The Courtesan Duchess (13 page)

The waitress returned and Nick ordered coffee. Then he turned to his friend. “Winchester is here, too. Did you know?” Nick, Quint, and Winchester had been close since Eton. Those boyhood friendships were the only ones to survive the scandal, and Nick was grateful to both men for standing by him.

Quint’s eyes widened. “No. I’ve been in Rome for the last month. I can only imagine the fun you two are having.”

“I have not seen much of him, I’m afraid.” Not at all in the past nine days, in fact. “Where are you staying?”

“Not far from here, actually. I arrived two days ago. There’s a scholar in Venice I’ve wanted to speak with regarding—”

“No doubt the conversation shall be riveting.” Nick had learned over the course of their twenty-year friendship to cut Quint off before his friend started in on the topics of philosophy, engineering, or science. “And how have you been since I saw you last? No wife in tow, I see.”

“Didn’t you hear?” When Nick shook his head, Quint continued. “I was betrothed last spring. Girl ran off to Gretna Green with a stable boy a week before the ceremony. Damned good thing, too. The last thing I wanted was to be married.”

Quint’s troubled eyes gave away the lie. It was obvious the girl had broken his heart. “My sympathies,” Nick said in all seriousness.

Quint looked away. “Eh. I’ll survive. Speaking of marriages—”

Nick groaned, causing Quint to chuckle. “I was merely going to say that I see your wife quite a bit in London. You do not know what you’re missing, my friend.”

“Believe me, if she’s half as wonderful as Winchester says, I’m well aware of what a paragon she is. But it hardly matters.”

Quint held up his hands. “I know better than to pursue that line of conversation. So . . . how are the ladies of Venice?”

Nick thought of Juliet and couldn’t keep from smiling. Quint’s eyes widened. “That good, eh? You’re positively grinning. So who is she?”

He
was
grinning. Nick couldn’t help it. “Actually I’ve been keeping company with Winchester’s former mistress. Someone you’ll know. Mrs. Juliet Leighton.”

Quint cocked his head. “Who?”

“Mrs. Leighton.” Quint’s puzzled expression remained unchanged, so Nick elaborated. “Romanced both Wellington and the Prince Regent at the same time. Had a dinner party and served champagne from a chamber pot. Possesses a collection of diamonds rumored to rival the Crown Jewels. Surely you remember?”

“Sorry, Colt. I have no idea who you’re talking about. Winchester’s old mistress, you say?”

“She’s from London. Juliet Leighton. You must have heard of her.” Nick frowned and tried not to be annoyed at the failing of his friend’s memory. But the rumors about Juliet were wildly fantastic. Any red-blooded male in London over the age of twelve would know her name. “Come on, Quint.”

“No. I haven’t heard of her. And she sounds like a woman I wouldn’t soon forget. Maybe Winchester is pulling one over on you. You know how much he enjoyed playing pranks on us.”

Quint quietly sipped his coffee while Nick struggled with that statement. Would Winchester do such a thing? What would he hope to gain? Juliet’s cooperation would be required in such a scheme. Why would the two of them . . . No, such an idea was ludicrous.

Nick shook off the gnawing feeling in his gut, and their talk soon shifted to other matters. A few hours passed and Nick found himself anxious to see Juliet.

“I must go, Quint. But send round later and we’ll go out this evening.”

Nick departed and Fitz met him outside, the valet straightening off the side of the building as Nick came forward.

“I plan to walk over to Mrs. Leighton’s palazzo. Take the gondola and meet me over there, will you?”

Fitz nodded. “Be careful.”

“It’s the middle of the day. I’ll be fine. I need the walk to clear my head.” Without another word, he spun and strode away, threading through the soldiers, shoppers, and visitors in the Piazza San Marco.

By the time he made it to Juliet’s palazzo, Nick convinced himself there was no reason for concern. Quint certainly did not know everyone in London, and he’d been traveling recently. Of course there was also the possibility that Mrs. Leighton wasn’t as notorious as the rumors made it seem. Nick was no stranger to the power of falsehoods and how quickly they spread.

But a small amount of doubt remained. He’d been burned before, and Nick knew better than to trust anyone.

He attempted to calm himself with a few deep breaths. It didn’t work. He wouldn’t be better until he saw Juliet and asked her these very questions himself.
Who are you? Have you and Winchester been making a fool of me?

He rapped on the door, waiting in the balmy Venetian afternoon while he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He knocked once more. Where the hell was everyone?

Nick turned the handle and the door creaked open. He stepped into the entryway. “Juliet? Winchester? Is anyone about?”

No one appeared, so he continued up the stairs to the main floor. Darkness surrounded him. No lamps or candles burning, windows closed, and fear tightened his chest. “Juliet?” he called.

Rushing up another flight, Nick found his answer.

In the first chamber, drawers were opened, all ominously empty, as if the occupant left in a hurry. “Goddamn it!” he roared, charging from room to room—only each chamber looked the same.

He stumbled to the first floor, reeling. Gone? And she left without a bloody word?

