Chapter Twenty-Three
After Grace’s visit with Ian’s sisters and the dowager, she instructed the driver to take her to Prudence’s residence. Prudence took one look at Grace, ushered her into the drawing room, and shut the door.
“What’s wrong? Is it the marriage bed?” Prudence asked.
Grace felt her cheeks grow hot. “No.”
“He’s a skilled lover then. So, what is it?”
“He’s always busy. In the day and the evening…with his gambling club.” Grace couldn’t bring herself to tell her friend that Ian had deceived her into believing he’d sell the Raven Club.
“If it’s any consolation, many men ignore their wives. Mother’s friends seem happiest when their husbands flee to their own clubs. I know you dislike gambling establishments, but they are prevalent. Does it truly matter if the earl owns one or attends one?”
At Grace’s silence, Prudence squeezed her hand. “Listen to me, Grace. You can lure a bee with honey, not vinegar. I have faith in you.”
Grace had spent the rest of her evening with her friend and the Wetherby family, and by the time she’d returned home, it was late.
Ian was in the vestibule as Jenkins handed him his hat and gloves. Prudence’s words of advice were fresh in her minds. Could she lure Ian with honey? The dowager’s words also reverberated in her thoughts. Were her powers of persuasion stronger than she’d believed? A simple test crossed her mind.
She placed a hand on Ian’s sleeve and smiled sweetly. “I’ve missed you. Perhaps you can stay home and we can spend the evening together?”
His eyes lit and he pressed a quick kiss to her hand. “I will return tonight.”
Disappointment coursed through her. She knew he was headed to the Raven Club.
If he spent time with her during the day, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so abandoned. But he avoided her both in the day and the evening.
Had she foolishly given her heart to a man who was only capable of loving his business?
A flash of wild grief gripped her. He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. She closed her eyes, not wanting him to see the painful vulnerability in her gaze, then she turned to trudge up the grand staircase. She made it to the landing when a loud banging sounded on the front door.
“What the hell?” Ian said, then ignored Jenkins and wrenched the door open himself.
Brooks loomed in the doorway, a large form slung over his shoulder.
“Christ!” Ian said. “Put him in the drawing room.”
Him?
A cold sense of dread trickled down Grace’s spine. She rushed down the stairs to see, but Ian tried to block her view. “Grace—”
She pushed past him and cried out when she recognized her father, bruised and bloodied, unconscious in Brooks’s arms. “My God!”
She hurried to follow Brooks as he placed her father on the drawing room sofa. “I found them beating him up pretty good,” Brooks said, breathing heavily.
“Who? Where?” Ian asked.
“Hatfield. In the alley outside the Raven.”
Grace’s heart pounded as she frantically studied her father’s injuries. Blood was splattered across his cravat and coat, and blood oozed from his nose. “Papa? Papa!”
He opened his swollen eyes. He coughed and spittle trickled from his cracked lips. “Grace?”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice hoarse with unshed tears.
“I didn’t cheat.”
Of course this was about one of his wagers. But she didn’t care. His welfare was her imminent concern. She whirled to Ian. “Hot water and bandages. Summon the surgeon. Quick!”
Ian knelt by her side. “Jenkins already left to fetch the surgeon, and Mrs. Smithson is bringing supplies. Let me look at him, Grace. I’ve been in plenty of bouts, and I can assess the severity of his injuries.”
Not wanting to leave her father’s side, she shifted to allow him access, keeping a firm grip on her father’s limp hand.
The baron grimaced as Ian unbuttoned his bloodied coat and waistcoat and pushed them aside to examine him. He roused and opened his good eye to look at her. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
“Shh. Save your strength.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she furiously blinked them back.
“He accused me of cheating at cards,” the baron said.
“Hatfield?” Ian asked.
“Yes.”
Her stomach felt like someone had hollowed it out with a dull spoon. It always came back to the gambling.
“His nose is broken. Several broken ribs as well,” Ian said.
Her father moaned, a pitiful, guttural sound.
Mrs. Smithson arrived with hot water and clean clothes. Grace dipped a cloth in water and began to gently bathe her father’s battered face.
