Stupid. Stupid fool. You could have got yourself killed.
From her coat pocket, Victoria took out the ring of keys and tossed them at his feet. “You might want to keep those in a more secure place from now on, Your Grace.”
He went to bend and pick them up but halted mid move and let out a pained gasp.
Jasper bent and snatched up the keys. “I’d suggest the two of you head back to the manor house and find somewhere comfortable for His Grace to sit and await the arrival of the physician.”
Leaving Jasper to deal with the sordid task of disposing of the East India agent’s body, Robert and Victoria began the painful walk back home. Victoria didn’t want anything to do with him. She merely shook her head and set off down the laneway, leaving him to trail behind her.
“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” he asked.
“No. The only one of us stupid enough to get themselves shot was you. And from what the East India agent told me as he sat and watched me lug all the empty crates and barrels, I would say you thoroughly deserved it.”
There would be no way he could talk himself out of this disastrous situation. No fancy sleight of hand that would hide the truth. Victoria likely already knew everything.
She wouldn’t even look at him. He couldn’t blame her. He’d failed her in every way possible. Every day he had spent with her, he’d been lying. And his web of lies had now put her in deadly peril. Forced her to do the unthinkable.
I am the worst husband ever.
To have and to hold.
He’d got theto havepart of the wedding vow somewhat right, but when it came to protecting her, he was an abject failure. Holding his wounded arm, he staggered after her. “Victoria, please, let me explain.”
He had just settled in beside her, when she suddenly stopped and whirled round. Her hand landed on his face at high speed, slapping him so hard that it rattled his teeth. She got a second blow in before he managed to grab her arm to defend himself.
“That’s why you married me, isn’t it? Not because you felt obliged after you’d touched me, but because I’d seen the stolen spices. You bloody bastard. You selfish, wretch of a man! I hate you!” she cried.
His face, his arm and shoulder, all hurt like the devil. But the words she spat at him cut deeper, right to Robert’s soul. Victoria hated him. And it was all his fault.
“No.” She looked ready to strike out at him once more. “It might have been that way at the start, but no. Even if you hadn’t seen the spice barrels, we would have ended up together,” he pleaded.
“Ended up together— and they say romance is dead,” she muttered.
He’d been gifted a golden opportunity to win her love, and he’d frittered it away. Too focused on making sure he got everylast victory over his enemy rather than stopping to see the amazing woman he’d made his wife.
“I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m sorry.”
She met his gaze, and in the pale moonlight, he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. As he did, a cold certainty settled in his heart. There would be no coming back from this for them. Victoria might remain his duchess, but it would be in name only.
Reaching the manor house, Victoria headed straight upstairs. She passed their bedroom. Passed the library. She went straight to Robert’s study, to his private liquor cabinet. The lock provided no challenge. Picking up a fire poker, she held it by the sharp end and smashed the iron handle against the center of the door.
Wood shattered.
“What are you doing?” said Robert, leaning against the doorframe. She swung the poker again, and it broke through the wood panel. Victoria glared at him. “You would be wise to stay out of my way. I’ve killed one man tonight, and I have the taste for blood. You are not the only one who is in need of strong liquor.”
He stood back while she continued to attack the door. Her blows only ceased when she caught sight of the key, he held out to her. She snatched it out of his hand and slid it into the lock.
Victoria dropped the poker onto the floor, then stood hands on hips, sucking in great gulps of air as she decided on her poison. Brandy. Whisky. Rum.
Who on earth outside of the British Royal Navy drinks rum, for heaven’s sake?
She chose a bottle of whisky. Brandy was too sharp, and she knew it was going to take more than a glass for her to feel what she needed to feel…absolutely nothing.
The sound of glasses clinking reached her ears, and as she righted herself, Victoria turned to see Robert place two large whisky tumblers on a nearby table. He stepped back, giving her space. It was the first sensible thing he’d done since everything had gone to hell on the roadside.
Pulling the stopper from the decanter with her teeth, she proceeded to fill one of the glasses. Her hand trembled as she lifted the drink to her lips and took a long sip. Then another. All those hours of illicit sampling of her father’s liquor held her in good stead. As soon as she had emptied the glass, she set it down, then poured more whisky into it.
“Vi—”
