Her Brooding Duke (The Worthington Legacy #7)

Chapter One

England, 1823

L ouisa Hamilton moved with purpose, her sharp eyes locked on her unsuspecting target. She slowed her steps, careful not to draw attention as she zeroed in on the gentleman’s overcoat. Luck seemed to favor her today—the coat’s large, loose pockets promised easy access. A pocket watch, a money clip, anything of value could be hers in seconds. He stood on the bustling street, engrossed in conversation with another man, the crowd offering her the perfect cover.

A gust of wind whipped through the narrow alley, biting at her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. Early spring was her least favorite time of year—the cold always found a way to seep into her bones, especially when lurking in the shadows.

With one hand, Louisa clutched her threadbare coat tighter against her chest, the missing buttons leaving her vulnerable to the chill. Every shilling she earned was stashed away in secret, hidden from Macgregor’s prying eyes. He still controlled her, his grip as suffocating as ever, and she knew she’d need every penny if she ever hoped to escape his gang of thieves and scoundrels.

She should have been scanning her surroundings for watchful eyes or signs of trouble, but her mind wandered. The bustling streets of Richmond, the quaint shops, and the uneven cobblestone roads were so different from the city she remembered from six years ago. So much had changed, yet here she was, still trapped in a life she longed to leave behind.

Memories brought on heartache, and she didn’t dare think of the time her family died. Didn’t dare think of everything she’d gone through—suddenly being orphaned and placed in the wrong hands.

Shaking off the unsettling memories, Louisa refocused and edged closer to her mark. Just one more step and she’d be close enough to act. If she could lift something valuable from the gentleman on the corner, it would be more than just a small victory—it would be her first real step toward a new life, a life she had only dared to dream about for years. Freedom was within reach, and all she needed was one successful swipe to set her plan in motion.

The sweet scent of sticky buns drifted through the air, momentarily overwhelming her senses. Louisa closed her eyes, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma, her empty stomach twisting in protest. It had been two days since her last meal, but hunger was a small price to pay for her freedom. Breaking away from Macgregor’s grasp mattered more than satisfying her appetite—especially now that he aimed to drag her down even further, from a thief to a prostitute. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. Macgregor never made idle threats, and she knew he’d stop at nothing to bend her to his will. But she wouldn’t let that happen—not now, not ever.

Taking a deep breath, Louisa concentrated on the gentleman and closed the space between them until her ragged dress brushed against his trousers. The man didn’t turn, and the person he conversed with didn’t seem to realize his friend was about to be relieved of his pocketbook.

Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might crack a rib, threatening to betray her nerves before she could finish the job. This should be easy. She’d done it countless times over the past six years. Macgregor always called her one of his best, which was likely the only reason he hadn’t started selling her to men yet.

But today, the usual confidence was clouded by something else: hope. The hope that this could be her last job, the one that would finally buy her the freedom she’d been secretly planning for the past two years.

Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Louisa steadied herself, forcing her trembling hands to still. Her fingers inched toward the gentleman’s coat, movements practiced and precise. The fabric brushed her fingertips as she deftly began to search the pocket. Yet, even as her hand remained steady, she shifted her eyes across the crowded street, sharp and vigilant. Every passerby, every shadow, every flicker of movement felt like a potential threat—a witness who could ruin everything with one shouted warning. Her heart raced in her chest, but her focus remained locked on the task. Almost there… Just one more second, and she could taste the freedom she’d been dreaming of for so long.

From behind, a man’s voice rang through the breeze. Her target turned and looked over his shoulder. Snatching her hand back, she closed her eyes and froze, hoping she hadn’t been caught. Instead of the angry voice she expected to hear, her target greeted yet another friend.

Slowly, Louisa peeked through her lashes at the group of three. The newest man’s hearty laugh sent a jolt through her, triggering an unsettling rhythm in her chest. His voice—so achingly familiar—stirred memories she’d long buried, as if a crashing wave of the past had suddenly overwhelmed her. Narrowing her gaze, she focused on him, and bit by bit, fragments of her old life came into sharp, chaotic focus.

She blinked, her breath catching in disbelief. A ghost? It had to be—yet there he stood, her once-betrothed, laughing and chatting with the two other well-dressed gentlemen. Could her mind be playing tricks on her? After all, she was back in Richmond, the town where she’d grown up, the place where her life had unraveled. But this… was completely impossible.

