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Chapter 13
Robert dropped Mr. Tule off at his house and ambled on to his townhouse. He thought about what Mr. Tule said to him in a carriage. What he suggested would most definitely ruin Clydesdale and especially his wife.
Mr. Tule had said that for the best effect, Robert would need to bring into the light the abuse Mary had suffered in the asylum. And by bringing into the light, he’d meant to send a letter to the ton’s most popular paper. That should gather enough public attention to force the change of governors, allowing Tule to take one of the available seats. In return, that would give him access to monitor the dealing of the asylum more closely and perhaps help find more evidence of mistreatment of the inmates.
Benjamin Tule was a reformist. He was goal-oriented and uncompromising. Robert was sure he’d be good for the asylum. Still, he was also convinced that the details he’d have to recite in the letter would paint Mary in a bad light, leading to the great scandal that would envelop his family and ruin his father’s ambitions of having Robert be accepted by his peers. He’d need to talk to both his wife and father before sending the letter to the papers. As hard as things might be for them, he felt it would be the right thing to do. He hoped his family members would agree with him.
As soon as the carriage drew to a halt, Robert collected the sides of his jacket closer to his body and jumped out of the vehicle. He coughed and hurried through the front steps and entered his townhouse.
He was greeted by his valet at the door. “You have a guest, My Lord, in your study,” Jensen waved a hand in the study’s direction.
Robert moved past his valet in the indicated direction before asking over his shoulder, “Is there any correspondence for me?”
“On your desk, My Lord,” Robert thanked the valet with a nod and strode into his study.
“Finally, here you are,” he heard a slurred voice of his friend. “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for hours.” Gabriel was sitting behind Robert’s desk, drinking his expensive whisky.
“I see.” Robert shed his jacket and settled across from Gabriel. “How much of that have you had?” He indicated the bottle by Gabriel’s right hand.
Gabriel followed the direction of Robert’s gaze. “Not nearly enough,” he said, grabbing another glass from the sidebar and shuffling back to his chair. “Want some?”
“Why not?” Robert leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands.
“You look like hell,” Gabriel threw at him, handing him a full glass of whisky.
“Likewise,” Robert raised both eyebrows at his friend. “What in the devil has happened to you?” he asked, regarding his friend’s disheveled appearance. His hair was mussed, cravat and coat missing, his waistcoat gaped open and the shirt misbuttoned. “And what are you doing in my study at this hour?”
“Well,” Gabriel said in a slurred voice. “First of all, you are supposed to be at home atthis hour. You are married now, aren’t you?”
“So?”
“So? Since I haven’t seen you at the clubs, I can only assume you spend all your nights with Vanessa.” Gabriel raised both his eyebrows. “Didn’t you have the holier than thou attitude toward marriage vows and fidelity? Smirking at sleeping with married women?”
“I didn’t promise her fidelity.” Robert shrugged.
“Look, I am not judging.” Gabriel put his hands up in mock self-defense. “Who am I to judge anyway, right? Simply curious why you shoved your principles aside. She isn’t a picnic in bed, is she? All the proper ones are like that,” he continued as Robert kept silent. “Why do you think men keep mistresses after marriage? I’ve heard horror stories about the proper ladies keeping their clothes on in bed, unmoving, not making a sound. It’s like lying with a corpse.” Gabriel shuddered theatrically, while Robert grimaced. “They say they don’t allow their husbands into their beds more than once a week either. Not that you’d want to come more often after that experience.” Gabriel laughed with a drunken grimace. “My advice to you, my friend, keep Vanessa. At least she’ll keep it interesting for you.”
“You are constantly bedding married women; you don’t find them as dull as you describe.”
“Well, not the ones who come to me, no. But they are a different breed. Besides, wives are generally not fond of their husbands. They act all cold and proper with them and become harlots in my arms.” He smiled lazily.
Robert refilled his glass and downed it again. That sounded too close to reality. Julie wanted nothing to do with him. She didn’t want his touches or kisses. He remembered the way she’d shrunk away from him the first time in bed, how she’d turned away from him. The way she’d reacted to his kiss, her horror-stricken face, the stammering. He was a fool if he thought she’d be pliant in his bed. But it was too late. He made his bed, and he’d have to lie in it. With his unwilling wife. Forever.
“Why aren’t you cavorting with one of them harlots then?” Robert changed the subject from his unhappy marriage. “What are you doing in my house at this hour, Gabe?”
“Iwaswith one of the harlots. In fact, I climbed into Ellie Lance’s bedroom and was giving her the lick of her life.” Gabriel relaxed in his chair. “She was moaning so loudly that even her half-deaf husband heard us. He dashed through the door with a pistol. Thought someone was killing her.” He threw back his head and laughed, staring at the ceiling. “Once he saw what was going on, he challenged me to a duel.” Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly.
Robert’s eyes widened at the matter-of-fact recital of the duel challenge. “You came here to ask me to be your second?” he asked, pouring himself another drink. Robert’s voice was getting hoarse, and his throat burned.
“God, no. There is no way in hell I am dueling over the chance to toss her skirts. We didn’t even get to the good part.”
Robert laughed at his friend’s careless attitude. “You are planning to hide from him,” he said rather than asked.
“For just a week or so. He’s bound to give up, eventually.” Gabriel took a sip of his drink thoughtfully, then chuckled lowly, “dueling over an honor of a woman, who sucked half of London bough’s cocks. Can you imagine?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have done it under her husband’s nose,” Robert pointed out.
“I’m five and twenty. I can afford a little adventure.”
