“Were you indeed?” Eleanor stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than a shout. “Then perhaps you’d prefer I discuss your ‘concern’ with the magistrates? I’m certain they’d be fascinated to learn aboutyour establishment’s unusual method of ensuring customer welfare.”
Madame Rousseau’s composure cracked slightly. “Your Grace, please, you don’t understand the position I’m in—”
“Then enlighten me,” Eleanor said with deadly calm. “Because my alternative is to make sure that every respectable family in London knows exactly which establishment their errant sons and husbands frequent. The scandal would destroy your business within a fortnight.”
The madame’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Lord Croft,” she whispered. “He said… he said you needed to know what sort of man you’d married. That it was a kindness, really, to show you the truth.”
Eleanor felt no satisfaction at having her suspicions confirmed. “And what did Lord Croft promise you in return for this kindness?”
“Protection,” the madame admitted. “My establishment operates under his patronage. When he suggests something, it’s hardly a suggestion.”
“I see.” Eleanor moved closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “And now you find yourself in quite the predicament, don’t you? You’ve betrayed the confidence of one peer of the realm at the behest of another. You’ve chosen a viscount’s interests over a duke’s trust. Most uncomfortable indeed.”
“Your Grace, please—”
“However,” Eleanor continued, “I’m not without sympathy for your position. Lord Croft can be most persuasive in his demands.”
Hope flickered in the madame’s eyes. “You understand then—”
“What I understand is that you now have a choice to make.” Eleanor smiled sharply. “You can continue as Lord Croft’s creature, in which case I will ensure your demise.”
The woman’s face went ashen.
“Or,” Eleanor continued pleasantly, “you can choose a new patron. One who values discretion and rewards loyalty appropriately.”
“What… what are you proposing?”
“Information,” Eleanor said simply. “Lord Croft’s activities, his associates, his plans—particularly as they relate to my family. In exchange, I will ensure your establishment continues to operate unmolested, and I will see that you’re compensated far more generously than Lord Croft’s meager protection.”
Madame Rousseau stared at her for a long moment. “You’re offering to protect me from Lord Croft?”
“I’m offering you the opportunity to protect yourself. Lord Croft trades in other people’s secrets and weaknesses. I, on the other hand, prefer mutually beneficial arrangements.” Eleanor’s voice hardened. “But make no mistake—cross me, and you’ll discover that a duchess scorned can be far more dangerous than any viscount.”
“And tonight? What do I tell Lord Croft about tonight?”
Eleanor smiled despite feeling no warmth whatsoever. “You tell him exactly what he wanted to hear. That you summoned me, that I witnessed my husband’s debauchery, and that I was appropriately devastated by the revelation. Let him believe his plan succeeded perfectly.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“Will handle her own affairs, thank you.” Eleanor moved toward the door. “You have until tomorrow evening to decide, madame. Send word through the usual channels when you’ve made your choice.”
She paused at the threshold. “And, madame? Should you choose to continue under Lord Croft’s protection, I trust you’ll understand that tonight’s little performance will have consequences for everyone involved.”
Eleanor departed the sitting room with her head held high, steeling herself for the unpleasant task that awaited her.
She found Jack and Simmons wrestling with the duke’s unconscious form, attempting to force his arms through the sleeves of his coat. Her husband’s head lolled backward, his face slack with whatever substance had rendered him insensible.
“How is he?” she asked quietly.
“Alive, Your Grace, but thoroughly drugged. Laudanum, most likely, mixed with something stronger.” Jack’s voice was grim. “This wasn’t natural intoxication.”
Eleanor felt another piece of the puzzle fall into place. “Lord Croft wanted to ensure he’d be found in a compromising position. A duke who could remember the evening might prove inconvenient.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Jack replied, understanding dawning.
Eleanor took one last look at her husband’s slack features, her heart aching despite her anger. She chose to believe it was humiliation that gnawed at her core, not a heartache.
The journey home passed in tense silence. Eleanor sat rigidly upright while Jack and Simmons supported her husband’s unconscious weight on the opposite bench. The duke’s head rolled with each jolt of the carriage, and she found herself studying his face in the intermittent glow of streetlamps.