Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A t my intake of breath, the intruder turns, as though I were the one who startled him, and draws two weapons simultaneously. The movement is so fast I can barely follow it. One moment, his hands are bare; in the next, he holds a revolver in his right hand and a wicked, serrated dagger in his left.
My back hits the wall near the open washroom door, as that knife is raised to my neck while the gun presses to my temple.
I don’t move; I don’t speak. I can barely breathe, for fear of the steel against my skin. He looms over me, his figure terrifyingly muscular. I can feel every hard angle of his body pressed against me. Too much of him, really, since I’m wearing so little.
His expression is dangerous, murderous, and there’s something about it that I recognize in myself. A determination to do what it takes to get what he wants.
“Who the hell are you?” the stranger bites out, his voice impatient and violent, yet wearied somehow as well.
“Me?” I choke out, outraged. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom? Unhand me at once or I shall scream for the servants!”
Where are my servants? How did he get past the entire staff?
My right hand is pinned between me and the wall. I try to wiggle it free.
“ Your bedroom?” he asks incredulously.
“Yes, my bedroom.” My manor. My safe space. Invaded.
Since he’s armed, and I still can’t access my weapon, I try a tactful approach. “If you’re looking for a handout, you can go to the kitchens, where the staff can find some food for you.” And Kyros can give him a boot to the ass on his way out the door.
Finally, my hand comes free, and I rotate my arm, bringing the pointed tip into contact with his body.
The man looks down, where I’ve got silver pressed against his manhood. Hopefully he can’t tell it’s not actually a knife from his viewpoint. Still, I could do some damage with it.
“Back away from me now,” I snap at him.
The man scoffs, as though he finds me a trifling insect, but he releases me. He takes five steps backward, though he doesn’t lower the revolver. It’s still pointing right at my head.
Now that I’ve finally gained some distance, I’m able to appraise him properly. I don’t recognize his face. It’s… stern, tanned. Handsome, even. His eyes are like daggers with sharpened edges. His lips are much too full to be reasonable. He has a round chin that cuts to a sharp jaw in a way that manages to look both boyish and manly. Hooded eyes rest beneath ragged tawny-brown hair. He looks my age, though he’s taller and definitely stronger.
“Do I look like I’m in need of handouts?” he asks, his voice deep enough to negate anything boyish about him at all.
I lower my eyes to take in his soiled, worn clothing—though atop it all is an impressive, floor-length black leather jacket. Then I dart back up to note the dirt streaks on his cheeks, the wild, rumpled hair, and reply, “Yes!”
The man rolls his eyes. “I’ve been traveling. It took months to get here, which means I’m short on patience. Now, whoever you are, get the hell out of my house.”
“I beg your pardon! I am Lady Chrysantha Demos, Duchess of Pholios, and you cannot order me to leave my own home!”
At that, the man jerks up straight and does a sweep of my body. “ You’re the dowager duchess? You can’t be older than…”
“Nineteen,” I say.
He opens and shuts his mouth a few times but finally reholsters both weapons. “They told me the old man left a widow, but I didn’t think you’d be so… young. What are you doing in the master suite?”
That is it ! “You do not get to barge into my manor and threaten me with weapons. You don’t get to ask me questions as though I’m some suspect when you’re the criminal. Who do you think you are?”
The man cocks his head to the side. “Vander didn’t tell you?”
“Tell. Me. What?” The words come through gritted teeth. If I have to pay another visit to that dreadful man, I swear I will ruin him.
The intruder looks heavenward as he says, “My name is Eryx Demos. Hadrian Demos was my grandfather. I’m the new Duke of Pholios. I’ve just arrived from overseas to take up my lands and title.”
My heart stops beating in my chest, and my skin goes cold. “What?” I whisper.
“This is my estate, and these are my rooms,” he says, returning his gaze to me.
“No,” I say, quietly at first. Then: “No! Pholios had no children. No heirs. This is some kind of horrible scam! I shall send for Vander at once.”
“You do that, but he’ll tell you the same thing I just did.” Eryx places a hand on the back of his neck and cracks it.
“Why wouldn’t he have told me this before?”
“How should I know? All Vander told me about you was that you’re a bit—uh… simple.”
