Page 77 of How to Capture a Duke

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The Raven Club was busy that evening. It was a few minutes past midnight, and the casino would be open until the early morning hours. Olivia had spent time packing her trunks before arriving here tonight. A small part of her had hoped that Tristan would knock on her door and apologize, but when he’d never arrived, she gathered her courage and fled Keswick Hall. She never planned to return and would send a servant for her belongings later.

She was careful to keep her mask in place as she headed straight for the ladies’ gambling room to find Ellie. She intended to tell her sister that she’d left her husband and planned to return to Rosehill. A country respite was what she needed. Her sister would understand. She always did.

Her nervousness about telling Tristan about the pregnancy had vanished after he’d accused her sister of revealing his sessions with Higgins. Why would Ellie do such a thing after she’d found Horace Higgins in the first place? Why couldn’t Tristan see reason?

But he’s incapable of trusting anyone.

He hadn’t changed from the man who’d first confronted her in Rosehill’s stable. Only she had changed and had loved him—loved him still—and that was the most painful of all.

She made it to the hidden doorway when a large guard opened the door. At second glance, she realized it was Brooks, the main guard of the Raven Club. “Olivia?”

“Hello, Brooks. I need to see my sister.”

“She is not here tonight.”

Olivia’s stomach dropped. She’d been certain her sister worked this evening. She must have chosen to stay home with Alexander.

“Shall I summon Lord Vere?” Brooks asked.

“No.” Her brother-in-law could not help her. She’d have to leave the club and go to her sister’s home.

She turned back to the main casino floor and wove her way past gamblers, croupiers, and liveried servers carrying trays. She was halfway to the door when a hand landed on her arm.

“Olivia?”

She looked up to see Lord Jeffries.

“I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here,” he said. “Would you like to play another game of vingt-et-un?”

She returned his smile with a weak one of her own. “No, thank you. Perhaps another time.”

Goodness, she was in tumult, and her head started to ache. She needed to leave this place, needed to see her sister and confide in her and then leave London.

“You look pale. Are you unwell?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“No.” Yes. The slight pounding in her temples increased. As she looked up at Spencer, her conversation with Tristan crept into her mind. Perhaps it would be nice to talk with someone who understood her husband. “A word alone, please.”

“Of course. Come with me and tell me what is amiss.” Taking her arm, they walked to the far end of the casino floor. A servant carrying a plate of steaming food passed, and her stomach roiled at the smell.

Dear God. Not here.

She swallowed, took deep breaths, and the nausea retreated. Spencer looked down at her. “Are you certain you are well? I can escort you home in my carriage.”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

He led her to a spot behind a potted palm in the corner. “Tristan told me what occurred this afternoon at the House of Lords.”

Spencer’s brows formed a V. “Ah, he told you, did he?”

“He placed the scandal sheet on a sideboard before me and said you showed it to him.”

“I did.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Good heavens, why?”

“I thought he had a right to know. To be truthful, I was hurt he never confided in me about his tutelage.”