The Duke Who Lied Read online

  The Duke Who Lied

  (The 1797 Club Book 8)

  By

  USA Today Bestseller

  Jess Michaels

  The Duke Who Lied

  The 1797 Club Book 8

  www.1797Club.com

  Copyright © Jess Michaels, 2018

  ISBN-13: 9781947770089

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, contact Jess Michaels

  www.AuthorJessMichaels.com

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  Dedication

  For Michael, who helps with all the solutions but was especially patient listening to me scream about this book. Thanks babe.

  Prologue

  Spring 1811

  Hugh Margolis, Duke of Brighthollow, dug his heels harder into his stallion’s sides, urging the animal to fly faster through the almost moonless night. It was reckless to push himself and the beast so hard, especially in his current emotional state, which was pure rage. It was hot and red and rough, and he knew that it limited his ability to be rational, something he’d always prided in himself.

  Tonight he was not rational, and with very good reason. He was riding through the night, desperation heavy in his chest, for one reason and one reason only: his younger sister Lizzie.

  She had been a mere child when their parents died, just eight. He’d been twenty-one and inherited her guardianship along with the dukedom and all the responsibility that entailed. He’d become her father in every sense of the word.

  And for so long, they’d gone along together, affectionate and close. He was so very proud of her, for she was an accomplished young lady. And she was always obedient and sweet natured.

  Until a few months ago. At sixteen, she had become a little secretive, a little furtive. He’d ignored it. After all, most children hit a difficult phase, or so friends told him.

  He should have been more involved. He would hate himself forever for that. Especially if he could not reach her in time. Hugh was almost to the border now, Scotland was less than a league up this winding, wild road. Scotland was where he was taking her.

  Aaron Walters…the man Hugh wanted to kill at this moment.

  His heart leapt as he saw a cottage looming just ahead. He’d been following Lizzie and him for three days now, always just a step behind them, always getting information too late. But his last source had said they planned to stop at this cottage before riding on to Gretna Green in the morning.

  Hugh’s stomach turned at the thought of it.

  He pulled the horse up short before the house and swung down. It was a tiny place, rundown, certainly not fit for his sister. But then, the man who had taken her was not thinking of her comfort or her heart or her future.

  He was thinking of her enormous fortune.

  Hugh didn’t knock. He hit the door with his shoulder and the lock broke, allowing him to tumble into the room without preamble. As he did so, he heard a little scream and looked up to find Lizzie, just as his source had claimed.

  She was standing before a fire, before a bed, in the arms of the man who had taken her. Walters’ shirt was half-undone, Lizzie’s bright honey hair was down around her shoulders. She looked at Hugh with shame and pain, her blue eyes darting away.

  Walters, on the other hand, stared straight at him. He smiled. The bastard smiled as he said, “Brighthollow, we did not expect you. Come to witness our wedding, have you?”

  What Hugh wanted to do was stride across the room, put his hands around Walters’ throat and squeeze until he went limp. He wanted to put a bullet between his eyes. But Lizzie was standing there, Lizzie was watching, and her eyes were now filled with tears.

  “Hugh,” she whispered, almost imperceptible in the tiny room.

  He pushed away the irrational, uncontrollable rage and sank back into the deep control he had mastered over himself since he’d become duke eight years before. With great effort, he extended his hand and said, “Lizzie, come.”

  His voice was gentle, and for that he was happy. He was not angry with her. No, he chose to put all his anger on the bastard who was still holding her. Walters’ fingers tightened on her arms for a moment, but as Lizzie let out a shuddering sigh and moved toward Hugh, he did let her go. Hugh nearly collapsed with relief and gently pulled her behind him. Her hands shook as she clung to his.

  “She is sixteen,” he managed to growl through clenched teeth.

  Walters arched a brow and shrugged one shoulder. “It hardly matters now.”

  Hugh snorted in a deep breath through his nose. “Lizzie, go outside. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  “No!” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Please, please, no Hugh. Please don’t. We—we care for each other.”

  Hugh jerked his gaze down at her. There was hesitation in her voice. Like she had determined the truth before he arrived but felt she had no escape from it. Tears gathered in her eyes, and one slid down her cheek.

  He shook his head as he wiped it away gently. “He does not care for you,” he whispered, and hated how she flinched.

  “One way or another, I get what I wanted, don’t I?” Walters said, and his smug tone drew Hugh’s attention back. His eyes were lit up and a smile settled on his face. Handsome, yes. Young, yes. Kind? Oh no. There was nothing kind about this man. He was a swindler who had lured in Lizzie, taken advantage of her innocence of spirit as much as her body.

  And now she saw it, perhaps more clearly than ever before. Her lips parted and her expression twisted in pain. “What—what do you mean by that, Aaron?”

