Chapter Six
That evening
Madeline’s stomach rumbled as she slowly edged down the grand staircase. The marble hadn’t been polished recently, but that didn’t deter from its Italian beauty with thin gray veins and a bit of sparkle running through the stone.
From what the maid who’d been assigned to her had said when helping her dress this evening, dinner would be served in an hour. Inside the bag of clothing packed by her own maid at home was a gown suitable for dinner—even with her captor—and she didn’t mind admitting to herself that it was a great comfort to finally be clad in decent garments again that weren’t scandalous. What was more, the maid must have pulled it from Madeline’s trunk where she’d packed away things in anticipation of her wedding next week, so there was a tiny thrill to feel the slide of the new fine lawn shift against her skin along with the silk gown in a peacock green color that made her eyes seem brighter.
I actually feel beautiful in this gown.
Or at least she could fool herself she was that, if she ignored the curves that made her larger than the current trend of willowy blondes, as well as forgetting that she had a scar on her cheek.
The slight clack of the tiny clear glass beads at the hem of the gown marked her passage while the matching satin slippers made her footsteps relatively silent. Where would the duke be at this time of the evening? For that matter, how did he spend his time when he wasn’t bedeviling her?
Thinking of him, remembering what he’d done to her hours earlier, sent heat into her cheeks, and there was an odd ache in her muscles she’d never experienced before. Though her consent to the coupling had been dubious at best, and she was still furious at him for the high-handedness, there was no doubt that it had awakened something within her. Whether a hunger or a longing or simply curiosity didn’t matter, for she wasn’t happy about being used for a revenge scheme on the duke’s part. To say nothing of the heavy feeling of deep dread that draped across her shoulders, for she wouldn’t go to Inglehart and say vows to him as the virgin bride he’d demanded.
Would that mean her brother’s horrible secret would be revealed regardless that she would sacrifice herself on the altar of marriage?
That very real knowledge sent trembles into the pit of her belly, and for a moment, she rather thought she’d retch right there on the stairs. Unless she walked out of this manor and into the night without pin money or other sort of ready coin, her chances of fleeing the immediate area were slim.
For she couldn’t very well remove the large ruby from its hiding place and flash it about the village. Regarding that, she’d been beyond relieved when her bonnet with the stuffed bird had been delivered to her bedchamber along with an ivory spencer made from a silk and cotton blend.
The deep rumble of the duke’s voice from somewhere nearby sent a shiver down her spine. Oh, good heavens, he is close! Then she immediately hated herself for the reaction. She wasn’t here for courting or romance, or really for anything good. Once she gained the ground floor, Madeline crept forward. Apparently, the duke was speaking to a footman in the entryway, so she paused and watched him from around the corner.
“When going about with a cravat, one should always be rigged out with a well-starched piece of fabric or at least have passable enough skill to arrange one’s knot,” Ravenhurst said to the younger man as he wrapped a length of linen about the footman’s neck. “No one will take you seriously if your neckwear is sloppy, and it doesn’t matter what place you occupy in society. That is a hard and fast rule.”
While he lectured the young man on how to present himself, especially as a footman who might meet any number of people of different walks of life and societal levels, the duke wound and twisted that length of fabric until he had a knot of his liking.
“There are many knots a man can choose; you’ll need to find your own personal style, but if you are serious about learning, ask Mr. Anders or my valet, Akers. They are both quite skilled in the different designs.”
“But, Your Grace, I’m a footman. Why should I learn this?”
“Because you won’t always be a footman, will you Joshua?” The duke continued to manipulate the length of cloth, and in short order, he arranged a fall of fabric. “Now, put your jacket back on and let’s get a look at you.”
Quickly, the younger man, who was probably not more than eighteen or nineteen, scrambled into his dark jacket and did up the buttons. “Do you believe I’ll be anything other than a footman, Your Grace?” There was a fair amount of hero worship in the boy’s eyes.
How long Joshua had been employed in the duke’s household, and what sort of relationship Ravenhurst had with his servants were unknown, but any man who treated people of lesser rank than him with respect and kindness was certainly not the wretch the duke thought he was. She came forward a few steps in order to hear the remainder of the conversation.
“I believe that if you do the work, keep your head on your shoulders, and make yourself a plan, I know you can either train to become a driver, a butler, or even a valet, and if you don’t wish to remain in domestic service, we can look into schooling…”
While her lips formed an “o” of surprise, Joshua gasped. “You would do that for me?”