Did Vander put this into motion before or after I paid him a visit about trying to steal money from me? Is this payback for putting him in his place? Or did he think me such an easy mark that he made plans to have a man of his choosing pretend to be the duke’s grandson so the two could pilfer the earnings of the estate?
And I have no doubt that this is some ruse, because I know Pholios had no heirs. That’s precisely why I picked him.
“Vander must have me confused with someone else,” I say. “For I can assure you I am quite competent and capable of running this estate.”
“Yes, I can see you’ve made all kinds of… interesting changes.” He surveys the room with distaste. “No matter. I’m sure we can return most of this horrid furniture. Restore the room to its manly glory.”
Did he just say manly glory ?
“You won’t be returning anything. The money I’ve spent is mine. This manor is mine. And you will not take it from me, you insolent child!”
“I am eighteen,” he says through clenched teeth. A surprise, I thought him at least a year older.
“Ah, my junior by a year,” I say haughtily.
“I doubt that. When’s your birthday?”
“November.”
“You have five months on me, Duchess. That hardly warrants calling me a child.” His calm tone only infuriates me.
“And yet, you’re not of age. I’m closer to twenty-one than you are, which means the estate will remain in my hands until then.” I don’t know what to believe. I don’t really even know what I’m saying anymore. The world has tilted, and I’m trying to keep from falling.
Eryx laughs. “Oh, no you don’t. Listen here, vixen. This is my birthright. I bear the title of duke, whether or not I’m of age. I outrank you, dowager . We will take this matter to the king if need be, but I’m not backing down.”
“Go ahead. The king is about to become my brother-in-law.”
Which really just means that I’m royally screwed. For Kallias is clearly being puppeted by Alessandra, and she’s not about to do me any favors. I called her a trollop the last time I wrote her.
But the lie is worth it when I see a hitch in his calm facade.
Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but for the briefest moment, I swear I see the supposed duke’s eyes change color, lightening from a deep brown to bright amber, but it must just be the light, because I blink and there is no change at all. Eryx looks impossibly more tired than when I first spotted him in the room. His fingers slide through his hair as he sighs heavily.
“You picked the wrong mark,” I say. “I will see you and Vander in prison by tomorrow.”
Calmly, resolutely, he extends his right hand forward, where I note for the first time that he’s wearing a ring.
Pholios’s seal.
How the hell did he get that? It was on Pholios’s hand when he died.
Wasn’t it?
Well, that at least explains how he got past the servants.
At my stunned silence, Eryx says, “We can resume this argument in the morning. I’ve had a long day. I need rest.”
“Well, you’re not doing it in here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. All the pink is giving me a headache. Have a good night in this room, Duchess. It won’t be yours for much longer.” He smiles a grin that makes him seem more dangerous than before.
The door bursts open, and no fewer than ten of my footmen barrel into the room in various stages of undress.
This time, Eryx doesn’t grab his dagger or pistol. He just appraises the men calmly.
“No need for that,” Eryx says. He steps over something on the floor on his way to the door. The footmen let him pass, awaiting my instructions.
Only then do I notice that Sandros is knocked out cold on the bedside rug.
In my outrage and surprise over the intruder, I’d forgotten about him completely. “Take Sandros to the connecting suite and ring for the doctor, please.”
Four men carry out the order, hauling Sandros between them.
Kyros turns to me. “Damasus called for us. Said that some man with the duke’s seal was walking about the manor. He had two goons with him, which is why the staff couldn’t warn you right away. Are you all right, Your Grace?”
What a question.
I had my perfect life, and now some man-child has come to take it away.
How can he exist? He can’t exist. I specifically chose the duke because he had no children. No cousins. No one to pass the estate on to.
Yet here is someone claiming otherwise.
This can’t be right. This can’t be it.
I killed for this!
I’ve earned it.
Finding some measure of calm, I say, “I will be.”
If Vander and Eryx think I’m just going to hand over this estate, they are sorely mistaken. They have no idea who they’re dealing with. The pretend duke may have caught me by surprise, but starting tomorrow I will be prepared.
I return my toothbrush to the washroom. My footmen shuffle out the room, but I ask if a couple of them will take watch outside the door. Just in case.
Then I climb into bed, place the down pillow over my head, and scream and scream into it, until the energetic fury finally leaves my limbs. Depleted and exhausted, I turn over.
This is a new obstacle I wasn’t expecting, but I will handle it just as I have everything else.