Scenes and voices from the past crept into Louisa’s mind, a haunting reminder of the day her world fell apart. I’m sorry to inform you, Miss Louisa, but your family and betrothed died in a house fire. The shock had been overwhelming, shaking her to her core as she stood outside the girls’ school, clutching her best friend Eliza’s hand. Their tear-filled eyes had met, both too young to fully understand the depth of the loss.

Eliza had promised that her uncle, Percy Featherspoon, would take care of Louisa. Trusting in her friend’s words, Louisa had gone with him, only to be whisked off to Scotland within days. She never saw Eliza again. Six long years had passed, and the truth of that dreadful day remained elusive, always lurking in the back of her mind. She’d spent those years wondering what really happened—how could everything she loved be taken in a single moment?

Now, standing in Richmond, her heart pounded crazily, each beat laced with disbelief. Could it be true? Had her fiancé been alive all this time? The thought sent an icy wave crashing through her, shattering everything she thought she knew. How could he have survived? Why hadn’t he come for her? Her mind spun with questions, each more painful than the last, unraveling the fragile sense of reality she’d built over the years.

She shook her head, stumbling back from the group of men, her vision blurring with confusion. If Frank had been alive, Eliza would have told her. He would have found her—he should have found her. But no, it had to be a cruel trick of her mind, a stranger who just happened to resemble the man she had loved so deeply. The thought gnawed at her, and her knees buckled beneath the weight of it. She leaned heavily against the side of a building, struggling to catch her breath, but it wasn’t hunger that made her dizzy now. It was the devastating possibility that the life she had mourned, the love she had lost, had never truly been gone at all.

With shaky fingers, she wiped back the stringy hair hanging in her eyes, looping the strands over her ears. Louisa didn’t want anything to distract her from studying the man who resembled—and sounded—so much like Frank.

Quite strapping, she must admit, and he did resemble the young man she remembered as a thirteen-year-old. His hair wasn’t as white-blond as she recalled. Then again, neither was hers. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes from way over here, but if he were indeed her betrothed…

An ache throbbed in her forehead, and Louisa pressed her fingers to the spot, trying to chase away the rising pain. No, it couldn’t be him. Her entire family had been lost that terrible day. Frank—her cousin, her father’s only male heir—had come to stay with them after his graduation from Eton. He had been in the house when the flames consumed it, taking everyone she loved. She had clung to that truth, as unbearable as it was, for so many years. It was the only way she had been able to survive the grief, the only certainty in the chaos that followed.

But now, the man standing before her unraveled that certainty, and the thought clawed at her, reopening old wounds she’d thought had scarred over. Could it be possible that Frank hadn’t perished in the fire after all?

The man flipped his hand through the air and chuckled. Her heart leapt. Frank had always had a twittery kind of laugh.

“Will you be at White’s tonight, my good man?” One of the others clapped her fiancé look-alike on the shoulder.

“But of course. Only the company of a beautiful woman could keep me away.”

“I’m assuming your fiancée does not know?” the other man replied with a smirk.

“She does not care, and neither do I.” He laughed again, but more harshly.

Tears burned at the corners of Louisa’s eyes, blurring her vision again as the familiar voice echoed in her ears. Why did he sound so much like Frank? And… engaged to another woman? The very thought twisted her heart painfully. Frank had always wanted to marry for love, just as she did. They had both come from parents who were wildly in love, the happiest people she had ever known. It was something they had talked about often—how they wanted a love like their parents, full of joy and passion, not some cold, arranged union.

Her betrothal to Frank had made perfect sense. As her father’s heir, it was expected he would marry her, securing both the title and the family legacy. Even at the age of twelve, Louisa had believed in that future. She had dreamed of the day their youthful bond would blossom into the kind of love their parents had shared. But now, everything felt twisted, broken, as though the past she had clung to no longer made sense. Could this man truly be Frank? Or was it all just a cruel illusion, sent to torment her already shattered heart?

“Then I bid you farewell until tonight, Wellesley.”

The name hit her like a violent gust of wind, knocking the air from her lungs. If the building hadn’t been behind her, she would have collapsed. Wellesley. The title that had been awarded to her cousin before his supposed death.

