An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(73)

“And left a threatening note in Gisela’s chocolate box,” I added for good measure.

Maximilian dropped his glass and gave a deep moan, thrusting his hands into his hair as he bent double. “Mfffmmmfffmffff,” he said.

“I am afraid that was not entirely audible,” Stoker told him.

The duke raised his head; the fight had clearly gone out of him. “I did not mean to harm her—I would never harm her, you must believe that. I love Gisela.” His protests echoed J. J.’s, but that proved nothing. She might well have been parroting what he had told her, falling for his persuasions in spite of her journalistic instincts.

“Tell us,” I urged. I was conscious of Stoker fairly vibrating with satisfaction at what we had learnt so far.

The duke began to speak in a small, halting voice, very unlike his usual assured tones. “You must understand what it is like. I was born to a very minor branch of the family. I have a title, yes, but precious else. The lesser von Hochstadts have never been wealthy. We hang on the fringes of the senior branch of the family, hoping for crumbs. My parents always pushed the idea that Gisela and I should marry, and her father liked the notion of keeping everything within the family. We were thrown together constantly as children. We quarreled and made up, as children do, but we were friends, always,” he insisted. “I was sent away to school here in England and then into the army. I scarcely saw her, but whenever I did, we picked up where we had left off. We understood one another very well. We got on. It seemed logical that we should marry.” He paused, heaving a bone-weary sigh. “I am not permitted to propose to Gisela. Her rank is too far above my own. It must come from her, but the years have passed and still she does not speak. I am left on tenterhooks, never knowing when I will marry, when I will assume my responsibilities as consort.” He smiled, a small and rueful thing. “I must amuse myself as best I can, which sounds as if it ought to be a very enjoyable life, but it is not. I have no purpose, no money, and no way of earning any. I gamble because that is the only way to afford decent tailoring,” he said, plucking at the cuff of his sleeve. “I keep company with disreputable ladies because it is a way of passing the time, and I drink too much in order to forget that the woman I am meant to spend the rest of my life with does not think me worthy of her hand.”

He retrieved his glass and examined the contents, draining a few remaining drops.

“Has the princess told you as much?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. But I know she believes I am not serious enough, that I lack responsibility and proper feeling.”

I rolled my eyes heavenwards. “And your idea of how to change that is to gamble and disport yourself with disreputable people?”

He turned to Stoker. “Does she always speak so plainly?”

Stoker shrugged. “No. In fact, she is being rather polite just now. You are quite fortunate she has not told you what she really thinks.”

The duke put down his glass and laced his fingers across his flat stomach. “Very well. What do you really think?”

“I think you are entirely pathetic,” I told him serenely. “You are gifted by nature with intelligence and ability and remarkable good looks and yet you cannot be bothered to lift a finger for anyone besides yourself. You have allowed indolence and bad company to influence you to do nothing more interesting than play baccarat and wager on horses, which makes you dull in the extreme. Not only do I not blame the princess for hesitating to betroth herself to you, I applaud her for her lucky escape.”

He gaped at me, his complexion purpling once more. “No one has ever dared speak to me in such a fashion.”

“You did ask,” I reminded him. “And I am not finished. I have not even begun to express my feelings on the abject weakness of character that would cause a man to play vicious pranks upon the woman he professes to love.”

“That was not my fault!” he exclaimed, thumping his thighs with his fists. “It was the devil to whom I owe money. He owns a casino in Deauville and I made promises to him—promises I would have been able to keep if Gisela had announced our betrothal.”

“But she has not and so this blackguard instructed you to bring terror to bear upon the princess in order to shock her into marriage.”

He covered his face with his hands for a long moment, and when he dropped them, the rage seemed to fall away. “I was drunk, very, very drunk. And I had lost a great deal of money. And I had quarreled with Gisela yet again about making our engagement official. I had done a favor for her—a very large favor. And she had given her word she would make the announcement. But when the time came, she did not. The reasons are not important, but I felt she had failed me. I took myself off to Deauville to have a good carouse to exorcise my feelings. I lost, heavily. They took me into the office of the owner of the casino and we had a little discussion,” he said, his lips twisting in distaste. “I cannot tell you how much I hated myself in that moment. A Duke of Lokendorf reduced to sitting with such a fellow, asking him for his forbearance! Supplicating, like a beggar. It was his idea to play these pranks upon Gisela, but I agreed and that fault is mine,” he said. There was sorrow in his eyes, and for the first time, I felt I saw the real character of the man.

“The favor you did for Gisela,” I said gently. “Was it to conceal her relationship with Alice Baker-Greene?”