Eryx the con artist will not be around for long.
C ONSCIOUSNESS CREEPS UP ON ME again and again in the night, my new troubles refusing to let me remain in blissful sleep. When Medora’s knuckles rap on the locked door, I let her in.
“We need to get me dressed quickly, Medora. I have errands to run.”
She selects a light yellow day dress for me with white ribbon cinching around my waist and wrists. Bows are spaced ten inches apart along the hemline. I pick opal earrings and a single white gold ring to complement the outfit. Medora pulls my black hair up into a coiffure, with strands falling down my back. One of my best features is my neck, so I often wear my hair up when I need to distract a man.
“I think I’ll wear makeup today,” I say, and Medora’s brow shoots up in surprise. I normally don’t bother with powders. I don’t need them, and with them, I often cause accidents in the street. But that’s exactly what I need now.
An accident to befall this impostor.
Medora lines my eyes with black, applies pink gloss to my lips, traces my brows, and deepens the blush on my cheeks.
When I’m all dolled up, I exit the room. Kyros is walking up the stairs just as I’m descending. He looks up, loses his footing, and just barely manages to catch himself on the railing. Since he’s a very coordinated young man, I deem my outfit and face suitable for today’s battle.
As I enter the dining room, I’m appalled by what I find. Eryx has made himself comfortable in my chair at the head of the table. He has two gentlemen seated on either side of him, though gentlemen is a rather generous term.
As I enter the room, the two extra men bolt out of their seats and make for the wall behind Eryx to stand at attention.
So they’re not gentlemen at all, but servants? Most likely the “goons” Kyros had mentioned last night.
“Enough of that,” Eryx says. “You haven’t finished your breakfasts.”
The first of the men clears his throat before saying, “You have company.” This man looks a little older than Eryx and much, much rougher. Really, he’s kind of terrifying with grizzled features. Ginormous arms. Trousers that barely seem to contain the thick muscles of his thighs.
The other is not nearly so enormous as the first, but Eryx still wouldn’t want to challenge him to an arm wrestling match, I’d wager. While the first man has dark hair and features, the second has golden hair and bright blue eyes. He has a scar visible on one hand. His eyes widen as he properly assesses my features.
“You didn’t mention she was downright gorgeous,” he says, and his companion smacks his shoulder.
Both men avert their eyes, looking to the floor. They wear workman’s attire. Simple cotton pants and shirts that I’m sure are much darker in color than the day they were purchased. Really, I should have assumed they were hired hands when I first entered the room. Though they haven’t the manners to be well-trained household servants.
Honestly, now that they’re both standing, they look more like bodyguards.
At the breakfast table?
I should have guessed the con would need more than one man to pull it off. Just how many will the constabulary have to round up and toss into prison once I expose the ruse?
“Duchess,” Eryx says, realizing I’m here with them. He doesn’t react at all to my appearance, which I find all the more frustrating. “Please do forgive their manners. It’s been quite some time since they were in polite company. Won’t you be seated?”
He motions for a servant to remove the dishes belonging to the men now stationed along the wall. A fresh bowl is laid out at Eryx’s right. He rises from his chair and pulls out mine, as though intending to help me sit.
It is an odd sight, since the man isn’t wearing anything close to resembling something appropriate for a duke. He’s done up in all black. Pants, boots, long-sleeved shirt. No vest or jacket, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
Highly scandalous.
He appears to have bathed since last night. His medium-brown hair has less volume, though it’s still wild in appearance, but at least he’s no longer dirt-streaked. There are hollows beneath his eyes, making him look as though he didn’t sleep a wink last night.
I do a slow sweep of the room, making eye contact with each of my waitstaff, though they seem just as confused by the newcomers as I am.
This is so very, very wrong. But there’s nothing to be done for it at the moment.
Right now, I have a choice to make.
I’ve let down my guard. Been myself around the servants. Shown too much outrage and competence in front of Eryx to pretend to be anything other than I am. So what part do I play now?
I can take the seat meant for me. Pretend to be obedient and innocent so Eryx will let down his guard.
Or—
I can sit at the other end of the table and show my defiance.
I refuse to pretend for a second longer in my own home.
So I ignore the duke’s invitation, and I take the other end of the table, where I can sit and be Eryx’s equal.
