The Duke’s Only Desire (The Dukes of Darkness #3)

Prologue

North Yorkshire

December 1807

“Y ou must be on your best behavior tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Grandmama.” But Sophie’s attention was outside the carriage, fascinated by what her twelve-year-old eyes could see of the Yorkshire countryside beneath the icy light of the full moon glistening on the snow. She had never traveled by carriage after dark before, and tonight, with the snow and the moon and the cold and the stillness—it was simply magical.

Or it would have been, if Grandmama hadn’t been so quiet and grim. But now that they’d arrived in Yorkshire and settled into the inn, then set out after dressing Sophie in the blue velvet dress for which she’d endured dozens of pinpricks at the hands of dressmakers in London, Grandmama had grown nervous. No. Not nervous exactly. More…agitated. Intense. Not at all the kind of mood to appreciate how the slanting moonlight cast long shadows and made the countryside seem as if it were from a fairytale.

“You are the only niece of the Earl of Granville.” Grandmama reached to straighten Sophie’s skirt. “I will not allow your life to be ruined the way your mother ruined hers.”

Sophie’s throat tightened. She turned her face fully toward the window, although now the wintry world around them appeared far less magical. “Yes, Grandmama.”

“I have worked very hard to create this alliance between our family and the Duke of Malvern in order to ensure your future. Remember that.”

She nodded, only half-listening. After all, Grandmama so often talked about the legacy of the Winter family that Sophie knew the stories by rote. How they’d wrongly supported James II and had to change their last name from Stuart to Winter when the king fled. How the Winter men had fought fiercely against the Scottish, the French, the Americans, the French again—against everyone, it seemed—to prove their loyalty to crown and country and in the process earned themselves an earldom from King George II. How they’d finally risen to rank and power…only to be felled by a woman.

“It is your duty to your family to marry well, and there’s no better opportunity than with the Malvern title.”

Another nod. Sophie stroked the fur that edged her velvet cape, wishing she could flee the carriage and go running into the night, to exist forever as part of the moonlight and soft shadows. Surely, there were fairies out there right now dancing with freedom and joy, all sparkling and bright. Just like the moonlight shining across the snow. Surely, they would let her join them and take her away.

“But you must not mention the duchess, understand?”

The duchess who ran away. Exactly like Sophie’s mother, whom she knew not to mention anywhere to anyone. Ever. Certainly not to her father or grandmother. As far as her family was concerned, Caroline Winter had never existed. Apparently, the absent Duchess of Malvern was just as much of a ghost, except that where Sophie’s mother had failed in her short marriage to produce an heir, the duchess had abandoned two sons. The oldest of whom would become Sophie’s husband.

She sank further into her cape until the hood nearly covered her face, her fingers still stroking the soft fur. But she couldn’t keep herself from whispering, “Did the duchess leave for the same reason as Mama? Because she didn’t like her husband?”

“That wasn’t at all why your mother left.” Sophie couldn’t see her grandmother’s face inside the dark compartment, but the old woman’s voice turned gruff. “The exact opposite, in fact. She was expected to marry your uncle, the heir to the earldom, but she loved your father, a second son who had no money or living of any consequence. I tried to talk sense into her—my daughter could have been a countess. But she ruined it by eloping to Scotland with your father.” Grandmama turned to look out the window, but Sophie knew her grandmother wasn’t seeing the same beautiful winter’s night that she was. “Their marriage never recovered from the gossip and cuts. It was a disaster, through and through.”

Sophie’s eyes stung as she focused on her fingers, numbly brushing the fur.

“The only person who was surprised when she ran away was your father.”

Papa had never stopped loving her mother, Sophie knew. Not even when the scandal of her mother’s liaison with another man forced him to petition Parliament for a divorce, all of it made worse because she’d run off with an American. Sophie had never understood why that mattered, but occasionally, whenever she overheard her grandmother chastising her father about his life, Grandmama would fling out that bit of information, as if being an American were no better than being Lucifer himself.

“My daughter ruined her life, but I will not allow her to ruin my only grandchild’s, as well.” When Grandmama looked back at her, her eyes were eerily bright in the shadows. “Which is why we are calling on Malvern. My daughter was too willful and selfish to become a countess, but my granddaughter will be a duchess!”