“I’ve made a mess of things for you, haven’t I?” he asked.
Yes! she wanted to shout. He had. For three years since her mother’s death, he’d made her life miserable. But he was her father, the man who’d once sat her on his knee when she’d been a child and told her bedtime stories. She bit her lip and continued to tend him as a heaviness settled in her chest.
At last, the surgeon arrived. A short, portly man with thick spectacles and sparse, curly black hair, he took one look at his patient and frowned.
“This is Dr. Stedler,” Ian said.
“Please help him,” Grace said.
Dr. Stedler set his black bag on an end table, took one look at Grace’s tear-stained cheeks, and his wrinkled features softened. “If my lady would step away, I’ll have a look.”
Ian must have sensed her hesitation to leave her father’s side. “It’s all right, Grace,” he said. “The doctor is good with the sorts of injuries your father’s sustained. He treats the pugilists after their matches. I wouldn’t have sent for him if I didn’t trust him.”
Grace stepped back, her hands twisting in her skirts while Ian and Brooks remained by the baron’s side in case he needed to be restrained while the surgeon worked.
Her father cried out when the surgeon examined his abdomen, and her entire body stiffened at the godawful sound. Her thoughts turned to her brother. He remained in her father’s house, and she was grateful that his nursemaid would have put him to bed some hours ago. She would not want her young brother to witness this. If something happened to their father, what would she tell Adam?
Their father might die and all because of his fondness for gambling.
Gambling at the Raven Club.
Bile rose up her throat.
It felt like hours before Dr. Stedler had finished. He’d tightly bound her father’s ribs with cloth bandages. Ian followed the surgeon out of the drawing room, and Grace trailed behind. Ian had removed his coat and waistcoat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Blood stained the white linen, and she looked away.
“He broke four ribs, but he is very fortunate, my lady,” Dr. Stedler told her.
Grace’s brows snapped together. “How is it that four broken ribs are considered fortunate?”
His eyes appeared large behind his thick spectacles. “It is not uncommon for a broken rib to puncture the lung. It could have been much worse. He’ll recover, but it will take weeks.”
“Will he be able to travel to his home?”
“Yes, if he’s moved carefully, but I don’t recommend it for tonight. I instructed Brooks to carry him upstairs and put him in an empty bedchamber.”
“Can I see him?” Grace asked.
“I administered a sedative. He won’t be very talkative, but you can sit by him. He will need much care in the beginning. Summon me if a fever develops.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Ian led the man to the vestibule where Jenkins had his coat and hat ready.
Once the baron had been settled in one of the empty bedchambers, Grace slipped into the room. Her father lay still on the bed. Even with the sedative, his breathing was labored. The stench of alcohol, cigar smoke, and perspiration wafted from him. His right eye was swollen shut, and bruises were visible beneath the other eye and cheek. His nose was crooked, and she knew it would heal that way. She pressed a hand to her face and choked back a sob. Despite all his shortcomings, he was her father and she loved him.
“Grace?”
She lowered her hand, and her gaze sought his. “Yes. It’s me.”
“Where am I?”
“In Lord Castleton’s home. You’re safe.”
He grimaced. “It hurts like the devil.”
Anguish seared her heart at his pain. “You have broken ribs. Try not to speak.”
“Ah, Grace. I’m sorry for the worry I’ve caused you. Did you know I won tonight?”
“I know.”
“You look like your mother.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she smoothed his brow. “You’re not to speak, remember?”
“I know I haven’t been a good father. I love you and Adam. If I don’t recover—”
Her throat seemed to close up. “Don’t say that.”
“I promise to stop gambling. I don’t want to go on like this. I’ll let you coddle me.” His eyes fluttered closed.
She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable. Grief and despair tore at her heart.
What if Brooks hadn’t intervened and stopped the beating?
Terrible regrets assailed her as the truth struck her. Her father would have died outside of the Raven Club. The same place she’d made love to Ian only two weeks ago.
Good God, what was she doing?
She had been afraid to bring up the topic of the Raven Club and disturb their unspoken truce, she’d been silent on the subject. She’d allowed herself to be ignored during the day just for scraps of affection at night, hoping desperately that Ian would fall in love with her the way she’d come to love him.