The duke shrugged. “I will help as much as I can, but be warned, my ruined reputation and lack of funding might hinder said process.” Even at her distance Madeline heard the anger and humiliation in Ravenhurst’s voice. He adjusted the cravat’s knot. “Just so. Quite presentable.”
In that moment, she gave him a bit of latitude, for something horrible had happened in his life, something he’d had no control over, and also in that moment, she wanted to help him if she could. It might make her a ninny, but if this was the only brave thing she could manage before her life ended with her marriage to Inglehart, so be it.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I won’t disappoint you, but I need to resume my duties before Mr. Anders accuses me of shirking.”
As the boy darted off toward the servants’ stairs, Ravenhurst turned around, and his gaze slammed into hers.
“Good evening, Miss Hardesty.” As he spoke, he strode toward her, but his eyes were hard as sea glass. “You were spying on me.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, of course not. I’d come down looking for you, but when I saw you were engaged with the footman…” She shrugged. “That was a lovely thing you did for him.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was clearly something.”
He huffed. “Forget it happened.”
“I can’t, for it shows you aren’t the vile man you apparently wish the world to see.”
“Stop talking!” Quite agitated, Ravenhurst grabbed her upper arm in a hand, shuttled her down the corridor, and once at the library, he ushered her inside and slammed the door behind them. “Such things make me look weak, and that is not a position that a duke relishes.”
Though fear played her spine, she shook her head. “It makes you approachable, shows that you are capable of kindness of—”
He stemmed the tide of her words with a rough kiss that had his whiskers scraping against her lips and the delicate skin around her mouth. When he let her up for air, he growled his words as his eyes shot blue fire. “I do not appreciate you poking about my home where you are not wanted.”
“If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t have had me kidnapped, now would you?” Annoyed at his annoyance, she cocked an eyebrow and tried to tamp down her body’s traitorous reaction to his kiss. “Do you think you can distract me from talking about the man you really are?” The man would have no more access to her until she got something from him in return.
For several moments, the duke said nothing, and in the quiet of the darkened library, she had ample time to study him. Apparently, he didn’t have enough respect for her to dress for dinner like she had, and instead was clad again in breeches and a lawn shirt, except this time he wore a silver silk waistcoat. It was an improvement, but only just.
Finally, he spoke. “You know nothing about who I am. The man I used to be no longer exists. In his place, I am… this .” He widened his arms then let them drop to his sides, but with that movement, the scents of citrus and sage wafted to her nose.
At least he’d bathed.
This man, this dejected version of the angry duke she’d met last night, was far more pathetic, and she somehow preferred him frightening. Pressing her lips together, she then blew out a breath. “In exchange for you talking about your past or the dark secrets therein, I will allow you access to my body again.”
Alarm bells clanged in her head, for it was pure folly to give any concession to her captor, but she couldn’t ignore his unspoken plea for help.
“That is not playing fair.” One side of his mouth quirked with a tentative grin. “Unless I miss my guess, you have enjoyed getting off since you’ve been here.”
Heat sank into her cheeks and chest. “Perhaps, but you’ll never know.” Madeline would rather die than say she liked it when he did naughty, questionable things to her. It was much like freedom, and at least none of those acts had been immoral. What was more, she’d needed that outlet; it had been a balm, for far too long, she’d kept her own anger and resentment buried deep inside. The frantic coupling had let her release some of that so she wouldn’t explode.
And oddly, each time he put his hands on her, his touch helped to soothe her anxiety of what her future would be once he was done with her. At least he didn’t beat her. It was already an improvement from living with her brother.
Who hadn’t sent anyone to come looking for her. The bastard.
Slowly, Ravenhurst nodded. “Fine, I agree to the terms. Just for this evening.” Yet he didn’t make a move that would allude to such wickedness. Instead, he took up pacing, back and forth in front of a wall of shelves filled with books she wished she had time to explore.
Madeline didn’t dare say anything or do anything for fear it would distract him, so she perched on the bolstered arm of a leather sofa and simply watched him, waiting.
“Uh, twenty years ago next month, my parents were brutally murdered following an attempted burgle of their townhouse.” One of his hands clenched into a fist. “Inglehart was drunk and did it on a dare, but apparently he was too inebriated, which impaired logical thinking, for he raped my mother before he and an accomplice killed them for trying to fight back and sound the alarm.”
Her stomach ached as if she’d been punched there. What a horrific tale. “Were you at home when it happened?”
“Not initially. I was home from university and had decided to meet a few friends at the club, but I came home early. As soon as I heard the pistol shots, I rushed into their room.” He faced the shelf, leaned a forearm and fist on the spines of the books. “Of course, I was enraged, especially when Inglehart bragged over what he’d done. When I attacked, I was quickly knocked out with the butt of a pistol. Sometime later, I came to in the hold of a navy ship, which had already gained the sea.”