The truth could no longer be denied. He’d been duped. Why else would she flee the palazzo without telling him? God, no wonder Quint had never heard of the woman.

Nick staggered into the sitting room, hoping to discover some sign of life, some proof she had not truly deserted him. Only, there was none. The furniture stood silent, the living, breathing occupants gone.

A note on the mantel caught his eye. It was addressed to him. His heart stuttered. Perhaps it was from Juliet, explaining her hasty departure. Nick lunged for it and broke the seal, expecting to read of some unforeseen event that had pulled her away from Venice.

It was not from Juliet, however. The note was from Winchester. And the words turned Nick’s blood cold.

Nick stumbled to a chair, stunned. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. The room was spinning, so he grabbed the armrests to steady himself.

Bloody hell, was it true?

Juliet was . . . his wife?

He crumpled the note in his hand, his disbelief shifting into white-hot rage. His muscles clenched and he could hardly see through a haze of anger. He’d been tricked. By his
wife
. She’d stood there, smiling at him, laughing at him, bedding him . . . the whole time knowing she was lying.

That
whore
.

It had all been a game. The rumors, the flirting, the kissing. She’d merely wanted him to chase her, to fall at her feet. And he had, goddamn nitwit that he was. It was some sort of revenge for ignoring her for eight years. God, and the things he’d
told
her. Nick had revealed parts of himself to her that he hadn’t shown anyone, ever.

And she and Winchester had been laughing at him the whole time.

The pain nearly doubled him over. Nick had never felt this betrayed. Not even when his brother hadn’t believed him, or when his family had turned their backs on him. No, this was a hundred times worse. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and shoved the note into the pocket of his coat.

Nick stalked out of the palazzo toward his gondola, his boots snapping on the stone floor. His chest felt hollow, frozen. Empty of all feeling and emotion. Fitz stood on the dock, impassively awaiting his return. “Home,” Nick barked and jumped into the boat. He dropped onto the seat and put his head in his hands.

Every moment with her, every lying smile, every deceitful sigh played back in Nick’s head while they floated the short distance to his palazzo. Were she and Winchester lovers? Winchester had denied having feelings for the duchess, but what man would go to such lengths to help a woman he did not care for?

Whatever he had to do, wherever he had to go, Nick vowed the two of them would regret making a fool of him.

When the gondola stopped at the dock, Nick leaped out and his hand brushed against a lump in the pocket of his greatcoat. He suddenly remembered the gift he’d bought Juliet—no, make that
his wife.
The intricately carved, unique cameo set. Simple and elegant, just as he’d once thought Juliet to be. He took the box out and held it in his trembling hand, rage coursing through him. His own stupidity mocked him.

And what of your wife?
she’d asked.
Aren’t you curious about her?

With a soul-shattering roar, Nick hurled the box as far as he could into the black waters of the canal.

“Colton, what is it? What’s happened?” Quint asked from the doorway.

It was early evening, and Nick was rapidly attempting to wrap up all his business in Venice. He now remembered telling Quint to come by tonight. The last thing he needed was company, but he found himself strangely unable to ask his friend to leave.

Quint lowered himself into a chair across from Nick’s desk. “I can see you’re angry. What is it?”

There was no reason to hide the truth from Quint. All of London would be laughing at Nick shortly, reveling in the humiliation of the Depraved Duke. Nick didn’t trust his voice, so he merely tossed Winchester’s note in Quint’s direction and went back to writing.

A long minute went by. The room remained deathly quiet while Quint read the letter. When he finished, he folded the paper and placed it on Nick’s desk.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Nick’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowed on Quint. “Yes, for a
whore
. Quite.” He refocused on the letter he was composing, barely seeing the words on the page.

“Oh, come now, Colton. So you bedded your wife. And it sounds as if you enjoyed it, if your earlier comments at the coffeehouse were any indication. While no one wants to be duped, at least you can cross ‘consummate my marriage’ off the items to accomplish before you die.”

“That was on my list of things
not
to accomplish—ever,” Nick shot back. “And the woman I bedded was no virgin, Quint. She was experienced in the arts of fornication. So with whom has she been gaining such experience? Winchester?” He realized he was shouting, so he forced himself to relax.

Quint frowned. “Well, that does seem unlikely. But you’ve washed your hands of her since the wedding ceremony. One can hardly blame the girl for wanting to be loved.”

“Jesus, Quint. This is no time for logic.” Nick dragged a hand down his face. “Fine, if what you say is true, then why come and find me? She could have any man in London. Why create this fantastic story, of a courtesan no man can resist, and then seduce me?”

“I should hate to speculate, but perhaps you have not considered the most obvious reason of all.”

Other than humiliate him, or to seek revenge, Nick couldn’t fathom a guess. “And what would that be?”

“Perhaps another man planted his seed in your wife, and she is trying to convince you it is yours.”

His breath caught, and then a new, brighter fury raced through him, clogging his throat. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Driven to desperation,
Winchester had said in his note.
A woman on the brink of despair.

And then it all made sense. The persona, the fact that she’d targeted him, Winchester’s cooperation . . . The woman wanted to pass off some other man’s bastard as Nick’s child.