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She could remember all too well the pressure of his hand on her wrist when he had caused that bruise, and she didn’t wish to suffer anything like it again. While she struggled for the door handle, he reached for her. He got ahold of the back of her dress and dragged her away from the door.
“No, let go of me!” she shouted the words.
“Shh! Do you want the whole house to hear you?” Rufus cried, spinning her around. He lifted his hand as though ready to strike her. Hermione wasn’t going to give him the chance.
She lifted her foot high in the air and stamped down hard with her heel on his toe. He cried out in pain, and the shock of her attack forced him to release her.
“Father, that is enough!” She found a new voice inside of her, one she had not heard come from herself before. Her father stumbled back a little, shocked with eyes wide. “I am the Duchess now.” The words sounded odd, even to her own tongue. “I am not just your daughter anymore; you cannot just manhandle me and expect to be able to get your way.”
“You are still my daughter–”
“My position is greater than yours now, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, alighting on an idea. It was a way to protect herself, to stop her father from coming after her again. Rufus didn’t answer, but he cowed his head a little more, looking a bit like an admonished child. “Do not dare to lay a hand on me again, and don’t you dare to tell me what to do anymore. Is that understood?” At her question, her father said nothing, but he nodded his head a little.
With the acceptance, she flashed one look at Cordelia, seeing a look of worry residing there, before she turned and hurried out of the chamber. Part of her thought of going to Antony, begging him to listen this time to her explanation and warn him of her father’s promise topersuadehis mother over the money, but she had no idea where he was.
Where is he?
* * *
Antony walked into the club, feeling particularly cold despite the warmth of the day. So far, he had avoided going back to the house ever since he had walked out on Hermione that morning. Yet, he couldn’t stay working forever.
When he had passed Fergus escorting Lady Phoebe on the busy road of the town center, Fergus had whispered to him a suggestion to go to the club to distract himself from life’s woes. Now Antony walked through the door, and he remembered that the last time he had been there, it had felt like a betrayal to Hermione to be there at all.
This time, he tried not to think too much about it. He passed his jacket to the footman on the door, strode into the room, and took up a space at a card table where he quickly absorbed himself in the game.
With three other gentlemen at the table, the game was flowing well, and he managed to distract himself from thinking of Hermione’s deceit for a little while as he watched his money pile go up. It seemed luck was with him today when it came to gambling at least.
“Can we not persuade you to part from the card table this evening, Your Grace?” a woman’s voice asked. He turned his head to see one of the courtesans approaching him.
She was different to the other courtesans who had come before. She had blonde hair, a little like Hermione’s, though it was much shorter, and it did not curl in the same way. She was pretty. Had he seen the courtesan here before he had met Hermione, he might well have been persuaded to spend an evening with her.
“I am here for cards only this evening,” Antony said, turning his attention back to the cards as the gentleman to his right dealt out the hands.
He snapped his own hand off the table, feeling jittery when he grew aware of the courtesan stepping closer toward him. She put upon a pretense of being interested in his cards although she was merely using it as an excuse to be closer to him. She laid a hand across his shoulder and bent down so that her face was level with his shoulder, her lips practically brushing his neck in a tempting way.
Yet… I am not tempted.
“You will not make a customer out of me tonight,” Antony said as he began to add his betting chips to the center of the table, along with the other gentlemen.
“I cannot persuade you?” she said, her voice quiet and whispering.
“No. There is another that occupies my mind more.”
“Another courtesan?”
“No. Another I can never have. Not now.” He was surprised by the honesty in his words. Fortunately, the other gentlemen seemed far too interested in the game to listen to him, but the courtesan was clearly hanging on his words.
“Would it be your new wife? I see there is a ring on your finger, Your Grace. Rumors travel fast round here, and we have heard of the wedding.” She moved even nearer to him, so those lips were practically on his neck. He veered to the side, moving away from her.
“It does not matter who it is,” he said, feeling his hatred for being in the club rising by the moment. He wanted Hermione, God he did, but he wanted the Hermione he had thought she was, not the woman she had turned out to be.
“If you are here, Your Grace, away from your pretty wife so soon, I’d say it does not bode well.” The courtesan moved toward him again. “I heard a story the other day that pertained your young wife, passed round between gentlemen here.”
“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, although the words piqued his ears.
“They said she was to be married in London. That she was left at the altar, and her husband to be never turned up. What a lady,” the courtesan practically laughed. “If the tale is true, then the ruined woman must have hot-footed it to your house rather fast after the event.”
The words hung in the air for a minute. Antony’s grasp on his cards weakened, not wanting to hear another word of it. Could it be true? Was Hermione set to marry another man? If it were true, then it would make sense as to why she had to marry another man so fast.
