Page 29 of Betting on a Duke
Chapter Twelve
After Samuel andHunter dropped the ladies off on Bond Street, they visited their tailor, Mr. Brooks, then headed to White’s for an afternoon drink. They greeted several acquaintances upon entering and made their way to the back, where a popular grouping of chairs was surprisingly vacant. Once seated, Samuel signaled a waiter, who poured each of them a brandy. After nearly half an hour of relaxing, Samuel was feeling good and sipping on his second drink.
“You seem relaxed,” Hunter said. “You clearly did not see the Earl of Portsmouth enter just now.”
The sip of brandy he had just taken threatened to come back up as a lump formed in his throat and his heart accelerated. “Bloody hell. I knew running into Clarice today and being invited to dinner was too good not to be spoiled by something.” He ran a hand through his overly long, wavy hair. “I briefly saw him at the Westport Ball, but we didn’t come face to face. For some reason, I don’t think I’ll be so lucky today. Shit,” he swore, “here he comes with a murderous expression on his aged face.”
“I hope he’s unarmed,” Hunter remarked, his brows drawn in concern.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Portsmouth said with a tight smile. “May I join you?”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer; he simply took a vacantchair facing Samuel and waved to a servant, who poured him a brandy. He downed the liquid in one gulp and set the empty glass on the side table next to his chair. “If you would excuse us, Hunter, I would like a word with Stanton.”
Hunter looked from him to Portsmouth and back again, clearly reluctant to leave.
“Do me a favor and see what all the fuss is about with the betting books?” said Samuel.
As if Samuel needed confirmation. No doubt they were betting on whether Portsmouth would kill him or not. Or, if they came to blows, who would win. Samuel would have the edge in bets over fisticuffs because of his age and strength. But if Portsmouth had a pistol, the outcome might change. Still, Samuel didn’t think he would aim to kill, if it came to that. Killing a duke would require severe punishment, regardless of Portsmouth’s title. The man wouldn’t want to rot in Newgate until death or hang in disgrace. Hunter, not looking pleased, left the two of them to talk.
“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” he asked once Hunter was out of earshot.
Portsmouth leaned forward in his chair and stared at him with his hard, dark, hateful eyes. “I’ve just come from seeing my daughter. After hearing gossip about you spending the night with her, which has spread throughout London faster than a fire, I wanted to know the truth.” He leaned back in the chair, pretending to be relaxed. Samuel wasn’t fooled. The man’s veins were prominent in his temples and neck. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. Samuel was still not fooled. “Do you know why your father and I had a falling out?”
Samuel started a bit—internally at least—at the swift change of subject, but he had often wondered what had really happened that day. It had begun with longtime friends enjoying each other’s company and ended with their fathers as enemies, leaving Clarice andhim utterly devastated. And then Portsmouth had shot him, nearly killing him and forcing him to endure months of painful recovery. It gnawed at his insides to admit he didn’t know why it all had happened. “My father refused to tell me.”
Portsmouth burst out laughing. “I knew it. I knew he didn’t tell you or your poor mother—whom I regret never bedding when I had the chance before she wed your father. Ah, I can see your mind at work. You did not know your mother was sweet on me before she decided on your father.” He flung his arm out and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is your father fucked my wife.”
Before Samuel could stop himself, he gasped.
“Yes. Your so-called honorable, perfect father, whom you looked up to, was involved in a long-term affair with my wife. I caught them together that day, sneaking a kiss in his study. They didn’t see me, but that’s why I dismissed you from the marriage negotiations. I confronted your father. He didn’t deny it and admitted it had been going on for nearly five years.”
Samuel’s mind wandered back to that day, reliving everything he could recall, yet it still seemed unlikely. “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, come now, Stanton. You’re no fool. What else could end a friendship that had lasted more than thirty years except a woman?”
“Perhaps it was money. You admitted to being broke.”
“Yes. But the money I owed wasn’t to your father. So no, it was their affair. The two most important people in my life made a fool of me. However, I found satisfaction in refusing to allow the marriage between you and Clarice to take place. And locking my wife in her chambers ended their affair. They never saw each other again, and my poor departed wife died a broken woman with a shattered heart.”
Listening to Clarice’s father speak with such hatred and disregard for her mother saddened him. Yes, an affair was wrong, but how sad. Had he noticed a difference in his father after that day? Honestly, he’dbeen battling to recover from the bullet wound and then the lung infection, and he hadn’t noticed. Except in the year leading up to his death, he had appeared quiet. Samuel had always attributed it to his lost friendship with Portsmouth. But perhaps it was that he missed Lady Portsmouth. His stomach twisted painfully. Had his mother known? She had also seemed sad, but she had lost her best friend, Clarice’s mother. Unfortunately, he would never know. His entire family was gone. There was no one left to tell the story.
Of course, there was the possibility that Portsmouth was making all this up. Except looking back, he had occasionally found his father and Lady Portsmouth in a room together, but he’d thought nothing of it at the time. But now, if his memory served him correctly, there was an intimacy in those moments between them that bespoke of lovers in retrospect.
“I can see by your expression that you’re coming to terms with what I’ve said.” He signaled the waiter. “Would you like another?”
“No.” He didn’t trust anything else going into his stomach.
“Now we get down to the real matter at hand. You will leave London and go back to your racehorses. You will never speak to my daughter again, or I will reveal the secrets of your father. And I’m not talking about his affair with my wife. No one cares about infidelity. Everyone’s doing it. I’m talking about other things from his past—mistakes he made when he first inherited his title. Of course, I have no proof of what I’m saying, just my word. Unless I can find the other parties involved. Even so, we know how thetonloves to gossip. Whether or not what I say is true, it will spread, and his legacy will be tarnished regardless. And you know how the sins of the father trickle down to the son.” He paused and grinned. “Some might even think he set the fire at his estate to kill himself and take his family with him. Weren’t you staying there at the time? From what I understand, it was pure luck you weren’t in the house.” He finished his drink and set the glass down on the table beside his chair with an audible click. “Evenmore believable would be that you burned the place down, killing everyone to inherit the title. Your life will be ruined.”
Samuel jumped up, ran into the water closet, and lost the contents of his stomach into a chamber pot. When he exited, Hunter was standing outside the door, looking worried. “What the hell did he say?”
“Not here. Let’s take a ride,” Samuel said as he walked, slightly unsteady, out of White’s, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He didn’t need to see to hear all the whispers and bets being made about him and Portsmouth.
As he reached his carriage, he said to his driver, “Drive through Mayfair. Don’t drop Mr. Hunter off for half an hour.” Once inside, he collapsed against the cushions, legs stretched out, and inhaled deeply, causing his lungs to rattle. Hunter sat opposite him, and Samuel tapped the roof, signaling the driver to go.
Now that they were moving, Samuel shared everything with Hunter, including the embarrassing and threatening parts.
“What a blackguard. You can’t be serious about listening to his threats,” Hunter said with wide eyes and a frown.
