Page 43 of How to Capture a Duke

“You promised me a game of vingt-et-un, remember?” Jeffries said.

Olivia’s lips curved in a smile. “I remember.”

With a slight incline of her head, the croupier dealt the cards. Olivia was swift at counting, and she tapped the table with a finger to indicate that the croupier should deal her another card. Spencer was just as comfortable with the cards. They enjoyed a few hands, both equally matched. A server delivered crystal glasses of amber-colored alcohol. Olivia shook her head while Spencer accepted a tumbler and took a drink.

“You know I’m my cousin’s heir,” he said.

Clearly, he had been previously drinking to broach such an indelicate topic. “Oh?”

“Should you not have a child with the Duke of Keswick, of course,” he added.

“Of course.” Her blood ran cold, but she kept her eyes on her cards. He spoke the truth, but still, the thought of never having a child, of spending a lifetime bound to Tristan as his wife without ever sharing intimacy, left a desolate ache in her stomach. For someone who’d wanted to marry for love, to have at least four children, it was a horribly depressing thought. Motherhood was important to her, and she’d looked forward to having her own children for as long as she could remember.

“I told Tristan that’s not what I wanted of him, but he is stubborn,” Jeffries said.

Questions arose in her mind, sharp and jagged. She already knew Tristan didn’t want children, but she wanted an explanation. All titled men needed an heir. What made her husband different?

She’d seen him with young Catherine. The child had taking an immediate liking to him, and he’d seemed more comfortable spending an evening in his study with a five-year-old girl than with her family in the dining room.

Another server walked by, and Lord Jeffries placed his empty glass on the tray and replaced it with a full one. Perhaps if he continued to drink, the whisky would loosen his tongue and she could learn more. She desperately needed to learn more, to understand.

She touched his sleeve. “Tell me something else.”

He lowered his glass and met her gaze, his blue eyes glassy. “You look lovely this evening.”

“Not that. Something about the duke.”

His gaze shuttered for an instant, and she feared he wouldn’t speak.

“What do you want to know about my cousin?”

Olivia took a breath and asked the question that had been on her mind. “Why doesn’t he want children?”

He shrugged, sipped his glass. “I told you he was taunted as a child.”

“So?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

No, it isn’t.

At her silence, Lord Jeffries lowered his glass. “He fears his offspring will be just like him, will stammer like him.”

Olivia stared at him in shock. The room spun, and her heart dropped. The varying sounds of the casino dimmed in her ears, and the kaleidoscope of color blurred in her vision. She’d never once considered Tristan felt this way or believed it to be true. There was no reason to believe his child would have the same difficulty speaking. Didn’t he see that?

“Does anyone else in his family have a similar condition?” she asked.

“No. Just Tristan.”

Why would he believe it would pass to his children? The answer was as clear as if it was written on the cards before her. Because he refuses to take the risk.

Finally, she understood why Tristan never wanted to marry, never intended to father a child. She’d come along and he’d been forced to wed her and then forced to live with her. It was bad enough he believed she’d tricked him into marriage. Now she posed a greater threat by residing with him and by tempting him.

She felt a nauseating, sinking despair. Despite their beginning, she’d never given up hope. She’d come here tonight to help Tristan. Her plan to get close to Lady Ware was solely to help him. She’d believed, deep down, that Tristan would see her value as his wife and gain his approval. That they would overcome their odds, and one day, he would open the door that connected their bedchambers and join her in her luxurious four-poster bed.

What a fool she’d been.

If he truly believed his child would suffer as he had, and he refused forever to share her bed, then there was no hope for them or for their marriage. Nothing she could do would change their future or his opinion of her. He’d always resent her, and she’d spend her life in a mansion, alone and desolate.