The carriage creaked in the cold as it rolled through the stone gates and slowly snaked its way up the long, curving drive through a forest so dense not even the moonlight pierced its darkness.

“There.” Grandmama tapped her fingertip against the window to call Sophie’s attention to it. “Ravenscroft Manor.”

The house stretched out in splendor beneath the full moonlight, like one of those French chateaus in the paintings hanging in her uncle’s country estate. With turrets and towers, it reached several stories into the sky, its imposing cold stone facade showing gray-white in the moonlight.

This place would one day be her home. Sophie shivered.

“When the duke meets you, you must speak only when spoken to.” Her grandmother fussed with Sophie’s cape as the carriage drew up in front of the house. Sophie could see candlelight glowing faintly within the grand manor, the only sign of life in the icy night. “Do not be impertinent.”

She nodded as the carriage stopped. One of the tigers jumped to the ground and hurried up to the house to pound the massive front door’s iron knocker.

“Malvern is desperate to marry his son into a good family, and your uncle’s marriage to the daughter of the Duke of Richmond redeemed our family’s reputation.” She grimaced. “Of course, my fortune as your dowry also helps a great deal.”

She quickly checked Sophie’s blond hair, which had been intricately braided and piled high on her head in a coiffure that had taken the maid an hour to do.

“Scandal breeds scandal.” Grandmama tugged on each of Sophie’s white kid gloves which had been elaborately embroidered in sapphire blue flowers to match the design on her satin slippers and the color of her velvet dress. “But in this case, it marries it first.”

The front door opened, and lamplight spilled into the night. The tiger opened their carriage and reached inside to help them to the ground.

Sophie glanced up at the house’s stone facade as she followed her grandmother inside. A second, deeper chill iced her blood.

“Lady Kelsey.” The butler bowed to Grandmama, then to Sophie. “Miss Winter.” He took their wraps and gloves. “His Grace is awaiting you in his study.”

“Study?” Grandmama repeated, baffled. She’d surely been expecting a formal dinner in the dining room. Tea and refreshments in the drawing room, at the very least.

“Yes, ma’am.” He handed off their garments to a footman. “His Grace conducts all his business in the study.”

Sophie dropped her gaze to the floor. Business . That was all she was. She knew enough about marriage settlements to know they were called contracts for a reason.

“This way, my lady.”

The butler led them through the house. Sophie craned her neck to glimpse into every room they passed. Unlike her uncle’s manor house, which was the only other grand country estate she’d ever seen, this one seemed made completely of stone and marble. Formidable. Like a castle. And most likely just as haunted.

“Ravenscroft Manor has over three hundred rooms, three living floors, a basement, and cellar,” the butler commented, noting her curiosity about the house. A curiosity that earned an admonishing glare from Grandmama to behave.

But that didn’t stop Sophie from gawking at the gigantic fireplace in the dining room that rose all the way to the vaulted timber ceiling three stories above and which was big enough to have fit their carriage inside it. Team and all.

“Sixty-five fireplaces,” the butler added for her benefit.

“Are there gardens?” Sophie asked, only to be immediately shushed by Grandmama.

“Oh yes, miss! We have fifty acres of formal gardens just here by the house alone, and another two hundred cultivated as part of the greater deer park.”

Her grandmother lifted her head imperially. “And one day, my granddaughter will be mistress of it all.”

Sophie cringed when the butler shot her a puzzled glance. Then he fell silent and led them to the last room in the east wing. The duke’s study.

The butler rapped softly on the closed door.

“What is it, Baines?” an irritated voice bellowed.

The butler opened the door and stepped aside to let them pass as he announced, “Lady Kelsey and Miss Winter have arrived, Your Grace.”

From behind a massive desk, a man who could only have been the Duke of Malvern rose slowly to his feet. His gaze dropped critically over her from head to toe. Then, finding her acceptable—for now—he came forward and waited for them to curtsy to him before reaching out a hand in greeting.

“Lady Kelsey, good to see you again.”

