Chapter 19 #2
“He let go of his entire staff, except for the butler, a week before he killed her. That man was paid handsomely for his silence and assistance in concealing what happened. He’s the one who dug up the bloody clothes and jewelry after Darius found them.”
“And what about her body?” Warren pressed.
Lionel groaned. “Christ, Warren. Let the poor woman rest in peace.”
Doyle sighed and leaned on his billiards cue. “They put her body in a trunk and buried it in the country. She was given a proper burial in her family’s plot in Kent.”
“A trunk? You mean to say he traveled with it when he went to the country?” Warren asked.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Christ,” Warren muttered. “I might have helped lift that damn trunk down with the man’s hired footman.
All that time, the poor woman was right there, and I didn’t know.
” That was going to haunt him a long time.
If he’d looked in that trunk, he would have found Mrs. Crell and caught her husband right there, and avoided the events that led to Meredith and Darius being attacked.
Vincent clapped a hand on Warren’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “A damned shame what happened to her, I know. But you and Meredith caught the man,” he told Warren. “You did all that you could for that woman.”
“Yes,” Warren said softly. The entire incident had left him with a sinking melancholy. But Vincent was right. Crell was dead, and his wife was avenged. It would have to be enough.
“Your turn, Warren,” Felix announced. Warren set down his brandy and took up his cue, leaning over the billiard table to take his shot.
* * *
It was early evening when Meredith came down the stairs to see about dinner being sent up to her and Darius in their bedchamber.
She was tiptoeing down the stairs on bare feet, wearing nothing but her chemise and dressing gown when she heard strained voices.
Mr. Chelsea was in the drawing room, arguing with someone.
“Let me see her! I know she’s here,” a man’s voice snapped.
“No,” Chelsea replied firmly. “I’m afraid she is unavailable for visitors.”
“Mr. Chelsea?” She pushed the door open and froze as she saw who was arguing with their butler. It was Harry St. John.
“Aww, Merry dear, tell this fool that you will see me.” Meredith pulled her robe more firmly around her body and crossed her arms. Other than her bare feet, she wasn’t improperly dressed for her home, but with Harry she sensed any amount of clothes would not be enough to make her feel safe.
“I would ask that you please leave.”
“Not unless you accompany me. My father wanted me to care for you, after all.”
Meredith blinked. He was here to retrieve her? But that would mean...
She looked to Chelsea and said quietly, “He doesn’t know?”
“He does not.” Chelsea, being the consummate professional he was, said it without smiling, but the implication was clear.
Harry ignored their private exchange. “You know it took me bloody ages to figure out where you’d gone? You didn’t even stay for the funeral. That is badly done, Merry, badly done indeed.”
That struck a chord. She had hated missing Uncle Ben’s funeral, but had had little choice in the matter.
“Come now, pack your things. I have a coach waiting for us.”
Meredith betrayed nothing as she looked to the butler. “Mr. Chelsea, would you—”
“Yes, of course.” The butler nodded and hastily left the room.
“I have no idea what got into your silly little head,” Harry said, exasperated. “Imposing yourself on the my cousin’s goodwill like this, after he and father had such a falling out. It’s a miracle he didn’t throw you out on the street.
“And you intend to take me back home?” Meredith said evenly.
“Of course. Oh, I know you ran off because I was a bit forward. But honestly, such an overreaction is unbecoming. My conditions for your upkeep are not at all uncommon, I assure you.”
What sickened Meredith most was the feeling that he might not be wrong.
Harry looked up at the ceiling as if weighing her fate with a heavenly expertise. “You can’t expect my cousin to pay to keep you forever, my dear. Charity can only go so far. I, however, shall buy you pretty frocks and all the trinkets you could—”
“Good evening, Harry,” Darius said coolly as he appeared in the doorway behind Meredith. He was fully dressed, his face a mask hiding all emotion.
“Darius.” Harry’s scowl was replaced by a nervous smile. “How are you?”
“Quite well. And you?”
“Well enough.” Harry cleared his throat.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I only just learned of Meredith’s imposition upon your hospitality, and came at once to take her home.