She watched in stunned silence as Wellesley—Frank—walked toward a waiting carriage and climbed inside. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. Her heart pounded so fiercely that each breath felt like a struggle. He couldn’t be alive… could he? If Frank had survived, what else had been hidden from her? Could her family, too, have escaped that devastating fire?

She had to know. She had to follow him. With trembling hands, she pushed off the wall and began to move, watching as the carriage rolled away, heading toward the very place where her home once stood. Every step quickened her pulse, a desperate hope rising within her. Could it be possible after all these years? Could the people she had mourned for so long still be alive?

Forgetting her gnawing hunger and the weakness in her limbs, Louisa bolted from the crowd, heading toward the road that led into the countryside. Instinctively, her feet found the path she had known so well as a child, the shortcut through the trees that connected her home to the town. But the thought gnawed at her—he couldn’t possibly be going to that house, could he? The home she remembered had burned to the ground six years ago. She had never seen the wreckage with her own eyes.

When Mr. Featherspoon had ripped her away from school, he’d taken her straight to Scotland, denying her any chance of return, and sold her to Macgregor. That dark chapter of her life felt distant now, as though it belonged to someone else. She hadn’t set foot on English soil until a mere fortnight ago, yet here she was, racing toward the shadow of a past she thought had been destroyed. What if everything she’d believed about the fire—about the deaths—had been a lie?

The possibility sent a surge of adrenaline through her, overpowering her exhaustion and hunger. Her legs, though weak, moved with a newfound determination, fueled by the desperate need for answers. Was her home still standing? Had she been wrong all this time? Unanswered questions thudded in her chest alongside her frantic heartbeat, propelling her forward, despite the fears that clawed at her, threatening to drag her down. She had to know the truth, no matter what awaited her.

The farther she ran, the more the sun dipped lower in the sky. The closer she came to the place she’d known as home for the first thirteen years of her life, the more her throat tightened with emotion. She’d had such happy memories here. It was too painful to remember how much she had back then, only to have nothing now.

Out of breath, she stopped by a bulky tree and fell against the large, chipped trunk. Her chest burned as sharp breaths tore from her throat. Off in the distance, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves pounded on the ground. She stumbled toward the sound. Through the trees, the carriage carrying Wellesley pulled in front of a structure.

She sucked in a quick breath.

The large, gray two-story manor stood before her, untouched by time, exactly as she remembered it. The small flower garden near the wide, two-step porch still bloomed with vibrant colors, as if the years had never passed. The golden knockers on the grand double doors gleamed in the sunlight, polished to perfection, just as they had been in her childhood.

As a young girl, she had often imagined herself as a grand lady of the manor. Servants in burgundy coats and white gloves would open those heavy doors for her, bowing low as she swept inside, dressed in the most exquisite gown. Her faithful puppy, Shadow, would come bounding toward her, tail wagging, showering her with affection and slobbery kisses. And in her fantasy, her perfect suitor—tall, kind, and full of love—would be waiting for her by the hearth, arms open, ready to embrace her with warmth and devotion. It had been a simple, innocent dream, filled with hope and the promise of love. Now, standing before the very home that once held those dreams, reality felt far more complicated.

In seconds, the dream went up in flames and immediately turned ash black. Her dream would never happen now. Not with all she’d been through with Macgregor.

None of this should have happened. Louisa shouldn’t be standing here, lost in dreams of the life she could have had, instead of consumed by the disgust for the life she’d been forced to endure. But here she was, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, the weight of it almost unbearable. The sight of her childhood home, still standing so pristine, tore through her like a knife. The flood of memories—the innocence, the hope—was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the harsh reality she now faced. Seeing this place, untouched by the devastation she had lived through, felt like it might break her all over again.

Stopping near another tree, she placed her cold, clammy hand to her throat as she glanced around the grove. Evening’s shadows play with her tear-blurred vision, making her think she’d been followed. She listened for the sounds of crunching leaves and broken twigs, but all that surrounded her was her own heavy breathing.

Why had Featherspoon told her she hadn’t a shilling to her name when the grand house standing before her suggested otherwise? At the time, she had no reason to doubt Eliza’s uncle, trusting him in her grief and confusion. She’d stayed with Featherspoon for only a few short weeks before being handed over to Macgregor’s so-called care .