“Dear God. I am so sorry.” There had been no closure for him, no seeing his parents buried, no grieving period, no time for him to acclimate to the loss. “And you are certain Inglehart did this?”
“I am.” He nodded. “I wasn’t before because the men were masked, but there were inevitable rumors and gossip that had trickled into ports around the world. However, I learned it as fact a couple of weeks ago when one of my close friends confirmed it.”
Though she wanted to go to him, to comfort him, she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. “Shall I poison the marquess for you? I’ll be close enough to him for that.” And it might prevent a wedding night.
The duke turned and almost gave her a smile. “He will reap his just desserts by my hand alone, but I thank you for the offer.” Then he rubbed a hand along the side of his face, scratched his fingers through his beard. “Why the hell are you marrying Inglehart if you despise him and you know of his reputation?”
It was a fair question, and she owed him an answer.
“Oh, it’s complicated.”
He snorted. “Everything is. Tell me.” There was an undeniable note of command in his voice that had a bit of fear twisting down her spine.
“All right.” Except despair tied knots in her belly. Madeline left the sofa to wander about the opposite side of the room from him, and she steadfastly refrained from looking at him. “My brother is a bounder. There is no way around that.”
“So I figured else he wouldn’t demand this sacrifice on your part.”
She nodded. “It’s true the marquess bought his vowels and paid his debts. However, there is something even more foul than that, something Inglehart is holding over him, making him desperate.”
“And?” One of his dark eyebrows rose in question.
The heat of humiliation went through her cheeks. “It would seem that Richard has made copious amounts of coin—which he has lost as quickly at the gaming tables or thrown it away on whores—by trading in human cargo.”
“Slaves.”
“Not exactly.” The urge to retch rose in her throat. “Richard has made a business with a few others in the capture and sale of children and youths, both boys and girls, whom they ship to men in other countries for their perverted uses.” Admitting to it out loud and in front of this man was the height of embarrassing. “Inglehart found out and is threatening Richard, saying he will tell the secret far and wide through the beau monde .” Her voice broke and tears welled in her eyes. “If it gets out, it will destroy him, of course, but me as well, from association. Beyond that, my father’s name will be called into question and possibly shredded.” She shook her head as a few tears fell to her cheeks. “Papa was beyond reproach, had nothing to do with this horror that my brother has perpetrated. I can’t let that happen.”
“You and your brother could flee to America,” he said in a deceptively soft voice she knew from experience housed pent-up rage.
“Where? My brother will be ruined, and he’s already gone through the Hardesty coffers. There is nothing for him—us. We couldn’t pay for passage let alone a home once we arrive.”
Put like that, her prospects were even more dim than she’d previously imagined.
The duke frowned as he glanced at her from the other side of the room. “You can still marry someone else, someone who would love you and cherish you. Someone who would be good to you, for you, protect you from the fallout of what Inglehart will do. After all, that is between him and your brother.”
“If only life were that simple.” She laughed, but the sound held no mirth. Then she huffed, for it was all ridiculous. “Be honest, Ravenhurst. If it was you needing a wife, would you pick me if you knew what my brother has done, is still doing, and without remorse?” When he didn’t answer right away, she brushed away another flood of tears. “As much as you want to remain aloof, say you’ll do whatever you please, you have responsibilities to your title, to your name. You would pass on a woman like me and take another bride, one with a sterling reputation, one without rumors attached to her family name. One who has better looks than me.” She hadn’t wanted to throw in that last bit, but ultimately, she was vain.
And he didn’t relieve those fears.
“I am not looking for a bride, and as for my responsibilities, none of those things will matter soon.”
What did that mean? Surely he wouldn’t embrace death after what the marquess had done. But in some odd way, it made sense and explained a bit of his behavior.
Before she could answer, he spoke again. “You are sacrificing your whole life to that man on behalf of your arse of a brother.” It was too dark in the room to read his expression. “Don’t you have dreams? Don’t you have desires of your own?”
They seemed so far away now. Her chin wobbled, and as much as she wished to take refuge in tears, she inclined her chin a fraction. “Did you before you were forced into the Navy?”
“Yes, of course.” A growl had set up in his voice.
“Did you ever go back to them once you were done with your commitment to King and Country?”
“No, which is why I’m furious on your behalf.” He slammed a fist into his other hand. “The marquess will use you up like a match and then discard you, possibly even murder you once he’s gotten what he wants. What sort of life is that?”