I’m sorry she’s been a burden to you. I promised my father on his deathbed that I would see to her care, but the silly girl left before I could tell her that. ”
Darius’s gaze flicked momentarily to Meredith before settling back on Harry. They both knew that Uncle Ben had never said such a thing on his deathbed.
“I see,” said Darius, feigning understanding. “Well, I must say she has not been a burden to me. Far from it.”
There was a glint in Harry’s eye as he misinterpreted Darius’s words. “Come now, Darius. You have your pick of women, fashionable courtesans far more worthy of you. You don’t need her. Send her home with me, otherwise she’ll start putting on airs.”
Darius looked at Meredith in mock disapproval. “I say, have you been putting on airs?”
Meredith feigned shame. “Well, I did ask Harry to leave before you arrived.”
“Oh I’m sure that’s forgivable,” said Darius, his lips twitching ever so slightly as if he fought off a smile.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Stop playing games, Darius. It’s what’s best for her, and you know it. It’s not like she belongs here.” Harry snorted. It was clear he believed Darius would agree with him.
Darius crossed his arms over his chest, but his tone remained calm. “Ahh, but she does belong here, cousin. You see, Uncle Ben sent her to me to help her find a husband among my peers.”
“A husband?” Harry said in disbelief. “But who would marry her? She’s a bastard.”
“Well, it just so happens that we did find her a suitable match, didn’t we?” Darius looked to Meredith, who nodded.
“Oh yes, the most splendid husband.”
Darius looked at Harry. “Yes, I’m afraid you just missed the wedding. I regret that you didn’t get an invitation, Harry, but, you see, I do not like you.”
Harry’s eyes bulged. “What? You don’t…?” he was at a loss for words. “Then who did she marry? What fool would take the wretched chit?”
“This fool,” Darius interrupted as he pointed a finger into his own chest. “I adore her so much so that I married her this morning. The Prince of Wales himself gave her away.”
Harry’s eyes bulged slightly. “What?”
“I am Meredith’s husband, Harry. Now, tell me again what you called my wife.
” The conversational tone was gone, replaced by a dark, furious growl.
Darius waited, standing perfectly still but Meredith could sense her husband was an instant away from unleashing all that raw power coiled so tightly up in his hard, beautiful body.
“Darius, tell me you’re joking,” said Harry. “Meredith? A duchess? She is nobody, she—”
Poor, stupid Harry never saw the blow coming. Darius hit him hard enough to send him flying into the wall. He slumped to the ground, out cold.
“She isn’t nobody. She is the love of my life,” Darius said to the unconscious man on the floor. “Chelsea?” Darius called out.
The butler appeared behind them in the doorway. “Your Grace?”
“Please take my cousin out to his coach and have the driver return him to Yorkshire. Pay the man handsomely to see it done at once.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Chelsea called for a footman to help him lift Harry up and carry him out of the room.
The moment they were alone, Darius gently pulled Meredith into his arms. All of the violence and coiled rage inside him was gone. He was her Darius again.
Darius lifted her chin so she looked up at him. “I’m sorry he said what he did.”
“I’m not,” she replied. “Hearing him say those words, it tested me rather than break me. It made me realize that such words have no power over me. Not anymore.” She curled her arms around his neck. “You taught me to be brave, to fight for what mattered, and damn the rest.”
Darius chuckled. “Tell me Harry is included in damning the rest?”
“Most certainly,” she said with a giggle.
“He will never hurt you again, now that you’re my duchess.”
She smiled up at him. “I shouldn’t love it so much, but I do.”
“Love what?” His eyes grew soft in a way that made her knees weak.
“You calling me your duchess.” She let her gaze drop to his sinfully perfect mouth, which she desperately wanted to kiss. “It’s not because I like the title. It’s because I’m yours.”
“You are mine,” he promised. “Until the stars fall from the skies and an eternity beyond.”
Then, with all the perfection of a fairy tale duke who’d longed his entire life for love, he leaned in and kissed the woman he adored with every breath in his body. His duchess. His wife.