“You’re worried about scandal,” he said.
“I’m terrified of it,” she corrected. “Everything I’ve built could crumble if Society discovers the Duke of Westmore has been frequenting opium dens and brothels.” Her hand rose toward his chest, hovering inches away. “If you’re discovered in those places, I’ll be destroyed alongside you.”
“Then what would you have me do?” he asked quietly. “Abandon him?”
“No,” Eleanor said firmly. “But send someone else—hire investigators. Surely someone else can search those places without dragging our name through the mud.”
“If Dominic is truly lost in that world again, only I can reach him.”
“And if you’re caught? If you’re seen?” Her voice rose. “Do we both pay the price for your heroic gesture?”
Damien stepped back, needing distance. “I can’t take the risk of losing him. If that makes me selfish, so be it.”
Disappointment settled over her features. “Then you’ve already chosen,” she said quietly. “Your brother over everything else.”
She moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “Tread carefully in those neighborhoods, Duke. London’s underbelly has shifted in your absence.”
“Leave me to my shadows,” he said softly, “and I shall leave you to yours.”
Eleanor’s shoulders stiffened, but she left without another word, the soft click of the door somehow more final than if she’d slammed it.
A Rude Awakening
Eleanor sat behindher mahogany desk in her private study, examining the week’s schedule with careful attention. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the neat stack of correspondence and account books arranged before her.
Her fingers traced absently over the day’s entries, but her mind wandered to her husband’s increasingly reticent behavior. She rarely crossed paths with him now as he slept well past noon, emerged briefly in the afternoon with bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance, and vanished again after a hasty meal, not returning until the early hours of the morning.
Twice she had encountered him in the foyer near dawn, his cravat loose, his jacket rumpled, and the unmistakable scent of cheap perfume clinging to his clothing. Was he truly spending every evening searching squalid gaming hells and opium dens for his brother, or was he also seeking other diversions during his long nights away from home?
A hollow ache formed in her chest each time she imagined him in the arms of some faceless woman. The thought of him finding comfort with someone else while treating her with such studied indifference made her stomach clench.
This was mere wounded pride, she told herself firmly. After all, what claim did she have on his fidelity when their arrangement was purely practical? But the rational explanations felt hollow against the sharp stab of something that felt suspiciously like betrayal.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her troubled thoughts.
“Enter,” she called, setting down her pen.
Jack Hawkins stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Even in the fine livery of Eleanor’s household, there was no disguising his seafaring past—broad-shouldered and solid, with a weathered face that spoke of years battling the elements. He carried himself with quiet dignity despite the slight limp from an old injury sustained at sea.
“You wished to see me, Your Grace?” he asked, standing respectfully before her desk.
“Yes, Jack. Please sit.” She gestured to the chair opposite. “Have you been making inquiries about the duke, as I requested?”
Jack settled into the chair, his keen eyes attentive. “Yes, Your Grace. Discreet ones, as instructed.”
“And what have you learned about His Grace’s nightly activities?”
Eleanor studied him thoughtfully. George had hired Jack on the recommendation of a shipping captain, recognizing both his intelligence and loyalty. After George’s death, Jack had proven invaluable, using his connections at the docks to help her protect what assets he could from Abram’s grasping hands. If anyone could provide the information she needed, it would be him.
Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He’s been seen frequently in the dock areas, Your Grace. The establishments there cater to gentlemen seeking… entertainment.”
Eleanor kept her expression composed despite the twist in her stomach. “I see. And he appears to be partaking in such entertainment?”
“From what my contacts observe, yes, Your Grace. He seems comfortable in those surroundings, familiar with the proprietors.” Jack’s tone remained carefully neutral. “Though I should mention, there was a sighting of Lord Croft near those same areas five nights past. This may explain His Grace’s sudden interest in frequenting such places.”
Eleanor’s pulse quickened. “So the duke may truly be searching rather than indulging.”
“It’s possible, Your Grace. Though the two activities aren’t mutually exclusive in such places.”