What, indeed? Her stomach ached again even if it let out another pang of hunger. “Perhaps Richard will someday appreciate it.”
He snorted. “I doubt that largely.”
So did she. In many ways, she wished he would come at her again, try to claim her body so she’d have something else to focus on… or look forward to, but he stood his ground. “What sort of life are you living now, Alexander?” How much did she enjoy using his given name? “At what cost are you doing so?”
“Revenge is all I have, all I had to hang onto for twenty years.” He came toward her as he spoke, and in the shadows, he was quite frightening. Had his enemies during his time in the Navy felt thusly? “Perhaps the cost is too high now that it is the only form of repayment there is.”
“Then it’s time to pull out one of your old dreams, dust it off, and chase it. Hang onto it instead and let the other go before it finishes poisoning your soul.”
“Ha. As if it were that simple now that revenge has been twisted with the other demons that haunt me.” The duke stalked her and she let him, finally cornered her between him and the open window. He put his hands to her hair and methodically plucked out the pins. When the mass tumbled down, he tangled a hand in it and forced her head upward, making her sit on the sill. The pain that skittered along her scalp made her feel more alive than she had in years. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
She met his gaze without wavering. “Why don’t you?”
“What difference does it make to you the state of my soul? You should hate me, hate everything I stand for because at the week’s end, I shall either give you back to the marquess thoroughly ruined, or sell you to the highest bidder elsewhere.”
The words were chilling enough, and for long moments, she held his gaze without fear, even as her heart raced and she longed to feel his hands on her body, yet a hint of admiration reflected in his eyes, made possible by the light of the rising moon.
“I don’t doubt you’ll give me to the marquess, but I do doubt you’d sell me, for you were outraged when I told you what my brother has done.” She dared to rest a palm on his chest, and the heat of him had the power to singe her. “I’ve seen too much of your true nature that you try to hide to know you would ever walk away and let a stranger have at me.”
He tugged a bit harder at her hair, forcing her head back, exposing her neck. It made her feel vulnerable but oddly aroused. “Yet marrying Inglehart doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it does,” she managed to gasp out. “I live in fear and dread every moment of every day about that because it’s pointless.” Despite wanting to appear strong before him, a tear fell from the corner of her eye. “Richard will learn nothing, the marquess will learn nothing, and even you will have learned nothing after this week.” A trace of hysteria rose in her throat, and it was difficult to swallow in that position. “My existence means nothing to every man I’ve ever met, except for my fiancé, God rest his soul. He was the best of all of us, but the war took him, and my life was left to chance after that.”
Immediately, the duke softened his grip. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“As I am for yours. Death is a large part of life, and it seems I am forever to be on the unfortunate side of life, but if one woman can gain courage or inspiration from my sacrifice, if one woman can gain knowledge from my experience so she isn’t thought of as an object, so be it.” She stifled a sob that rose in her throat. “Perhaps, if fate is kind, I will be a mother and can teach my daughters to be brave and hopefully learn how to be stronger than me.”
He peered at her with such hunger in his eyes that she shivered. “Pretty words, of course, but anyone could say them. What makes you so willing to do this? From all accounts, the marquess is an ogre without a soul. Like me.”
“ Not like you.” Of that she was certain, and she shook her head. “At least you have a soul, tarnished and bent as it is, though you deny it.”
“Damn.” With his hands still in her hair, he held her head and brought his lips crashing down so hard on hers their teeth briefly clicked together. As he pulled away, he lightly nipped that bottom piece of flesh, and she shivered again from the eroticism of that. “I have never had anyone defend me in twenty years.”
“No doubt you haven’t let anyone close enough to try to know you.” Could she trust him with her secret? Why not? From his own admission, after this week, they would never see each other again. And perhaps she would gain the courage she needed to escape the marquess’ clutches. “Also, my mother left me with the means to buy my freedom.”
A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I’m not certain. Do you trust me ?”
“That depends on the hour of the day.”
When he gave her a lopsided grin, flutters went into her belly. “Touché.”
“Shortly before my mother died, she revealed the existence of a large egg-shaped ruby she had that had been handed down through the women of her line. From Burma, it had originally been given to my great-great-grandmother from a member of the royal family. It seems she had been quite the scandal in her day.” Madeline couldn’t help her smile, for she’d always adored that story. “It was an incentive for all those women to use in the event they needed an escape. Mama had been aware of Richard’s tendencies for gambling and whores, so she swore me to secrecy; not even Papa knew of it.”