“And you, Duke.” Her grandmother released his hand to gesture toward Sophie. “May I introduce you to my granddaughter, Miss Sophie Winter?” Grandmama stepped behind her and held her shoulders as she presented her to the duke, as if afraid she might flee. “Sophie, His Grace, the Duke of Malvern.” A pause—“Your future father-in-law.”

Not knowing what else to do or say, Sophie swallowed hard and sank into a low curtsy. “Your Grace.”

When she straightened, he reached for her chin and turned her head to the left and right as if evaluating a race horse or hound. For a moment, Sophie thought he might just ask to see her teeth.

He narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Younger than I thought.”

“Her courses have started, and they’re strong and regular. She will bear many heirs, I guarantee it.”

Sophie’s cheeks heated in mortification. When she turned her face away, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the nearest chair, the duke had the decency to let go of her chin and step back.

Then his gaze fell to her hips. “She’s frail.”

Sophie fixed her eyes to the floor, unable to raise them to look at either the duke or her grandmother. She knew tonight was about arranging a marriage contract, but she hadn’t expected this .

“She is slight,” Grandmama replied, “but healthy and strong for her size.” Grandmama’s grip remained tight on her shoulders, silently reminding her of what she owed to her family. Her marriage could atone for her mother’s disgrace. “Besides, all the fashionable women are slight these days. All the new fashions drape better on thin women.”

Malvern clearly wasn’t swayed by haute couture . He circled her slowly, and Sophie felt her grandmother’s fingertips cut into her shoulders in warning to keep still.

“She is well-educated, and I’ve hired a new governess to continue her studies. She’s also musically talented.” Grandmama smiled, as if she were discussing the weather…or a mare at auction. “Blue eyes, golden hair…already quite promising in her beauty.”

He scoffed. “Does she have her mother’s temperament?”

Grandmama stiffened at the mention of Sophie’s mother, but her smile never wavered. “Of course not.” As if used to entering into battle, she twisted the question back on him. “Does your son possess the duchess’s temperament? I would think not. Children raised away from their parents rarely take on their mother’s disposition.”

The duke froze only for a heartbeat, but Sophie knew her grandmother’s arrow had hit home. That was the reason they’d traveled six days through an icy winter to be here. To remind Malvern how limited his son’s prospects were for a decent marriage. To show him in person how appealing Sophie would be for a daughter-in-law. To offer Grandmama’s fortune as her dowry in return for making Sophie a duchess.

“She will do her duty.” Grandmama pretended to fuss with her hair, although not a single strand was out of place. It wouldn’t have dared to defy the dowager Viscountess of Kelsey. “And she will give you beautiful grandchildren.”

The design of the rug blurred before Sophie’s eyes. But she knew better than to let slip even a single tear.

“When she turns eighteen,” Grandmama persisted in her persuasion, “she’ll eagerly marry your son and make a respectable Marchioness of Colsworth. I guarantee she’ll be with child by the end of the first year.”

“You’ll guarantee more than that.” Malvern returned to his desk and sank into his chair, disrespectfully sitting in front of them. But the message was clear. They were no ladies to him. They were nothing more than business adversaries. “A penalty of twenty thousand pounds if the engagement is broken off either by the girl or your family.” He arched a brow. “Or if she ever leaves the marriage once wed.”

The angry bitterness lacing his voice made Sophie tremble, yet she declared, “I would never abandon my marriage vows.”

His eyes darted to her, with the same surprise as if a chair had spoken.

“It would be an affront to God,” she explained.

“It would be an affront to your grandmother’s bank account,” Malvern flung angrily at her. “You do understand what you’re being asked to do, correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her voice fell to barely a whisper. “I’m to marry your son, the Marquess of Colsworth.”

“You are to become Duchess of Malvern,” he shot back. His eyes narrowed on her, his face hard as stone. “Do you know what that means?”

A chill raced down her spine, and she suddenly couldn’t find her breath. Even then, though, with the world tilting sickeningly around her, she knew what was expected of her and said the words Grandmama had drilled into her over the hundreds of miles from London. “It’s an honor to join together our two families, and I would be proud to ensure that—”

“What makes you think that you’re good enough to become a duchess?” he interrupted.

Grandmama interjected, “Of course, she’s good—”

He cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand and leaned back in his big desk chair, studying her coldly. “I want the girl to answer. What makes you think you’re good enough to become the Duchess of Malvern.”

