Page 33 of Noble Charms

Morgan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, the red in his pupils winking in the lamplight. “She’s always refused a guard when going out alone. And she does spend a great deal of time alone. Supposedly alone. I thought perhaps her background—” She was from a wealthy family, but they bore no titles, aside from her younger brother who earned knighthood last spring. “I thought perhaps she was uncomfortable with someone following her around because she wasn’t used to that sort of thing. But it’s possible…” Morgan trailed off, raising an eyebrow that Noble interpreted with ease.

“It’s possible because she leaves New Hieroph as often as she does. She may meet with someone else.” Noble tugged a scarf around his neck and opened the door. He and Morgan passed through, and down the street. Their horses were down the block, at the stable he kept. They could be at his estate in a half hour, assuming the bridges weren’t raised for passing boats.

Morgan said, voice fogging around his face, “Not out of the realm of possibility. What do you think, though, Noble? You know her better than anyone. Could she have someone besides you?”

“That’s the thing with love. It left me blind. And if we go there tonight—perhaps, for the first time since we were married—I’ll be able to see.”

Morgan muttered, keeping up with Noble’s brisk pace despite shorter legs, “Let us pray to Sumas that it is not rage that blinds you next.”

And the oddest part was that Noble actually hoped that there would be another man, because an affair would explain everything. He reasoned, as he rode in silence atop his black mare named Banzo, that having that answer would help.

He hoped for this outcome. Virginia had a lover.

He watched, from the well-manicured front lawn, through the enormous bay window at the front of his red brick estate home, as Virginia fell into the arms of another man. He watched as they kissed. He watched her laugh. He watched the man brush away that curl that always fell into her face. The curtains he and Virginia picked out—deep red, with gold tassels—framed the apparent lovers like they were on a stage. The sound of crickets chirped around him, drowning out all his thoughts.

Hopeless. It was hopeless. Virginia said it herself: she didn’t want to leave him. She already had.

Noble hoped for this, and it had left him hurt. Someone had replaced his heart with a single melting candlestick. He swayed where he sat in his brown leather saddle. He might have fallen if not for the stirrups that held his boots.

Morgan, seated on his own horse, made a pained sound. “Ah, how I wished it would not be true.”

Noble tried to reply and found he could not. He watched as Virginia and her beau walked out of sight, deeper into the manor. Lights flickered on in other rooms on the upper floor, and Noble saw his country home half-alive at midnight. They were the same, this place and Noble. The lights within him flickered dimly. Virginia used him, too. She’d even been the one to style his damn hair—just like the drapes. “Well.” Noble said, voice strained.

Morgan said, “We can go in. It’s your home. You can confront her for this. Maybe you should.”

“No. We’ll talk at breakfast tomorrow. Her and I.” Noble hoped she was an adulterer because he hoped it would end the love he felt for her. It hadn’t. He tapped his horse, turning away from the monstrous vision he’d hoped to see. “Let’s go home, Morgan.”

Noble had always been attracted to intellect. And he figured out Virginia was whip-smart within the first thirty minutes of their first date, when she casually calculated the net worth of the bar owner. It’s simple math, she said. You spent fifteen hundred gold on that bottle of wine. It cost no more than two hundred to import. Multiply that by the number of lords, ladies, viscounts, and so on, that are presently in the establishment.

He hadn’t loved her then, but he definitely liked her. And he wanted to go to bed with her right away. He thought himself lucky that she was amenable to his touch by date number two.

And even now, inside Cafe DuLonde, as he finished the cappuccino she’d ordered for him, he found himself impressed. Because Virginia was smart.

She knew to say these lines in public: “You refuse to even acknowledge your role as prince. You’re obsessed with living a lie as a commoner. Why, you don’t even employ staff within our home. You’re ashamed of who you are, and I refuse to be pulled down with your disdain for your peers.”

Noble simply replied, “That’s not true,” but he knew that wasn’t good enough. The eyes of the other patrons wandered to their table. He could practically feel the ears that stretched this way. “Virginia, I’ve always⁠—"

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you’re a prince who refuses to even make an appearance at his cousin’s birth. You’re a prince, Earl Yves. I’m done living in near-poverty while you play like an average man.”

He winced. She was good. She was eviscerating him. Publicly. “Please stop.”

This particular cafe hadn’t been chosen randomly, or for its convenience, like Noble originally thought. Cafe DuLonde sat at the heart of several well-to-do rowhomes at the edge of New Hieroph. Even if the dukes and counts didn’t make it in for coffee this morning, their many servants and friends no doubt overheard everything Virginia said.

It was ten-thirty, and by noon, Earl Yves St. Clair would be known as a terrible husband, and an even worse noble. Ignoble Noble, the gossip rag would proclaim.

He would have shuddered if he’d the energy. But Noble had not slept a wink since she asked him for a divorce the night before, and he was utterly spent.

Virginia carried on with her intelligent charade. “I’ve never belonged with you. I’m not even sure you’ve ever even really loved me, but instead valued my background.” The way she said background—imitating his voice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever used that word around her, ever, but she had it prepared, and knew what it would mean to the other patrons pretending not to hear. “You only wanted me because I was a peasant, once.”

“Why are y—” he almost asked. But he stopped himself, because he knew. Silently, he peered at Virginia. Taking in the high collar of her red velvet jacket. He nearly said, I know that you’re doing this hoping that I will give you all that you ask for in our divorce, because if I don’t, every rumor you start here will seem true. But instead, he remained silent, and let her go on.

“I don’t want your money, if that’s what you mean to ask,” Virginia said, squaring her jaw. “I want my home. My home. Our estate out of town.” The one he’d chased her to last night. The one she already used for her own deeds. “And I want the title within it. Simply sign the documents here, and I will take them to court to verify. And then it’s done.” She leaned close and said, quietly, “I told you that this didn’t have to be hard. Don’t make it hard.” Hard for himself, she meant. “You don’t even like the title earl anyway.”

If Noble dared to bring up her adultery—without evidence—he’d seem even more desperate than he was. Tightly, he said, “I can keep the townhome in the city, then. If I give up my earldom. If I give it to you. I can keep the place in New Hieroph?”

Virginia’s eyes narrowed. She nodded once. “You may save yourself from some guilt for all you’ve put me through, and you may save your townhome here, should you give me that plot of land. I’ve never wanted your coffers, my lord.”

And as much as it hurt⁠—