What a fool she’d been.
She sat with her father for an hour and bathed his face in cool compresses. Once she realized there was nothing left for her to do and that he needed to sleep peacefully, she stood and quietly closed the door. She blinked, her eyes adjusting from the dim lighting in the room to the bright wall sconces in the hallway.
She wanted to be alone and think. Her emotions were too raw, too painful. She had to plan for her future and her next course of action. Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see Ian coming around the corner until she nearly collided with him.
“Grace,” he said softly. “How are you?”
“My father is suffering in that room. How do you think I am?”
“I’m sorry.”
The despair she had been feeling swung suddenly into frustration and anger.
Anger at him. “You’re sorry?”
“I had men watching your father. He must have slipped past them unnoticed.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. You’ve said many times that he’d go elsewhere to gamble.”
“I’m going to find out what happened. If Hatfield is responsible, then he’ll pay.”
“Why bother? You know what happened. My father told you. He was wrongfully accused of cheating, lured outside, and beaten.”
“So he says. I need to confirm it. The guilty party will be held accountable.”
His tone was harsh, and she almost felt bad for Hatfield. Almost.
“I’ll return to you tonight as always,” Ian said.
Pain squeezed her heart. Did he believe that now everything would go back to the way it was? “I don’t believe that is a good idea.”
He nodded. “Of course, you will want to sit with your father tonight.”
“You misunderstand, Ian. I don’t think your visiting my bedchamber is a good idea ever again.”
She turned on her heel and headed down the long hall toward her bedchamber. The entire time she had been in his home, their marital home, she hadn’t spent one night in the feminine room. He’d always carried her into his master’s chambers and insisted she sleep in his arms.
His long strides met her shorter ones. “What are you saying?”
She halted in the hall and whirled to him, her eyes blazing. “We have been avoiding the topic, but tonight’s events have made it clear to me. I want no part of the Raven Club.”
“I thought you understood.”
“I understood nothing because we haven’t discussed it. You took me there once, and we never spoke of the place again. I thought I could do it, but I cannot,” she said.
“You cannot what?”
“I cannot continue to live like this.”
“You speak as if you are miserable. You come alive in my arms. You can’t deny that,” he said, his dark eyes searching her face.
She raised her chin and faced him. “Desire is not enough. I want more.”
“What more do you want?”
I want you to love me like I have fallen in love with you.
“You cannot blame the club for what happened to your father tonight,” he said, his tone curt.
“Yes, I can,” she said. “If he wasn’t there, he never would have been accused of cheating at cards and been beaten to a bloody pulp outside the club.”
“It could have happened anywhere.”
“But it didn’t. I feel sick that we had been intimate there.”
“Sick? You regret what happened? From what I recall, you enjoyed it very much.”
Anger bubbled inside her. She raised her hand to strike him, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her close. “You are driving me mad, my lady.”
“I’m driving you mad?”
“You refuse to see your father for what he is. He is a gambler, yes, but he is just as strongly drawn to his drink as he is to the dice. Both vices have resulted in his ruin.”
“Perhaps you are right, but I cannot live knowing my husband owns an establishment where my own flesh-and-blood parent was nearly murdered.” She tossed back her head. “You need to pick, Ian. The Raven or me.”
His jaw tensed, his grip firm. His silence was enough of an answer to her. It was clear. Why hadn’t she seen it? He’d never love her. There was no room in his heart for anything or anyone else. She pulled her arm from his grasp, opened her bedchamber door, and stormed inside.
He was hot on her heels. She wasted no time in opening her trunk and stalking to her wardrobe and tossing garments inside. He grasped her arm and forced her to face him. His face was a dark, towering mask. “Don’t even think about leaving me. I’ll never let you go.”
Resentment and anguish blossomed in her chest. “Truly? Weren’t you the one who said you’d send me away to the country rather than sell your precious club?”
His jaw clenched like a lump of granite. “That was before.”
“Before what? I tire of your games, Ian. Leave. Go to your club.”
Without a word, he stormed from the room and left her.