Sophie stared at him, at a complete loss for words. For any thoughts at all, in fact. Her mouth opened and closed nervously before she burst out honestly, “Nothing, Your Grace. But Grandmama says I must.”

“That obedient, are you?”

She didn’t dare answer.

He laughed at her silence, a sound more sarcastic than amused. Oh, how Sophie hated that sound! And the man behind it.

“She’ll do.” Leaning forward in his seat, he folded his hands on top of the desk. “Lady Kelsey, are you authorized to negotiate the settlement on behalf of her father and Granville?”

“I am.” Finally, Grandmama released her shoulders, only to reach inside her spencer to withdraw a folded piece of paper. She handed it to him. “Here are their signatures.”

He scanned over it, then tossed it onto his desk. He pointed at the chair in front of his desk in a silent command for Grandmama to sit.

Grandmama smiled tightly, a gleam sparking in her old eyes. She gave Sophie a push toward the door and ordered, “Go wait in the salon.” She sat in the chair and faced the duke. They stared at each other across the desk like two warring adversaries negotiating terms of surrender. “I will collect you when we’ve finished.”

“Yes, Grandmama.” But even the relief she felt at being dismissed from the room couldn’t prevent the rising sting in her eyes.

The butler, who had been waiting outside the door, led her back to the great hall. Although he made several comments about the house as she followed him, she couldn’t seem to make herself care about any of it now.

After all, she would have the rest of her life to learn about it.

“In here, Miss.” He opened the double doors of the salon off the main hall and hesitated. He looked down at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in the library?” He gestured toward a long gallery heading away from the main hall in the opposite direction of the duke’s study. “His Grace owns a rather large collection of books you might find interesting.” When her watery eyes lifted to his, his face fell, but he continued as if he hadn’t noticed her tears. “All kinds of books with art prints and maps, several that—”

“Garden books?” she whispered hopefully. “You said three hundred acres of gardens, so I thought…”

The older butler gave her a kind smile and lowered himself just far enough to bring his eyes level with hers. They were wrinkled at the corners but kind, and they reminded her of her father’s. “Dozens of them,” he confided. “Right by the first window.” Then he nodded in the direction of the library. “I’ll ask Mrs. Bailey to bring up a tea tray, shall I?” He winked at her. “She makes wonderful cinnamon biscuits.”

“Thank you,” Sophie whispered. Then she breached all propriety by touching his arm in gratitude.

With a nod, he straightened to his full height and turned to walk back to the study, leaving her to find the rest of her way on her own.

She froze in the library doorway and stared, her mouth falling open. The library was the biggest she’d ever seen. It reached two stories tall, and bookshelves covered every inch of the walls, including those by the windows and fireplace. A wrought iron balcony circled the room halfway to the ceiling to give access to the second story of books, reached by a spiral staircase in the far corner and ladders on rollers fitted along each wall on both levels. So many books filled the space that there wasn’t room on the walls to hang any paintings except for one over the fireplace. A landscape of a large country estate and grand stone house, surrounded by hundreds of acres of gardens, a deer park, plantations…even a little village tucked just over the hill in the distance with only the tops of its buildings and church tower visible.

It took her five full minutes of study before she realized that the house was Ravenscroft Manor. Her heart began to pound at the enormity of it, of what was expected from her in only six years—

Laughter.

She startled at the sound, her hand going to her lips to keep down a cry of surprise. She held her breath. Men’s voices cut through the silent house from a room connecting to the library. Careful not to be seen, she crossed to the door which had been left partially open and peered inside.

Two young men of university age sat sprawled in leather chairs in front of a blazing fire in a private den, with glasses of golden liquid in hand and cigars trailing smoke into the air. Similar sandy blond hair was visible over the low chair backs, the same breadth of shoulders— brothers.

One of them set down his glass and pushed himself out of the chair, to reach for the poker to stir up the coals. He was slightly more slender than his stockier brother, his hair a bit longer with thicker curls. He possessed high cheekbones and an easy grin that blossomed soft lines around his mouth, as if he often smiled. With a laugh at something his brother said, he turned around quickly to reply—

His eyes darted to the doorway. Sophie ducked out of sight and pressed herself against the wall.

