Taken by the Duke Read online

  But how was she a wallflower? When she was so, so…pretty?

  He grunted in displeasure with himself that he would think something so positive about his enemy. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves, tugging one finger at a time. He shifted his weight, and pain burst through him with sudden viciousness.

  He shook his head to push those weaknesses away and refocused on Windbury’s sister. She was actually more than pretty, when it came down to it. When he had speared her with a gaze meant to terrify her, it had done its job. She had been afraid, that much was evident by her expression, if not by the fact that she had done the typically cowardly Windbury thing and run away to the terrace to escape him, then left the party almost immediately afterward. Lord, how the gossips had loved that.

  No, there was something else in her gaze that interested him. There was an awareness in her gray-blue eyes. An intelligence that one did not often see in the simpering misses of the ton. Lady Ava did not seem the type to simper.

  “Perhaps that is why she has not landed a husband,” he mused, surprised that he did so out loud. “She hasn’t been broken yet.”

  Yet.

  He stood, a heated slice of pain shooting from his hip to his ankle as he grasped his cane and leaned on it for a moment. When he had gathered his composure, he moved across the room to the large, lovely portrait of Matilda that he kept hanging in the sitting room on the wall across from the fire. In it, she was smiling slightly, and the artist had captured the teasing that had sometimes been in her bright eyes. As he stared, she seemed to look back at him. He could almost hear her voice when he looked too long.

  “Don’t do it, Christian,” she seemed to whisper tonight.

  He shook away the momentary lapse of reality. Great God, that was exactly what his sister would say if she were alive and knew of his plans. For a moment, he doubted them, doubted himself.

  Then he shook it all away. This was what he had to do. There was no going back. Matilda was not alive to scold him, to laugh with him, and this was his revenge.

  He moved to the door and rang the bell before returning to his chair. He rested his head against the softness and stared at the ceiling above him, clearing his mind of emotion, of physical pain as he did so. Only when the door to the parlor opened did he return his attention to the world around him.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” Sanders asked as he stepped into the room. “What service may I perform?”

  “Have arrangements been made?” Christian asked.

  The butler shifted ever so slightly. “Y-Yes, sir. But—”

  Christian turned toward him sharply. “But?”

  A beat passed between them and finally Sanders swallowed. “My lord, are you entirely certain of this course of action?”

  Christian sat up straighter. Great God, was his servant daring to question him?

  “Know your place, Sanders,” he said, his tone low but firm and quivering with outrage. “Simply because you served my father and even my grandfather does not mean you can question me.”

  He leaned back against the seat again, exhaustion mobbing him suddenly. He lifted a hand and loosely waved it at his butler. “Do it…please. Shut the house down after my departure, and I will see you at Stonehill Gate in Somerset in a few days.”

  Sanders hesitated, but when Christian speared him with a pointed glare, the butler sighed.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Of course. Is that all?”

  “Tell Brinkley I will be up to my chamber in half an hour’s time. Otherwise, that is all.”

  The butler bowed his head. “Good evening, my lord.”

  The servant stepped from the room, shutting the door behind him. Even when he was gone, Christian could feel his disapproval hanging in the room around him. He wanted not to care, but in truth, Sanders was a decent man. He had helped to raise Christian. He did care that the butler now looked at him with concern and a hint of horror that could not be mistaken.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said to himself as he got up a second time and paced the room, his cane gripped firmly in his hand.

  He looked up at the mirror above the fireplace and sighed. His eyes were so empty, red-rimmed, accentuated with dark shadows. He was but a shell of a man now. A shell of what he had been.

  “Stay the course,” he told that broken person in the mirror. “This is what we must do, what we will do.”

  But the mirror image did not seem to be entirely convinced, and Christian turned away from it to pour himself another drink. Perhaps this time it would make him forget.

  Chapter Two

  It had been less than twenty-four hours since Christian’s return to Society, but Ava had thought of little else in the intervening hours. Even if she wished to think of something else, she could not. She had received probably half a dozen notes from “friends” pretending to inquire after her well being in the situation, when really they were fishing for facts to whisper about in corners as they stared at her. She tossed into the fire the latest one from a girl who had mercilessly teased her when they were children and took a deep breath.

  Straightening her shoulders, she strode down the hallway, up the stairs and turned toward her brother’s chambers. Halfway there, she was met by a maid carrying a tray with Liam’s supper. The girl smiled at her, but there was sadness—no, it was pity—in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Gretchen,” Ava said, clenching her teeth against each new humiliation. She took the tray. “I will take care of the rest.”

  The girl looked rather disappointed. Sometimes Ava thought the servants lived for the high drama of her brother’s sequester as much as those in the ton did. She was certain it was a main topic below stairs, at least when the stern housekeeper Mrs. Bunting and their butler Hornby weren’t listening.

  Still, Gretchen bobbed out a curtsey and, with only a brief look over her shoulder, disappeared from sight in the hallway. When she was alone, Ava stared at the door. Somehow it always took all her courage to knock. At night she sometimes dreamed of knocking here and having the entire house collapse around her, her brother crushed by the weight of the falling stones, her own body falling and falling away. She woke in a cold sweat every time that dream troubled her.

