioned to
the leather chair across from his desk.

“Thank you, Monsieur Girard,” Robert said as he sat
down.

“Cigar?”

“No. No, thank you.” Robert sighed and adjusted
himself comfortably in the seat. “I do appreciate you agreeing to
meet on such short notice, Monsieur. I’m due back in England
shortly but have matters I wish to discuss.”

“Yes, of course, Duke Holland.”

“One of your clients, Vicomte de Rieux recommended
you as a resource, stating that you had an excellent staff that
might do some private investigation on my behalf.”

Monsieur Girard’s brow raised above his left eye as
he sat behind his desk. He slowly folded his hands and rested them
on top.

“Yes, he is quite right. My staff is very seasoned,
shall we say, in searching out matters.”

He leaned back in his chair, and Robert noted his
curious eyes that waited for an explanation as to his visit. He
attempted to formulate his words carefully before speaking of the
delicate subject, which could very well ruin him socially if
leaked.

“I demand that what transpires between us here,
Monsieur, be held in the strictest of confidence.”

“You have my professional word, Duke Holland, of
course. Everything you say to me will be kept confidential.”

Robert had no qualms over his professional integrity
and took him at his word. “I wish to have a certain individual
investigated, by the name of Philippe Victor Moreau.”

“Philippe Moreau?”

He noticed a glimpse of familiarity in the
solicitor’s eyes. “Do you know the man?”

“Only what I have read of his shipping company in the
Parisian business news lately regarding Duval & Moreau.”

“And what have you read?” Robert inquired leaning
forward with interest.

“Well, Duke, it’s been reported that Duval &
Moreau is on the brink of bankruptcy. The newspapers have accounted
their financial difficulties in the business section.”

“Really?” Robert sat on the edge of his seat.

“Yes. The business has been struggling for some time,
and the elder partner, Monsieur Jacques Duval is terminally
ill.”

Robert sat speechless while he thought of the
consequences of the news. If this were true, then the boy that
could be his son, may be on the brink of destitution along with his
stepfather. The solicitor interrupted his thoughts with a
conclusion of the obvious outcome.

“It has been speculated that once the elder partner
dies, the business will undoubtedly close due to financial
difficulties.”

Monsieur Girard studied him with curiosity before
asking further questions. “What is it that you wish to know about
Monsieur Moreau, sir?”

“As much as possible. His finances, business affairs,
family, background—anything you can give me.” Robert hesitated. “I
believe he has a son, and I’m not sure of his current marital
status either.” It never dawned on him until that moment that
perhaps Philippe had another woman in his life that could be a
stepmother to Robert.

“That should not be a problem,” he answered, with a
confident air. “How shall I provide this information to you?”

“By post will do,” Robert replied frustrated. “I’m
afraid I must leave for England straightaway and do not know when I
shall return.” Robert drew from his vest pocket a calling card with
his address. “Send the report by post to my attention, marked
confidential, as soon as you can gather the information.”

Monsieur Girard took the card and examined it.

“Do you require a retainer, Monsieur?” Robert
inquired.

“Five hundred francs, and the remainder I will
invoice when I forward the information. We will charge you at an
hourly rate of 100 francs. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Robert retrieved his wallet,
counted out the correct number of bills, and handed them to the
solicitor.