Low words to his brother that she couldn’t make out… followed by, “Who’s there?”

She squeezed shut her eyes, hoping he would forget about her. Or that she could turn herself invisible. No such luck.

“Show yourself,” he ordered. There was no laughter in his voice now.

Terrified he’d come after her with the poker if she remained hidden, she slowly opened the door.

His face lit with surprise, then mellowed back into a grin. He gestured at her with the poker to guide his brother’s attention to the back of the room.

“What do I care which footman’s eavesdropping?” the brother grumbled.

He craned around in the chair just far enough to see her. His gaze raked over her, followed on its heels by an expression of bored disdain as he turned back to the fire and kicked both feet onto the fender.

“Or what chit’s been dragged here by her mother,” he sneered, “and doesn’t know enough to stay in the salon where guests belong.”

She flinched, hard enough that the other brother saw. His eyes softened with compassion.

“I came to the library to select a book to read while Grandmama speaks with His Grace.” She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Of course not.” The man was polite enough not to call that out for the blatant lie it was. He set the poker down and approached her, stopping in front of her to incline his head in a shallow bow. “Seamus Douglass.”

She bobbed a small curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Yet he didn’t reach to take her hand. With an apologetic smile, he held up his hand to indicate the ash still clinging to his fingers and his unwillingness to dirty her hands. He jerked his head toward the other man. “And that’s my brother, John.”

“Lord Colsworth to you,” he corrected, not bothering to look at them or even to rise from his chair in the presence of a lady. True, she wasn’t much of a lady yet, even if marriage was…marriage was… Oh, no.

Dread tightened her chest, and she whispered, “The marquess?”

“The very one.” He toasted himself by lifting his glass high in the air, then finishing it off in a single, gasping swallow.

“And you are?” The other brother prompted.

“Miss Winter.” She twisted her suddenly shaking hands in her velvet skirt. “Sophie. My uncle is the Earl of—”

“ Who did you say you are?” Colsworth jumped out of the chair, threw his cigar into the fire, and charged across the room to her.

Seamus stepped between them, taking his brother by the shoulders to hold him back.

Wide-eyed, Sophie cowered back a step. “I’m-I’m Sophie Winter. I’m here to—”

“I know who you are,” Colsworth ground out between clenched teeth. “A grubby little social climbing—”

“John,” Seamus warned.

“Christ, Shay! Look at her!” Colsworth shoved his brother away. “Malvern’s shackling me to a goddamned child , and you expect me to welcome her with open arms?”

“I am not a child,” she countered with an indignant toss of her head.

“You’re only twelve if you’re a day.” Colsworth stared at her chest and laughed scornfully. “The women who come to my bed all have breasts.”

Sophie folded her arms in front of her still flat bosom and lowered her eyes to the floor, tears of fury blurring her vision. She hated him, this man she was going to be forced to marry and spend the rest of her life with…

She hated him!

He rudely stalked back to his chair, then cursed again to discover his glass was empty. He snatched it up and hurled it into the fireplace, shattering it in a shower of crystal and flames against the firebox.

Sophie jumped with a terrified cry.

“John,” Seamus suggested evenly, not moving from Sophie’s side, “perhaps you should go for a walk around the gardens.”

“Perhaps you should go to—”

“John.”

Colsworth smiled coldly at his brother, a smile that reminded Sophie of the crocodile she’d seen in the Tower Menagerie. “Going to tell me that I need to be a gentleman? Why bother? If the chit’s going to be my marchioness, then she’d better get used to the family now, don’t you think?” He laughed, but there was no humor anywhere in the sound. “If a man can’t be himself in front of his future wife—all twelve years and flat chest of her—then when can he?”

Seamus didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either, keeping himself between his brother and Sophie.

Colsworth laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know! When he’s tupping a lightskirt because his father’s forced him into marriage.”

Sophie flinched. She didn’t expect him to be happy about the arrangement. Heaven knew she wasn’t. Not at all. She didn’t know much about men and women and what went on between them, but at least she knew that a girl shouldn’t want to break into sobs the first time she met her intended husband. Or want to run fleeing into the night to get away from him.

