Page 47 of Duke in Darkness

“There, there…” said Exton with a short laugh that held not a trace of humor. “I’m sure you’ll still…be welcome. In parlors. In modistes. In jewelers.”

“As will you. Tonight, ah, was—”

“A damned disaster.”

“No,” she replied quickly, shaking her head as she leaned forward. “Nothing that can’t be mended. It will all be forgotten soon—”

“Forgotten. Forgotten? Everyone knows. The worst colonel…in the army. Me. A man captured…by the enemy. A failure. As Sir Roger said…I got what I…deserved. As I’m reminded…every fucking day. And night.”

Tears seeped down her cheeks at the monstrous burden he carried, and she reached out to touch his hand. Except he moved, and she accidentally brushed his knee. “Exton, please…”

He jerked away from her. “I bloody told you,” he snarled. “Do. Not. Touch. Me. And don’t…bloody cry. Tears change nothing.”

Naturally, they fell faster and harder, right when the carriage pulled up in front of the townhouse. Even before the footman opened the door, Exton had shouldered his way out, nearly flattening the young man as he stumbled to the footpath and limped toward the front steps.

Lilian dashed a hand over her eyes, and allowed the footman to assist her out.

“Your Grace? Are you…”

“Quite well, thank you,” she choked out, resenting the delay in hurrying after her husband.

“Is there anything you need?”

“No, thank you, good evening.”

And she left the young man in her wake as she ran into the townhouse, the click-clack of slipper heels on the marble floor of the entrance hall loud enough to wake the dead. Grandmother would have palpitations at her complete loss of control, but she needed to find Exton. Would he have gone to his library? To his bedchamber? She could practically feel Norris’s eyes boring into the back of her head, but she ignored him completely as she darted down the hallway to Exton’s library. The room sat empty, and unlit but for a neglected fire barely smoldering in the hearth.

Definitely not in here.

Lilian returned to the entrance hall, and ascended the stairs to her own bedchamber.

“Your Grace?” said Dawn, her eyes wide as she looked up from where she sat sorting a pile of stockings and gloves. “You are home very early. Wait. Have you been crying?”

“I am quite well, I promise. But I need your assistance to get undressed, quickly,” Lilian replied, as the seeds of a plan began to form in her mind. It would be the boldest thing she had ever done, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Her maid nodded, and near-sprinted across the room to help. Soon Lilian wore a fresh chemise, nightgown, and her dressing gown, and her hair hung in soft waves down her back.

“You may go, Dawn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly. There was no way in the world she would be able to sleep tonight until she had brought a little comfort to Exton. And witnesses were definitely not required for the scandalous act she had in mind.

Her maid curtsied and left the room. Biting her lip in consternation, Lilian stared at the connecting door to Exton’s bedchamber. The oak had never looked so forbidding, as though it were a spiked rampart and poisoned moat to keep her out rather than a door. Several deep breaths didn’t help, her heart continued to thump out a sharp staccato beat. The only thing that would help, and yet at the same time probably the least helpful to her nerves, was being in the same room as her husband.

Now or never.

Straightening her shoulders, Lilian approached the door as though any moment it would come alive and attempt to slice off a limb. Slowly, and quietly, she pushed on it, surprised when it opened easily. Exton hadn’t locked her out, thank heavens. Then she peered around the frame. Hobbs was nowhere to be seen. But her husband cut a lonely figure to one side of the room, where he sat in one of those horrid gilt chairs staring blankly at the fire roaring and crackling in front of him, a half-empty bottle of brandy cradled loosely in his hands. He had removed his cravat, jacket, and waistcoat, plus his shoes and stockings, but still wore his breeches and shirt.

No. Such utter defeat simply would not do.

Before she lost her courage, Lilian strolled into his bedchamber.

Exton’s head jerked around, and a look of shock passed over his face before it settled back into grim anger. “What the hell are you…doing in here?”

She sank into a deep curtsy. “Good evening to you too, husband. Oh, brandy. Lovely.”

“Like a drink?” he asked mockingly, lifting the bottle.