“Thank you, Doctor.” Ian led the man to the vestibule where Jenkins had his coat and hat ready.
Once the baron had been settled in one of the empty bedchambers, Grace slipped into the room. Her father lay still on the bed. Even with the sedative, his breathing was labored. The stench of alcohol, cigar smoke, and perspiration wafted from him. His right eye was swollen shut, and bruises were visible beneath the other eye and cheek. His nose was crooked, and she knew it would heal that way. She pressed a hand to her face and choked back a sob. Despite all his shortcomings, he was her father and she loved him.
“Grace?”
She lowered her hand, and her gaze sought his. “Yes. It’s me.”
“Where am I?”
“In Lord Castleton’s home. You’re safe.”
He grimaced. “It hurts like the devil.”
Anguish seared her heart at his pain. “You have broken ribs. Try not to speak.”
“Ah, Grace. I’m sorry for the worry I’ve caused you. Did you know I won tonight?”
“I know.”
“You look like your mother.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she smoothed his brow. “You’re not to speak, remember?”
“I know I haven’t been a good father. I love you and Adam. If I don’t recover—”
Her throat seemed to close up. “Don’t say that.”
“I promise to stop gambling. I don’t want to go on like this. I’ll let you coddle me.” His eyes fluttered closed.
She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable. Grief and despair tore at her heart.
What if Brooks hadn’t intervened and stopped the beating?
Terrible regrets assailed her as the truth struck her. Her father would have died outside of the Raven Club. The same place she’d made love to Ian only two weeks ago.
Good God, what was she doing?
She had been afraid to bring up the topic of the Raven Club and disturb their unspoken truce, she’d been silent on the subject. She’d allowed herself to be ignored during the day just for scraps of affection at night, hoping desperately that Ian would fall in love with her the way she’d come to love him.
What a fool she’d been.
She sat with her father for an hour and bathed his face in cool compresses. Once she realized there was nothing left for her to do and that he needed to sleep peacefully, she stood and quietly closed the door. She blinked, her eyes adjusting from the dim lighting in the room to the bright wall sconces in the hallway.
She wanted to be alone and think. Her emotions were too raw, too painful. She had to plan for her future and her next course of action. Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see Ian coming around the corner until she nearly collided with him.
“Grace,” he said softly. “How are you?”
“My father is suffering in that room. How do you think I am?”
“I’m sorry.”
The despair she had been feeling swung suddenly into frustration and anger.
Anger at him. “You’re sorry?”
“I had men watching your father. He must have slipped past them unnoticed.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. You’ve said many times that he’d go elsewhere to gamble.”
“I’m going to find out what happened. If Hatfield is responsible, then he’ll pay.”
“Why bother? You know what happened. My father told you. He was wrongfully accused of cheating, lured outside, and beaten.”
“So he says. I need to confirm it. The guilty party will be held accountable.”
His tone was harsh, and she almost felt bad for Hatfield. Almost.
“I’ll return to you tonight as always,” Ian said.
Pain squeezed her heart. Did he believe that now everything would go back to the way it was? “I don’t believe that is a good idea.”
He nodded. “Of course, you will want to sit with your father tonight.”
“You misunderstand, Ian. I don’t think your visiting my bedchamber is a good idea ever again.”
She turned on her heel and headed down the long hall toward her bedchamber. The entire time she had been in his home, their marital home, she hadn’t spent one night in the feminine room. He’d always carried her into his master’s chambers and insisted she sleep in his arms.
His long strides met her shorter ones. “What are you saying?”
She halted in the hall and whirled to him, her eyes blazing. “We have been avoiding the topic, but tonight’s events have made it clear to me. I want no part of the Raven Club.”
“I thought you understood.”
“I understood nothing because we haven’t discussed it. You took me there once, and we never spoke of the place again. I thought I could do it, but I cannot,” she said.
“You cannot what?”
“I cannot continue to live like this.”
“You speak as if you are miserable. You come alive in my arms. You can’t deny that,” he said, his dark eyes searching her face.
She raised her chin and faced him. “Desire is not enough. I want more.”
“What more do you want?”
I want you to love me like I have fallen in love with you.
“You cannot blame the club for what happened to your father tonight,” he said, his tone curt.
“Yes, I can,” she said. “If he wasn’t there, he never would have been accused of cheating at cards and been beaten to a bloody pulp outside the club.”
“It could have happened anywhere.”
“But it didn’t. I feel sick that we had been intimate there.”
“Sick? You regret what happened? From what I recall, you enjoyed it very much.”
Anger bubbled inside her. She raised her hand to strike him, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her close. “You are driving me mad, my lady.”
“I’m driving you mad?”
“You refuse to see your father for what he is. He is a gambler, yes, but he is just as strongly drawn to his drink as he is to the dice. Both vices have resulted in his ruin.”
“Perhaps you are right, but I cannot live knowing my husband owns an establishment where my own flesh-and-blood parent was nearly murdered.” She tossed back her head. “You need to pick, Ian. The Raven or me.”
His jaw tensed, his grip firm. His silence was enough of an answer to her. It was clear. Why hadn’t she seen it? He’d never love her. There was no room in his heart for anything or anyone else. She pulled her arm from his grasp, opened her bedchamber door, and stormed inside.
He was hot on her heels. She wasted no time in opening her trunk and stalking to her wardrobe and tossing garments inside. He grasped her arm and forced her to face him. His face was a dark, towering mask. “Don’t even think about leaving me. I’ll never let you go.”
Resentment and anguish blossomed in her chest. “Truly? Weren’t you the one who said you’d send me away to the country rather than sell your precious club?”
His jaw clenched like a lump of granite. “That was before.”
“Before what? I tire of your games, Ian. Leave. Go to your club.”
Without a word, he stormed from the room and left her.
Chapter Twenty-Four