“Oh, I’ll wager your father knew, but that he kept the secret, especially if he were in love with your mother.”
“He was. I often hope I could have such a romance, and it was fitting they died together.”
Shock leapt into his face. “That was how it was for my parents as well. My father died defending her.”
“Sometimes fate is cruel and twisted.” As her throat tightened with unshed tears, she cleared it. “Mama never had the chance to follow her dreams, but she said I should.” At the end of the tale, she shrugged. “My mother and grandmother were adamant that a woman should have her own independent means. That ruby is my wild card. It means I can walk away from the marquess whenever I feel like it and never look back. I can disappear. Be someone else. Vanish and live my life as I see fit.”
“I see.” Respect reflected in his eyes, and he released his hold on her hair. “I’m impressed. At least you won’t let him kill you.”
“I will not.” She sobered and removed herself from the windowsill. “So if I must suffer through until the end of my existence, I want you to promise me that you will too.”
“Why? You have more to live for than I.”
“Poppycock. You are a duke, for God’s sake. Start acting like it.” The reason for his motivation was a strong one, but she was growing weary of that being his excuse for everything.
“I have been, and might I remind you that I’ve only just arrived back in England to take up the reins of my shattered former life.”
“While I’m aware of that, you have been acting out of fear, grief, and ego.” Daring much, Madeline put a hand on his chest over his heart. When would she have this opportunity again? In a flash, he could become the snapping, snarling, wounded beast of before. “Act from here sometime, Your Grace. Make decisions without anything in the offing except to give from yourself without expectation, like you did with the footman today.”
For the space of a heartbeat, she thought he might crumble, but then he straightened his spine. “Again, I ask why do you care? I’ve done horrible things in my life you don’t know about. I’ve treated you like a monster.”
“No.” Perhaps he was learning, but it would take a bit for him to unbury himself from the layers of protection he’d been forced to wrap around himself. She shook her head. “I know what real monsters are and you aren’t that. What is more, when you think no one is looking, there is a vulnerability about you, a deep sadness from which stem all your problems, and if you would allow yourself to unlock those feelings, sit with them, then set them free, you would perhaps be free yourself.” Though she couldn’t fix him—no one could—she could offer support if he wanted it, even if they were strangers. “It is not your lot in life to even a score, to fight madness with the same. Bad things happen and we won’t know why.”
His face twisted once more into the mask of annoyance he usually wore. “You wish for me to give up and lose face.”
“No, I wish for you to find peace. For you to realize that what you have is enough, that you are enough, and that you are grateful to have survived where others haven’t.” What he’d gone through was horrific, no one would discount that, but it couldn’t become his own personality. “Find your gratitude, Alexander. Until then, you will always be the most horrid version of yourself, and that is the real crime.”
“You don’t know me,” he said in a choked whisper.
“I don’t, but I want to.” That surprised her, for by rights, she should despise him for what he’d already done to her, yet there was something vulnerable about him, something that cried out for understanding. “Additionally, for the love of God, clean yourself up. Make yourself tidy again. It will be a start.” Despite the need coursing through her blood, Madeline walked across the room. Only when she gained the door and put a hand on the latch did he utter his next words.
“Why haven’t you tried to escape the manor yet?”
When she glanced over her shoulder, his shoulders had slumped, and he focused his attention on the spines of the books on the shelf. Why, indeed? Perhaps she should confront some truths about herself as well. “I might need you as much as you need me in this bizarre situation. It means nothing outside of why we were thrown together, and it might show me as more broken than I would have liked, but here we are.”
Then Madeline exited the library without a second look back.
By the time she’d closed the door to her bedchamber, she had dissolved in tears, for remaining strong and truthful in the face of fear was quite a feat. Before she completely lost herself to the emotions, she rang for a maid, asked for a dinner tray, since she’d run from the duke before the dinner bell had rung.
What was wrong with her that she hadn’t left him yet?
There were no easy answers, except that she might be softening toward him. Deep down, she suspected that he was right. Perhaps he was a monster, but she didn’t believe that. Why, though? She knew him not at all. How he presented himself to the world wasn’t the truth, was it? In her heart of hearts, she remembered him as she had once before, through the eyes of the young girl she was years ago, watching him as he went lightheartedly through life, with a ready grin and hope in his eyes and determination in his countenance.
More than anything, she wanted him to be that man again, though it would undeniably prove an uphill battle, and it wasn’t any concern of hers after everything he’d already done and would continue to do.
I am such a ninny.
Then she cried in earnest. When would she be free of these men who wished to use her as a pawn in their own, twisted games?