Free The Price of Deception by Vicki Hopkins

proudly announced the
name of Robert Philippe Moreau, didn’t help either. He concluded
the child must be his, because he saw in Philippe’s eyes worry—not
that of an assured father.
    “Damn him!” Robert roared, banging the leather seat
with his fist. Anger rose inside, as he thought of the man who
stole his beautiful Suzette. He played a ruse to make him feel
guilty about his moral obligations, when all along he planned to
take not only the love of his life, but his son.
    Robert’s eyes narrowed. He turned and glanced out at
the streets lit with gas lamps and saw that they neared his
residence. A moment later, the horses’ gait slowed, and then
halted. The driver opened the door, he paid the fare, and Robert
warily climbed out and headed for the entrance to his
townhouse.
    He slipped inside, and all appeared to be quiet. The
staff probably had retired, as well as his wife. He laid his hat
and gloves on the side table, then swung off his top coat and hung
it on the hook of the hall coat tree. He tiptoed into the parlor
and illuminated a small electric lamp in the darkened room. He
gasped, startled to find Jacquelyn sitting in a chair. Their eyes
met, and Robert saw trouble.
    “My God, woman!” he exclaimed, reacting to her
unexpected appearance. “Why are you not in bed?”
    “I was waiting for my husband to return home,” she
answered, in a sarcastic tone.
    Robert cleared his throat. “The poker game went far
longer than I anticipated, as well as the drinking. I apologize for
the lateness of the hour.”
    Jacquelyn rose to her feet and slithered across the
room until she stood in front of him clothed in her night garments.
Her robe revealed a sheer nightgown underneath. In a brash move,
she kissed Robert forcefully on his lips. Afterward, she drew away
and wiped her mouth from her sloppy kiss with the back of her
hand.
    “I taste and smell no alcohol on your breath,
darling.”
    She leaned into his neck and sniffed the collar of
his coat. “I do smell the scent of perfume, however.” She curled
her lip as she inquired. “Does Vicomte de Rieux wear perfume?”
    Robert stood astonished at the brazen assault from
his usually docile wife. Jacquelyn’s eyes darkened like the
chambers of Hell.
    “This is ridiculous,” Robert flung. He stepped
backward to put distance between them.
    Jacquelyn refused his spurn and returned to stand in
front of him. She seized his hand and forcefully placed his palm
upon her breast.
    “Well, then, if my suspicions are ridiculous, perhaps
you’ll show me by bedding me for the evening. Perchance tonight
I’ll conceive.”
    Robert’s blood ran cold. He looked at his wife’s hand
that forced his own against her breast. He felt no arousal or
desire for the madness in front of his eyes.
    “You’re tired, Jacquelyn. It’s making you irrational.
Go to bed.”
    Jacquelyn dropped her husband’s hand and then glared
into his blue eyes. “Apparently visiting the comforts of two women
in one night is a bit too much in the way of performance for the
infamous Duke?”
    Robert’s anger rose as he watched her storm from the
room. He heard her footsteps run up the stairs and the door to her
suite bang shut with a loud thud.
    He fell into a nearby chair and held his head in his
hands. He utterly despised his life. No, he despised his wife, even
more so, now that Suzette lay in a cold grave. To deepen his sorrow
further, he probably had a son that he would never know or be able
to acknowledge.
    Tired and weary, he finally stood and climbed the
staircase to his quarters. He had stopped sharing a room with her
years ago. Once inside, he locked the door to keep at bay the thorn
of his life. Without fully undressing, he flopped on the empty bed
and fell asleep.
    Chapter Seven
    Robert stood in front of the full-length mirror and
adjusted the lapels on his suit. Dressed in his finest apparel, he
braced himself for an evening at the opera with Jacquelyn.
    He had managed to somewhat patch the