  “For God’s sake,” she scolded herself and then knocked three times. Of course there was no reply within. “Liam?”

  Still nothing.

  “Liam, it’s Ava, I have your supper.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten in her head, trying to remember that her brother was still hurting inside and out. Trying to recall how that explained his churlish behavior.

  Explained, but did not excuse.

  She might have wondered if he still lived but for the fall of his footsteps as he paced his room unceasingly.

  Finally, she cleared her throat. She knew one unfailing way to obtain his attention.

  “I thought you might want to know that the Duke of Rothcastle was in attendance at the ball last night.”

  The pacing stopped abruptly. After a moment his footfalls moved toward the door. The lock slid free, and he cracked the door to peek at her in the hallway.

  Ava sucked in her breath. Liam looked terrible. His green eyes, once filled with life and laughter, were dull and dark with despair so deep that Ava wanted to turn away from it. His brown hair was far too long and hung around his face like some kind of beast’s fur. That look was only worsened by the fact that he hadn’t shaved in weeks, so his beard was bedraggled.

  “Liam,” she breathed.

  His gaze darted away from hers. “You saw Rothcastle?”

  She swallowed back her reaction to his appearance and nodded. “Yes. I saw him.”

  “Did he approach you?” her brother snapped, tone suddenly tense and angry. “Speak to you?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “No. Of course not.”

  Liam’s face relaxed, but only a little. “Good.” The relief was short-lived. “Stay away from him,” he barked.

  Her lips parted in surprise at the strength of her sibling
’s response. He looked almost wild with anger. Not at all like her sweet brother of days that seemed an eternity ago.

  “Liam—” she began.

  “I said stay away from him,” he repeated, then slammed the door in her face without a second look.

  She stared, blinking at the barrier between them. Never had he spoken to her in such a fashion. Never had he dismissed her like she was no better than a scullery maid who had stolen from the family coffers. Never had he looked at her as if she were nothing to him.

  She knocked again, louder. “Liam, I have your supper. Please just open the door and talk to me, or at least take your food.”

  He did not respond, nor did she hear his pacing anymore. She stood there for a while, then set the tray down beside the door and walked away. Later the maids would fetch it, probably still in its current untouched state.

  She moved toward her own chambers on the other side of the hallway. Without really seeing what was before her, she stepped into her bedroom and crossed over to sit in her favorite chair beside the fire. She was silent as the darkness in her room grew, the only light her lazy fire. But she was not alone.

  No, her thoughts were her companions. And not particularly pleasant ones at that. Mostly they were thoughts of the man Liam had become. Of the reasons he had changed. Of the man who had changed him on a cold, icy night not so very long ago.

  She supposed some people might abandon a brother who so obviously did not want them around. Some sisters might even turn away and take advantage of their increased freedom. But she couldn’t. Not without making herself utterly alone in the world.

  “He is all I have,” she murmured into the darkness. “If he was taken from me—”

  There was a knock at her door, and she started before she got to her feet and turned to face the intruder. Her lady’s maid, Helen, entered the room and her face lit with surprise when she found Ava in the darkness.

  “I-I’m sorry, my lady,” the maid stammered. “I came to help you ready for the Marchioness Millforte’s gathering. Unless you are not going?”

  Ava hesitated. A very great part of her wished to avoid the gathering. After all, she had only been invited out of habit. Now that Rothcastle was back in Society, she would be bothered incessantly with questions and seemingly well-meaning intrusions.

  But she had promised Portia. And her great-aunt, the one who served as her chaperone for these events, seemed to like going out and would bluster endlessly if she were denied that small pleasure.

  “There is no avoiding it,” she sighed. “Come in and light the lanterns. I have no choice but to go and be gay as I can.”

  The girl did as she was told, but as Ava took her place at her dressing table, there was no joy to be found in the exercise. Only an ever-increasing dread that seemed to permeate her very soul.

  There were times when Ava felt like her life was on an endless loop of sorts. Rise up, make ready, take care of the household and estate duties her brother would not, meet with friends (both real and false) and then go to a party. Over and over, she repeated this series of events, but they had long ago lost their charm. The fact was that after five seasons, her chances at finding a match of any consequence was minimal, even if her family hadn’t made such an infamous name for itself. Now that the accident had occurred…

  Well, she could hardly expect a marriage at all. Men, even ones who thought her interesting or attractive, wouldn’t align themselves with her name. Ones who might dare to do so and risk the wrath of Rothcastle didn’t like her intelligence. They were all rather stupid creatures anyway. Perhaps when she was very old, there might be some man with fifteen children who would consider her, but by then she would scarcely care anymore.

  And yet she continued her loop, repeating herself over and again until she thought she might go mad with it.

  “Why do you scowl so?” her Great-Aunt Clarinda asked, rapping Ava’s knuckles with her fan hard enough that it stung.

  Great-Aunt Clarinda came from her mother’s side and was removed from the scandals of the Windbury name. She was also seemingly a hundred years old and had outlived two husbands. She begrudgingly served as Ava’s chaperone, though she groaned about it endlessly, throwing up every humiliation brought by the association with Windbury. And yet Aunt Clarinda lapped up the attention and invitations.