“Go grab some coats,” Seamus suggested to his brother. “We’ll go to the tavern and strike up a card game.” When Colsworth didn’t move, he pressed, “Being stuck inside the house with Father is the last place you want to spend a holiday from university, anyway. So let’s go, and I’ll promise not to win all your money.”

Colsworth’s attention tore away from Sophie to flick to his brother. “Fine.”

Not bothering to hide another sharp curse, this time directly at her, he stomped from the room. Only after he’d left did Sophie realize that she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to strike. Like a snake.

Seamus ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders sagged, and a rueful expression darkened his face. “My sincerest apologies for my brother’s behavior, Miss Winter.”

She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart pounded like a drum beneath the soft velvet. When she’d first put on this dress, she’d felt like a princess.

Now she felt like a prisoner.

“He was just stunned to meet you. That’s all.”

She gave a jerking nod. Oh, she certainly understood that! She had been shocked to within an inch of her life herself.

“It’s Father he’s upset with because he hasn’t given John any say in his marriage.”

She certainly understood that , too.

“He’s twenty-one, heir to a dukedom and all the opportunities that implies, only to come home from university to discover that Father has decided to arrange a match with you.” He reached out to pluck at her sleeve cap with a cheerless smile. “You could have been Helen of Troy, and he still would have reacted that way.”

“But I’m just me,” she muttered, certain that Helen of Troy had breasts.

As if reading her mind, he grinned, a bright and easygoing smile that sparked amusement in his green eyes. “A face that could launch two thousand ships.”

When she laughed at the absurdity of that, he took her shoulders lightly in both hands and leaned in to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“Don’t worry, Pixie,” he murmured against her hair, before releasing her to follow after his brother. “All will be fine in the end. I promise.”

*

March 1813

Where the bloody hell was John?

Shay stomped toward the stables in search of his brother—his irresponsible, ungrateful scapegrace of an older brother who sure as hell didn’t deserve the woman he was set to marry. The wedding would take place in the morning at the village church, and Shay had received a month’s leave from the army to be here, so he could stand at the altar and watch his brother marry a woman he didn’t love. A woman who had no idea what kind of cold and selfish bastard she was marrying.

“John!” His angry shout pierced the evening’s stillness.

If there were any justice in the world at all, he would be marrying Sophie Winter, and his brother would be shackled to some pinch-faced, ignorant harpy capable of making the rest of his life hell.

But when had the world ever been fair? His brother was the luckiest man in the world, heir to a dukedom and contracted to marry the most captivating creature Shay had ever seen, while he was the damned fool charged by their father to make certain it happened.

He was half tempted to halt his search, ride back to London, and let John flounder. But that would only cause problems for Sophie, and the last thing Shay wanted was to make this marriage any more difficult for her than it already would be.

“John!”

No answer.

Not that Shay expected any. His brother was an expert at ignoring anything he didn’t want to face. After all, hadn’t he ignored Sophie herself for the past six years since the contract was settled? At first, she wrote letters to John, which he ignored. Then she tried calling upon the family whenever Malvern was in London, but John was conveniently never there. Or if he was, he told the servants to lie to her to say he wasn’t.

But Shay had written to her through all the years, even when he’d first gone off to war as a mercenary for the Prussians, then two years later when he bought his British commission. He’d first contacted her only to reassure her that the Douglass family wasn’t the herd of monsters she must have thought them to be. She’d surprised the devil out of him by writing back.

He had soon found himself looking forward to her letters—a rare bit of sunshine amid a colorless war. At first, she sent only polite descriptions about her studies and her life in London, punctuated by witty observances and musings, until she finally trusted him enough to share her deepest thoughts. She rarely mentioned John or Malvern, and Shay certainly never did.

She had sent him little objects, too, that she’d slipped into the letters…pressed flowers from her garden so he could see exactly what shade of pink she meant when she’d described the blossoms, a strip cut from the underside of her hem so he could more easily imagine what her first ball gown looked like, autumn leaves from her walk through Hyde Park so he wouldn’t grow too homesick for England. In return, he’d sent her souvenirs from his travels…a seashell from the coast of Portugal, a set of castanets he’d won in a card game near Seville, a lead ball that had lodged itself into a piece of wood just inches above his head when his regiment was under attack at Barrosa. He had kept every letter and object she’d sent—a lifeline to his home in England—only to learn when he’d called on her on his way through London last year that she had done the same.