His assistance had been anything but. She had been sent to hell. The children in Macgregor’s home had mocked her, refusing to believe she had once been born into a life of privilege. They called her names and taunted her relentlessly, shattering what little remained of her identity. It hadn’t taken long for Louisa to understand—lying was her only means of survival. The truth about her past had become a distant, dangerous secret, buried beneath the layers of deception she had built to protect herself from the cruelty of the world Macgregor had thrust her into.

Taking a deep breath, Louisa glanced around the thicket, trying to ground herself in the present. The frogs croaked by the nearby pond, and crickets filled the night with their steady song, but her heart was heavy, twisted with the weight of unanswered questions. None of it made sense. Why would Eliza’s uncle, a man she had trusted in her darkest hour, lie to her? What could he possibly have gained by hiding the truth?

She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, with only half the puzzle in her hands, the crucial piece still missing. Without it, everything remained a confusing blur, and the ache of not knowing gnawed at her, pulling sobs from the deepest part of her soul. Something was being kept from her—something vital—and until she uncovered it, she could never truly understand the life that had been stolen from her.

As Frank disappeared inside, Louisa crept closer to the house, her heart racing with a mix of fear and hope. She kept low, moving carefully, every step deliberate as she navigated the familiar flower garden—her mother’s pride and joy. The sight of the blooms brought a lump to her throat, and before she could stop them, tears slipped down her cheeks. For the first time in years, a fragile hope stirred in her chest. Could it be possible? Could her parents still be alive? She had dreamed of being in their comforting arms again, hearing their familiar voices soothe away the pain of the past.

Peeking through the window, she spotted Frank standing in the hallway, his face twisted in a scowl, his voice raised in a heated argument with someone inside the sitting room. Louisa couldn’t make out whom he was speaking to, but it hardly mattered. All she wanted—more than anything—was to see the two people she had longed for every single day since that awful day. Her parents. If there was even the slightest chance they were still here, she had to know.

“You. Scamp! Get out of here!”

Someone yelled behind her as a pointy object poked into her back, making her jump. She swung around. A gardener held a shovel as loathing glinted in his old eyes. She didn’t remember him as a child.

Her heart dropped. “No, please. I—”

“Leave now or I’ll call the constable.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded in frustration.

The gardener signaled to two burly men standing behind him, both dressed in rough, workmanlike clothing. Louisa’s heart sank—she didn’t recognize either of them, and they certainly hadn’t worked for her family when her parents were alive. Before she could utter a word of explanation, the two men seized her by the arms, their grip unyielding as they dragged her toward the main gate.

Panic surged through her, her mind racing with protests, but the words died in her throat. She struggled against them, but they were too strong, and all she could do was watch as the house—the last connection to her past—faded farther from her reach.

She squirmed as their beefy fingers dug into her arms. “I demand you release me!”

The two oafs laughed and ignored her wish.

“Please listen to me. I live here.” She wiggled and tried to kick them, but they walked too fast for her efforts to be of any consequence.

Upon reaching the gates, the men tossed her roughly onto the dirt road, the iron gates slamming shut behind her with a resounding clang. Louisa winced, pain shooting through her knees from the hard impact, and when she glanced down, her palms were scraped and raw. Tears stung her eyes, but it wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the humiliation, the helplessness of being thrown out like a trespasser from the home that had once been hers. Her chest tightened with the weight of sorrow and frustration as she lay there, the hopes she had clung to unraveling with every painful breath.

“Don’t come back, or we’ll inform the constable of your trespassing,” the shorter one snipped.

The constable. The thought sparked a flicker of hope in Louisa’s chest, giving her a reason to breathe again. If she could find the constable, she would demand he take her home—or at least to Frank. Her cousin would surely recognize her. Wouldn’t he?

She glanced down at her ragged, tattered clothes, a deep frown forming on her face. Despite her appearance, she knew one thing for certain—she had to get back into that house and confront Frank, no matter the obstacles.

With frustration bubbling inside her, Louisa tore herself away from the iron gates and broke into a run toward the village. Her heart pounded in time with her hurried footsteps as she fought to shake off the sadness and the confusion that had plagued her since arriving.

She needed answers today—answers to the questions that had haunted her for years. And she wouldn’t stop until she had them.