  He looked past Hugh to her. “My dear, I would have married you, and engaged in all those pleasures you and I had just begun to explore.”

  Hugh could not stand it anymore—he lunged for Walters, but Lizzie held fast to his arm and kept him from exacting the kind of revenge this bastard deserved.

  “But as you can see, Brighthollow will never allow it,” Walters continued, apparently unmoved by Hugh’s rage or Lizzie’s pain.

  “I will not,” Hugh managed through clenched teeth.

  “So you remember that when you look at him. He took your future from you, not me.”

  “Don’t you dare act like a gentleman thwarted by my cruelty. You are only interested in my sister’s inheritance,” Hugh spat.

  Walters did not deny the charge, and Hugh felt Lizzie shrinking into herself with every barb exchanged between them. How he wished he could shield her from the truth, from the pain.

  But he couldn’t.

  “It is a very nice inheritance,” Walters said with a nod. “But I won’t need it now.”

  “Aaron,” Lizzie whispered, her voice so broken that it was like shards of glass slashing through Hugh’s skin.

  Hugh stared at Walters, stared at his smug, untroubled expression, and a sick feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean you won’t need it?”

  “My driver, the woman who owns this home, my friends…everyone knows that we snuck away under your very nose. And that we have been alone for several nights.”

  “But—” Lizzie began, her voice shaking.

  “Hush now, Elizabeth, your brother and I are negotiating,” Walters said, never looking at her, never
seeing how the sharpness and dismissiveness of his actions and words cut to her very spirit. “You don’t want all this to be unleashed into Society, do you? This thing that will ruin all her chances at a future?”

  Hugh released Lizzie’s hand. He did not move forward, he didn’t move at all. Somehow he remained in place as he said, “I will kill you.”

  For a moment, a flicker of fear moved over Walter’s face, but then he managed it. He smiled once more. “Do it, go ahead. If you do, it will only make this scandal all the larger and drag down your entire legacy…along with her.”

  Hugh’s nostrils flared, for of course the bastard was right. If he said a word against this man, if he laid a hand on him with the rage that boiled so deeply inside of him, he would be exposing Lizzie’s indiscretion. She would be humiliated and shunned if he were imprudent.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “For you to do what any loving brother would do in this situation. You will pay me handsomely to cover up your sister’s foolish, youthful mistake.”

  Hugh was too stunned to speak, but Lizzie staggered forward, her hands shaking as she stared at Walters. Hugh could see all her heartbreak on her face. She had truly cared for him, been convinced by him that this was their only future, their only path. And now…now to have all her hopes and dreams shattered, to have her humiliation used as a bartering tool…

  A piece of her innocence was dying right before his eyes, and that had nothing to do with whatever she had allowed Walters to take from her body.

  It killed Hugh to see it, and to know he could do nothing except hand over everything this bastard requested.

  “How could you?” she whispered. “How?”

  Walters looked her up and down, leering. Then he shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve always had everything you ever wanted.”

  “Get out,” Hugh said, his hand shaking as he pointed toward the door behind them.

  Walters grinned. “I’ll come to your solicitor’s in London in…shall we say two days? I will assume my very generous payment will be waiting for me there. Good evening, Your Grace,” he said as he strode past them. At the door, he paused and turned back. “Oh, and Lizzie?”

  She had been staring at the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She lifted her gaze toward this man she had apparently cared so deeply for. “Yes?”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” he said, and walked out, laughing the whole way.

  The moment he’d gone and shut the door behind himself, Lizzie tipped forward, dropping to her knees on the floor beside the bed. She buried her head in her hands and began to weep, the sobs wracking her entire body.

  Hugh rushed to her, his heart aching as he dropped down beside her and gathered her into his arms, rocking her as he had so many times when she was a little girl, woken by nightmares. Only this time the terror was real—he could not hush it away with soft words.

  She would feel it, because he had not been aware enough to protect her from it.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally hiccupped against his shirt. “I shouldn’t have thought he could truly love me. I was such a fool!”

  He slid a finger beneath her chin and tilted her tear-streaked face toward his. “No. Sweetest Lizzie, if you believed he cared for you and he took advantage, it is he who is the fool, not you.” He cleared his throat. “But I do wonder why you thought you could not tell me about him.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “He encouraged me to sneak out. Said he’d tried to talk to you and that you were uncertain based on his lack of title.”

  Hugh pursed his lips. Lies. But ones his sister had somehow believed. “You thought I would be so cruel as to separate you from someone you truly loved, even if I believed he had your best interests at heart?”

  She worried her lip, and that was his answer. “You are protective. I know you wish for me to be safe. To be settled well.”

  He sighed. He’d had his part in this, it seemed. By not watching closely enough. By not pursuing the trouble he sensed when Lizzie withdrew. By not behaving in a way that made her feel she could speak to him about anything.