But it wasn’t just that which stunned him during his visit.

Sophie herself had simply taken his breath away.

Gone was the gangly, shy stick of a girl he remembered spying upon them from the library. In her place stood a beautiful, intelligent, and graceful young woman who was simply… golden. Vivacious. Confident. Kind. By the end of the afternoon, he had fallen in love with her. A woman who could never be his.

“John!”

The barn door was cracked open, and a sinking suspicion hit him for why his brother wasn’t answering. As Shay walked down the wide aisle toward the lantern left carelessly lit outside one of the box stalls, his suspicions were heightened by the sound of rhythmic thumping against the stall wall, then confirmed by high-pitched feminine mewlings. He hurled open the stall door with cold fury.

His brother held a woman pinned to the wall with her skirts around her waist and his breeches around his knees, rutting away gleefully between her thighs.

The woman—surely a barmaid from the village because even John wasn’t stupid enough to tup one of the servants—saw Shay over his shoulder. She screamed, which only encouraged John to thrust harder as he spilled himself inside her with a groaning grunt of exertion.

She slapped at his shoulder. “Colsworth!”

“I told you, Cora.” Too much drink and exertion slurred John’s words, and it was a wonder he could stand, let alone hold her wrapped around him, or to lower her to the floor now that he’d finished with her. “Call me Malvern.”

The woman grabbed his face by both hands and forcefully turned his head over his shoulders.

He saw Shay and froze.

“Don’t exhaust yourself too much,” Shay warned. “After all, you’re to be married in the morning, and I would hate for you to be too tired to stand at the altar.”

John smiled coldly, still buried between the woman’s legs and ignoring her humiliated attempts to push him away. “Christ, Shay! Why should you care about that? I certainly don’t. Might as well get one last good go ’fore I’m forced to bed a virgin who doesn’t even know what a hard cock is for.” Then John turned his smile onto the woman. “Unlike you, eh?”

The woman’s face flushed scarlet.

“Don’t worry, pet,” he promised, although she now struck at him with her open palm for him to release her. “Once I’m back from my wedding trip, we’ll have plenty of opportunity to enjoy ourselves, including the rough stuff.”

He abruptly released her. She dropped to the ground and stumbled back, barely missing a pile of old manure. Shoving down her skirt with one hand and pulling up her bodice with the other, she scurried from the stall as fast as she could and out of the barn. She didn’t look back.

Shay clenched his jaw so hard the muscle in his neck jumped.

“Don’t worry.” John yanked up his breeches and set to shoving the tail of his shirt inside the waistband. “I didn’t mean that last part.” He grinned, revealing how drunk he truly was when he swayed off-balance as he buttoned his fall. “I never plan to see that used bit again. Once I’m married, I’ll take a mistress. You know what they say about mistresses.” He laughed. “More blunt but better cunt!”

Fury pulsed hot through Shay’s veins, and his hands drew into fists.

John slapped his hand on Shay’s shoulder as he turned to leave the stall. “If you’re going to play nursemaid, then next time at least let me finish in peace. I could’ve had a second plow for the same price.”

He slammed his shoulder into Shay’s chest as he walked past him into the aisle.

Something snapped inside Shay. Without warning, he grabbed John by the throat and threw him against the stall door. John’s eyes widened, and in his drunkenness, he was too slow and too numb to react. Shay pinned him there, his hand wrapped tightly around John’s throat.

“If you harm Sophie in any way, you will regret it,” Shay ground out through gritted teeth. He had never physically attacked his brother before, but it was all he could do not to pummel him into oblivion. “I will make you suffer for it. Understand?”

John nodded, his eyes wide as his hands clawed at Shay’s forearm to make him ease his grip.

Shay slowly loosened his hold. A deep, harsh gasp came from John as he sucked in the breath Shay had knocked from him, then collapsed against the wall.

Shay spat onto the hay at his feet and muttered, “You don’t deserve her.”

“But I’m the one who gets her,” John countered darkly. A murderous light gleamed in his bloodshot eyes. “Not you.”