The fake duke doesn’t move as he watches me. Xandria from the kitchen staff jumps forward to pull out my chair for me. When I sit and look up, my eyes lock with Eryx. He is the first to blink and retreat to his seat, and I feel a small thrill as though I’ve won some victory.
One of the fake duke’s companion’s laughs at my brazen move, and the other one smacks him again for it.
“Good morning, Duchess,” Eryx says, ignoring them.
“Good morning,” I say, leaving off his honorific.
“You still do not believe I am who I say I am.”
“I am cautious; that is all. The late duke never spoke of you.”
Eryx keeps his eyes on my face as he says, “I doubt my grandfather did much speaking if he had you around.”
“He was bedbound for our entire marriage.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“On his sickbed , you imbecile. I was here caring for him, more nursemaid than wife. And where were you? No doubt drinking and whoring your way about the world, if you are as you say: a Demos.”
Eryx leans back in his chair, letting it rise up on the back two feet.
“What are you doing?” I ask, appalled. “I just had the wood refinished.”
“Whatever I like,” he returns, rough arrogance seeping through his tone.
I change tactics. “I find it reprehensible that you value the efforts of the servants so little, as they recently spent hours laboring over the restoration of this table set, but I suppose a con artist does not care one wink for the efforts of others.”
The silence is earth-shattering.
Until the legs of the chair snap onto the floor once more.
That’s two wins to me.
“Think what you will of me,” he says. “That doesn’t change who I am. It will only change my opinion of you. Odd that you’re not trying to garner my good graces since your future is entirely in my hands now.”
“I am a duchess, dowager or not. With that title comes respect and privilege. You cannot take those from me, nor can you throw me from this estate. Legally, there’s nothing you can do to me. Whereas you, little boy, might want to be very careful, as I can make your life utterly miserable.”
He puts a hand to his temple. “You mean you haven’t already started? Gods, help me.”
Eryx kneads the sides of his head, eyes closed in thought. When he slams them open with a small smile, I have to force myself not to recoil.
A man with an idea is a dangerous thing.
“You know what, Duchess? I think you and I had a rough start. We met under unusual circumstances, and we’ve done nothing but bicker since then. Perhaps we could start over?”
“To what end?” What game is he playing now?
“We clearly have need to work out this mess, and I think it might go more smoothly if we aren’t at each other’s throats. Here, I’ll start. My name is Eryx Demos, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I would like to formally apologize for scaring you last night. I wanted to explore the manor before the servants had a chance to change anything, to see how it was being run in my absence. I should have spared more thought for the comforts of you and the staff.”
“I was not scared,” I lie.
“No? Because you often find strangers in your bed?” He thinks himself funny. His face hasn’t changed, but humor lights his eyes.
“I only invite attractive strangers to my bed, so you were clearly out of place.”
A snort from behind the duke, and yet another responding smack.
“Stop hitting me, Argus!”
“Keep your stupid gob shut, Dyson.”
Eryx presses his lips together before turning around. I can only imagine the look he shoots at the two men. They quiet instantly and hold themselves straighter.
When Eryx turns back around to face me, he looks perfectly calm. “We seem to keep baiting each other. That’s probably my fault. I’ve been away for so long. I don’t know how to talk to members of the aristocracy anymore.”
“You could stop talking altogether,” I offer.
That calm facade shatters, and he shoots me a glare. “We’re supposed to be playing nice, Duchess. You’re making that supremely difficult.”
“You’re the one who barged into my home, intent on taking everything I own. How exactly do you think I should be treating you?”
“I’m trying to make the best out of a difficult situation.”
“The best for you. Not me.”
He grinds his teeth. “You’re impossible.”
I know, and it is the most delightful thing in the world. I have spent far too long playing the simpleton, keeping silent, minding myself. But speaking , it is the most glorious freedom. I’ve missed it terribly, and Eryx seems to bring out a side of me that has long since been kept dormant.
In the most mocking tone I can muster, I say, “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’ve never met a con artist before. For some reason, I thought you’d be a lot cleverer. No matter. My name is Chrysantha Demos. You must have thought me an easy mark, so I’m sorry you were mistaken. The dukedom is in my perfectly capable hands, and it will stay that way.”
His eyes narrow. “Finish your breakfast, Duchess. We shall go pay a visit to Vander to settle our disputes. I think we both need to know exactly what is in that will.”