  It was wholly unpleasant.

  “I did not mean to scowl, Aunt,” Ava managed after a moment’s breath to calm herself. “I was only seeking out Portia in the crowd. She told me she would be in attendance tonight.”

  “That little spinster does nothing for your reputation.” Aunt Clarinda elbowed her and nearly knocked the breath from Ava’s lungs. “Why do you not attach yourself to some of the Diamonds of the season? At least you might have a chance with their leavings.”

  “Their leavings?” Ava repeated.

  Her aunt glared at her. “The men they do not want, silly girl.”

  “Ah.” Ava sighed. “How…charming a thought.”

  She looked toward the young women who were the most popular of the current debutante class. They all seemed rather young and foolish to her, giggling at inopportune times, mooning about, generally making asses of themselves. And some of them were very…unkind.

  “I think not,” she said. “Besides, I believe most of their ‘leavings’, as you put it, have already seen and dismissed me long ago.”

  Aunt Clarinda shook her head slowly. “Lord, girl, you do not make this job an easy one. Between your stubborn, bluestocking ways and your brother’s scandalous continuation of the feud with Rothcastle, I doubt I shall ever match you. Eventually you will receive no invitations.”

  Ava pursed her lips. “A happy day for both of us, no doubt. Is that not Lady Grestle?”

  Aunt Clarinda’s tirade stopped momentarily and she lifted up to look across the crowd. “Where?”

  “There, by the punch bowl.”

  Clarinda’s eyes lit up. “Indeed! I shall go speak to her.”

  Without another word, her aunt spun away and marched across the ballroom to find her friend. Ava had no doubt they would have a fine conversation about Ava’s hopelessness as a prospect. There were times she believed Clarinda was as much a source for the gossip about her family as anyone else in the room. She certainly thrived on the notice it brought her.

  Ava’s head was beginning to ache as the room filled with more and more people. She looked around again, but Portia did not seem to have arrived yet. That or she was utterly lost in the crush of humanity all around Ava. She did want to see her friend, to confide in her about the troubling encounter she’d had with Liam earlier in the day, but the room seemed to be ever shrinking around her.

  “Lady Ava!” A voice pierced through the din and Ava started.

  A woman was practically shoving through the crowd to reach her, and Ava sighed. It was Lady Lidgate, one of the women who kept insisting she was Ava’s friend even though she ripped her to shreds with gossip behind her back every chance she got.

  “Lady Lidgate, how nice to see you,” Ava managed weakly as she stared longingly at the door to the terrace and its relative peace. Why had she not left a moment earlier?

  The other woman puffed, holding a hand against her straining corset. She had always been a little plump, but now she had stuffed herself into a gown that had to be a size or two too small. When she had regained her breath, she smiled.

  “My dear, how kind of you to say, especially considering your dire circumstances.”

  Ava nearly screamed, but just barely held back. “I am certain I know nothing about what you say. My circumstances are hardly dire—I am standing in the middle of Stavendish Court, at a lovely ball. I could hardly be safer in London unless I was in my own bed.”

  Her soft, quiet bed that she so longed for.

  Lady Lidgate tilted her head. “My dear, you are too flippant, for everyone knows what the return of the Duke of Rothcastle means to your family. After your brother murdered his sister, he shall surely dest
roy you once and for all!”

  Ava flinched. Lady Lidgate must have already been in the spirits, to say something so brash as this. Most people danced around the subject. But now that someone was being direct, those around her were already leaning forward.

  “I’m afraid your sources are very wrong, my lady,” Ava managed through tightly clenched teeth. “My brother murdered no one. As you well know, he was involved in a tragic accident that killed poor Lady Matilda and very badly hurt both the duke and my brother. There was no murder.”

  Lady Lidgate swayed slightly, proving Ava’s point that she was in her cups. Wonderful. “Then you don’t fear Rothcastle will exact his revenge?”

  Ava swallowed, and for a moment Lady Lidgate faded, the crowded ballroom and its eavesdropping inhabitants faded, everything faded except for terrifying images of Rothcastle coming toward her. Rothcastle’s bright eyes lit with rage as he ripped her brother from her in the most permanent way.

  She shook her head and tried very hard not to respond with her truthful answer, which was: Every day.

  Instead, she drew a long breath and shrugged. “My dear Lady Lidgate, you must understand that our two families have been engaged in this foolish feud for so long now that no one even recalls how it started. I think no more of the consequences of it now than I did a week ago, a month ago or a year ago. It is Society that is so interested in how it resolves itself, not I.”

  Lady Lidgate’s expression fell with disappointment and she parted her lips as if to say something more, but Ava raised her hand. “It has been a delight to see you, my friend, but I’m afraid I must step outside for a moment. I have promised Portia I would find her, and I believe I saw her exit the room a moment ago. Good evening.”

  She did not wait for the other woman’s response but turned away and headed outside into the cool night. Once alone, she sucked in a breath of the chilled air and tried to calm herself.

  “This habit of running out onto terraces is getting quite foolish,” she muttered to herself after a moment.

  “I agree,” came a man’s voice behind her.