A sickening realization filled Shay’s gut. Somehow, John had learned about the letters and his visits to Sophie, and he planned to use that knowledge against them.

“That little bit’s going to be my property, to use as I wish, to sully and dirty however I please with whatever twisted debaucheries I can imagine.” He swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Remember that, Seamus, when you return to England on your next leave and find her bred with the son I put inside her.”

Rage flamed through Shay, and all he could think about in that moment… murder. He wanted John dead to protect Sophie. More—he wanted Sophie for himself. “If you harm her,” Shay repeated deliberately, cold promise lacing every word, “I will kill you.”

He easily could, too. They both knew it. His training with Anthony Titus at Eton, followed by fighting the French, had taught him the skills to kill with abandon and the ruthlessness not to give a damn if he did. Including his own brother.

Shay turned to walk away, afraid of what he might do if he stayed.

A hard fist caught him on the side of the head. He staggered forward from the cowardly blow and spun around to face the attack. Another fist caught him on the chin.

Instinctively, he lowered his shoulder and plowed forward, ramming into John’s soft belly.

They crashed against the wall. Arms swinging and punches flying, they grappled back and forth across the aisle, pushing open doors and knocking over the buckets and barrels sitting in their way.

In his drunkenness, John was unable to react quickly enough to dodge Shay’s fists. He leaned over with a groan as one landed in his gut, then snapped back as the last punch hit him in the jaw. He spun around, then toppled to the floor.

When John tried to rise, he tripped over his own feet and fell again. This time, he stayed down.

Shay spat out a trickle of blood from the cut on his lip. Then he stormed out of the stable and back toward the house before he could kick John while he was down. Or truly kill him.

His hand shook uncontrollably as he raked his fingers through his hair and tried to suck in deep breaths to calm himself. Control, he repeated inside his head. The old mantra Anthony Titus had taught him… Find control.

God only knew how close he’d just come to killing his own brother. Jesus , how much he had wanted to do exactly that!

Stopping halfway to the house, he stared down at his hands. Still shaking, with bloodied and bruised knuckles, they might be the hands of a fighter. Even a killer during war.

But they weren’t the hands of a murderer.

“Not yet,” he muttered, thinking of Sophie and the things John had promised to do to her.

Shay couldn’t protect her once they were wed. So he had to stop the marriage before it happened. Had to find a way to save her—

His head spun. Christ. There was no way to stop it! It had been coming for six years—no, for longer than that. From the day ten years ago when his mother left. But unlike her, thanks to the contract hammered out between Lady Kelsey and Malvern, Sophie couldn’t flee. Doing so would bankrupt her entire family.

And Shay had just made life infinitely worse for her. For Sophie’s sake, he now had to make amends. After all, he could return to the death and carnage of battle, but she had to remain here with Malvern and Colsworth. In Hell.

Sucking in a deep breath, he turned back toward the stables to tend to John and face the demons that—

He froze. Blazing fire lit the black windows of the stables, and through the door he’d left open in his haste to leave, he saw flames creeping up the walls like hellish fingers reaching out gleefully to consume the building. Billows of smoke rose into the night. In their fighting, they must have knocked over the lantern.

“Fire!” he shouted and ran toward the stables. “Fire!”

A wall of heat and flames greeted him as he rushed inside, desperate to find John. The horses reared in their boxes, their frightened neighs piercing the growls and groans of the fire. The hay and old timbers fed the greedy flames, which lapped hungrily at the walls and stalls.

The heat burned his lungs with every inhalation. He placed his forearm in front of his nose and mouth in a futile attempt to filter the smoke as he made his way deeper into the building, toward the end of the aisle where he’d left John.

“John!” he shouted between coughs as his chest spasmed from smoke. He choked, barely able to find enough air, yet he kept going, kept calling out—

His brother lay unconscious on the floor. The fire had reached him. His clothes were ablaze, and smoke rose up from his boots. The tips of his fingers in the burning hay had charred to black. Shay stripped off his jacket and beat at the flames until he’d squelched them enough to grasp John by the arms and drag him toward the door.

Above them, the building gave an angry, dying groan. Shay glanced up and watched helplessly as the roof crashed down upon them.