Read Online Lady Vice by Wendy LaCapra - Free Book Online Page B

of the alibi with Randolph, but Randolph had slipped out the back of the Red Lion Inn after giving testimony and, despite an exhaustive search, Max could not locate the man.
    Now, he needed a drink.
    He shrugged off his greatcoat and shook out the dust. Immediately, the telltale click of the butler’s shoes echoed through the hall.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Harrison,” Geste said. The older man’s jowls jiggled as he reached for Max’s coat. The butler found his habit of entering through the back eccentric.
    “I wish to work in my study. Is it lit?”
    “I lit a fire in the duke’s study, sir.”
    “Thank you, Geste.”
    Much like the ancient furniture, Geste had come with the townhome and he never let Max forget the house had always belonged to the dukes of Wynchester. The butler’s manner had never rankled before, but Max’s position had become precarious. When Wynchester found out about Max’s pledge to protect a murdering countess who also happened to be a friend to his estranged duchess, he would evict Max without question.
    Max strode into his study and shoved the door closed. He wrestled with the knot of his cravat and then cast off his neckcloth. He leaned over the mess of books and parchment and ink.
    Damnation. If Lavinia had gone to Vauxhall as Lord Randolph had testified, why hadn’t she said so?
    A stinging anger he feared was actually jealousy-in-disguise rippled through his gut. Another tether holding the beast snapped.
    Sophia had implied Lavinia feared men, but rumor suggested otherwise. Could Randolph be Lavinia’s lover? And what of Lord Montechurch? Montechurch had touched her as if accustomed to doing so.
    No—he shook off the thought—Lavinia had been afraid of Montechurch. And, from what Max had learned today, Randolph was widely acknowledged to be smitten with Sophia.
    Still, the whole business stank worse than Rats’ Castle Rookery on a sweltering August Sunday. If saving Lavinia meant he must play by both fair means and foul, could he stay in the game?
    Sophia had told him this was his hand to lose. Yes, his hand, his savings, his home, his life. He’d offered to run away with Lavinia, for God’s sake. If she had accepted, to whom would his mother—and hers—have turned?
    He closed his lids, soothing his smarting eyes.
    He could no longer use the excuse that Lavinia had betrayed him by marrying Vaile. She had been innocent and he had refused to face the truth. He wanted to believe her innocent now. But could he be sure Vaile had not made her desperate enough to do the worst?
    People made terrible decisions to save themselves. Somewhere in India a group of Englishmen wandered, dressed in the clothes of another culture and speaking a tongue not their own. He wondered if the mercenaries were haunted. How could a man betray his country and live with himself?
    If he chose to walk away, he’d save his position and lose the honor on which he’d come to depend. He could not live with himself if he left his one-time love to the machinations of a viper like Montechurch.
    Propriety be damned, he intended to pay another visit to Lavinia soon. He’d convince her to confide in him, by any means necessary.
    He braced himself against the wooden cabinet and pulled open the glass door. He reached for a crystal decanter of port, but hesitated. Tonight, if any, must qualify as a special occasion. Gently, he slid the decanter aside and pulled out a smaller globe.
    He uncorked the bottle and inhaled.
    His one indulgence. Armagnac, and not the brandy-diluted version the Dutch traded, either. His was the real thing, a cask straight from the Maniban family in France, a liquid gold delicacy not well-known in England.
    England’s loss, in this case, need not be his own.
    He poured a small amount and brought the glass to his nose. A delicious aroma permeated his being: sweetness and mystery—vanilla, pepper, rose, and chocolate. He savored the fragrance while his hands warmed the liquid. He sipped,