  “Oh, and now I’ve ruined everything,” she said, putting her head back into her hands and returning to the sobs. “And after you’ve taken care of me for so long.”

  He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and smoothed a hand over her hair. “You’ve ruined nothing. I adore you, and being your older brother and your guardian has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Even if I have made a muck of it, it seems.”

  Her sobs slowed and then ceased. She rested her head on his chest and let out her breath in a long sigh. “You haven’t made a muck of it. I thought he loved me. But he didn’t. So what will happen now?”

  Hugh let out his own long sigh. He was pushed into a corner, a position he did not allow himself to take. Not ever. But for the first time since his parents’ deaths, his power could not save him. Or her. In fact, his power was an element in their demise if he wielded it too swiftly or strongly or harshly.

  “I will pay him a handsome sum,” he said, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect.

  “Take it from my inheritance,” she suggested as she pushed from his arms and used the edge of the bed to get back to her feet.

  “I shall do no such thing.” He followed her up and shook his head. “I have more than enough money. Once he is paid, we will…move on. If you think you can do that.”

  She lifted her chin ever so slightly, and he smiled, for he saw in her the strength of their mother, long buried in a cold grave beside her husband. When he caught her likeness in Lizzie’s face, it always lifted his spirits.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He watched her fix her hair swiftly, shoving pins from the bedside table in here and there until it was a messy bun. He hated that it reminded him of what had been happening when he entered. He didn’t know if she had truly surrendered her innocence to the man. In the end, it wouldn’t matter to the gossips. Ruin was ruin in these cases. The particulars were only fodder for the height of the flames of the destruction.

  She faced him and swallowed hard. “I will do my best, Hugh. And I promise I will never do anything ever again that will force you into such a situation. I will look for respectability. I shall never seek out love. I promise.”

  With that, she turned toward the door and moved outside to his horse. He watched her go, but her declaration gave him no pleasure. In the past year, he had watched several of his best friends find the deepest love. The idea that Lizzie would never seek it due to this unfortunate incident broke his heart.

  And made him more determined than ever to fix it. He had to fix this. For her sake. For his own. And for whatever future both of them had laid out before them.

  Chapter One

  Late Summer 1812

  Hugh swung down from his horse, jerking out a nod at the servant who rushed down to take the animal. With a long sigh, he looked up at the fine estate before him. His London estate, though it had never fully felt like his. None of the estates felt like they were, no matter how long he had been duke. It still felt like he was living a stolen life. A fraud who would be discovered at any moment when his own father returned from the dead.

  How disappointed he would be in his son. Hugh knew that more than he knew anything in the world.

  The door to the house opened and his longtime butler, Murphy, stepped out. Hugh forced himself out of the melancholy that had tracked his every move for over a year and climbed the steps two at a time to reach his servant.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace,” Murphy intoned as he took Hugh’s hat and gloves. “I hope your trip to Brighthollow was most excellent.”

  Hugh barely contained his flinch at the benign words. He’d been at his country estate in Brighthollow for the past fortnight, tending to a bit of business and checking in on Lizzie. He’d begged her to come to London with him. She had refused.

  After her ordeal the previous spring, she h
ad not been the same. It felt like she was folding up into herself and there seemed to be nothing at all he could do about it.

  “Uneventful,” he choked out, since Murphy was awaiting the barest politeness of a response. “Is there anything to report here?”

  He began to walk toward his study, the butler keeping up with him at his heels. “You’ve several invitations from the members of your club, Your Grace.”

  Hugh nodded. Of course he would. Since he was a boy he’d been the best of friends with a small group of men all destined to be dukes. The 1797 Club, they called themselves. He adored them all, but he could see the concern on their collective faces when he called on them. They knew something was wrong—he just hadn’t the heart yet to tell any of them the truth.

  How could he? How could he reveal his sister’s deepest shame, how could he tell these men of honor that he had done nothing to the bastard who had hurt her? They’d say they understood, of course. They would, on some level. And yet he would feel his failure all the more if he dared speak it out loud.

  So he kept it to himself and ignored their questions when they asked why he brooded, why he’d let his hair grow out and only shaved when Society required it. Why he hid in his castle at Brighthollow or his chambers here in London like a wounded beast.

  “I shall look at them. I assume you left them on my desk?” he asked as they entered the study together.

  “Of course.” Murphy indicated the small silver tray on the corner of Hugh’s desk, the one now brimming with correspondence in a variety of hands he knew so well.

  He ignored them and went around to his seat. As he took it, he glanced up at Murphy. “If there isn’t anything else…”

  Murphy cleared his throat. “Only two pressing matters, Your Grace.”

  Hugh arched a brow. “And what are those?”

  “You told me to treat any messages from Mr. Kendall as urgent. One arrived for you yesterday.”