The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(15)

“Every woman likes a broken nose, kitten. And besides, I can take any toff who comes my way.” Sera smiled at the words, and at the description of her husband, who, despite being the most aristocratic man she’d ever known, was decidedly un-tofflike. Caleb continued as she ascended the steps to the little stage at the far end of the room. “In fact, I look forward to seeing the bastard. I’d like to teach him a lesson.”

Sera reached up to remove the stubs of beeswax candles in one of the enormous candelabra flanking it. “Unfortunately, Mr. Calhoun, I highly doubt you’ll have a chance to meet him.”

“He’ll come looking for you.”

“Care to wager?” she teased. “Fifty dollars says he’s left town with the rest of London, and I shall have to seek him out to get my tavern.”

“I think you mean the rest of London’s spoiled, moneyed set.” Caleb opened a small, secret compartment in the bar and lifted out a box of tobacco and papers, making a show of rolling a cheroot. “The lords of the manor head home to check on their serfs?”

Sera laughed softly. “Something like that. Though escaping the stench of London is likely a more accurate description of what’s happened.”

“Bah,” Caleb scoffed. “The stink of a city is how you know it is alive.”

She headed for the matching candelabra on the opposite side of the stage, replacing candlesticks with precision. “You would make a terrible member of the aristocracy.”

His laugh boomed through the room. “I’ve no doubt of that, love. You’ve got yourself a bet. Fifty dollars says your man walks through that door by week’s end.”

She didn’t like the certainty in her friend’s voice. As though he’d already won the bet. And she liked his next point even less. “Either way, Duchess, it’s time we get to work, don’t you think? You need that man to agree, and you need this place to be the best Covent Garden has ever seen, so the moment it is yours, it is legend. So, how do you get his agreement?”

She’d have to see him again, even if she didn’t want to. Even if she didn’t want to face him, handsome as ever and somehow entirely changed.

Caleb added, “We’ve been here for seven weeks and I’m already itching to get back on American soil.”

She looked up, squinting into the darkness. “You could go, you know. You don’t have to . . .”

She trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Caleb had done so much. He’d protected her when he found her, broken and alone in a city—a country—a continent—she’d never known. And he’d helped her find her feet again. Her strength. He’d given her reason to smile again. And then he’d given her purpose. And when she’d decided it was time for her to return to England and begin anew, he’d packed his bags without hesitation.

Sera shook her head and repeated herself. “You don’t have to.”

He lit the cheroot, and the orange tip glowed in the dimly lit space. “And yet, here I am. A remarkable man, don’t you think?”

She raised a brow. “A model of modesty, most certainly.”

“So. When do we serve your idiot husband his ass?”

She laughed at the words, spoken with unadulterated glee. “I feel that you might not get that opportunity.”

“You don’t think he’ll give you the divorce?” She could see his wide, furrowed brow even from a distance. “Then you return with me, and start fresh in Boston.”

If only it were so easy. If only she’d been connected to the city across the sea—bustling with new victory and the promise of a young country. She’d come to love Boston for its hope and its people and Caleb. But it had never been London.

It had never felt like home.

She picked at the round, heavy candle stub in her hand, extracting the wick and rolling it between thumb and forefinger, watching the black char mark her skin. “He’ll give me the divorce,” she said, knowing that Malcolm likely wanted nothing more than to be rid of her. “But I imagine he’ll do so with a fair amount of punishment.”

Caleb came off the bar then, moving toward her, broad shoulders and wide jaw that marked his rough, colonial upbringing long before he opened his mouth and revealed his uncultured accent. He was an animal in a cage here, in this world governed by rules he found at best inane and at worst unconscionable.

“You don’t deserve his punishment.”

She raised a brow. “I left him, Caleb.”

“He left you first.”

She smiled at that. “Not in any way that mattered.”

“In every way that mattered,” he scoffed.

She sighed. “Duchesses don’t leave,” she explained for the dozenth time. The hundredth. “Certainly not without providing an heir.”

Not even when an heir was impossible.

“They should do when their husband has exiled them,” he replied. “Remaining is bollocks.”

“No, it’s British.”

He cursed round and vicious. “Yet another reason you lot deserved the ass-kicking we gave you.”

“You should find passage on the next ship out. You’ve a life to return to.” She tried for humor. “You’re not getting any younger, friend. It’s time to find a woman who will put up with you.”