Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ROWEN
Morgan and Rowen dragged Mrs. Bellamy off his father. Morgan touched the side of the Duke’s throat, and his brows furrowed together. “He’s gone, my lord. His Grace is dead.”
Mrs. Bellamy wailed even louder. “No! Do not leave me!”
Rowen grabbed her by the arm, forcing her upright. Her face was smeared with tears. “Mrs. Bellamy? What has happened?”
“Suddenly…suddenly….he had a fit. I tried to help him, to lift him up as he was choking, but I was not able to in time…”
Morgan and Rowen’s gazes fell to the Duke’s open chest, where red scratch marks marred his flesh.
“Why did you not call for help?”
“I could not leave him, not for a moment!”
“You’re lying.”
“How dare you speak to me thus!”
“You attacked him in your hysteria. There are marks all over his chest, the side of his face.”
“What has happened? What—” Cassandra came up alongside him.
“He’s gone, my lord,” said Morgan, his fingers on the Duke’s wrist. “There is no pulse.”
“No!” Cassandra cried out.
“Shut up!” shouted Mrs. Bellamy. “Who are you to weep at my lover’s bed?”
“He was no longer yours, madam,” Rowen spit out. “I was a fool to leave you alone with him in such a state.”
“I only asked him why? Why was he punishing me so cruelly after all these years of friendship and happiness? After I bore him a much beloved son.”
Cassandra gasped and stumbled forward, leaning on the bed.
“Get away from him! You bewitched him, you—”
“That’s quite enough, madam. Dear God, do you realise what you’ve done? You laid hands on an ill, defenceless man. A man you claim to love.”
“No one has ever loved him as I do. No one. Not even you,” she seethed at him.
She spoke the truth, Rowen thought.
Cassandra let out a small wail and flung herself on the lifeless body.
“You little trollop—” Mrs. Bellamy seized Cassandra’s hair. Rowen wrenched Cassandra free and thrust her behind him, shoving Mrs. Bellamy away.
“Morgan, take Lady Cassandra to her chamber.”
Cassandra hesitated. He caught her wrist firmly, and she met his gaze. Inclining her head, she went with Morgan.
“Your rage has certainly gotten the best of you, Mrs. Bellamy. My father was physically vulnerable, and you decided to let loose your anger upon him. You’ve always had a temper.
But you went too far, didn’t you? Doctor Clive will be here shortly.
He will see the marks upon him, and Morgan and I shall tell him exactly what we witnessed, and he will certainly declare murder. ”
Pressing her hair back into place, she lifted her chin. “You only saw a woman mourning her beloved.”
“Listen to me very carefully. If you don’t want me to claim that you murdered the Duke of Oakley, you will quit Tidesfar forevermore.
The house in town is also forbidden to you.
Our paths shall never cross again in all the world.
You and your son will make no claims, nor ever, ever ask me for anything, not a farthing, not even a crust of old bread, do you understand? ”
She leveled her gaze at him. “Where is my son?”
“Do you understand?”
She took in a deep breath at his raised voice. “I understand. Where is my son?”
“I wish I knew. Because if you don’t want me finding him and telling him that his precious mother killed his beloved father, you’d best watch yourself and your mouth, Mrs. Bellamy. Never forget, the agreement you had with the Duke of Oakley still stands, stands forever.”
“I won’t say a word to anyone ever of all that I’ve witnessed these many years with him.”
“See that you keep to that promise. Or your end is ‘nigh.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?”
“Father offered the boy a generous living and his own house—his fiancée’s family estate in fact.”
Her head slanted. “On what condition did he make this pledge?”
She knew his father well. “Only if Francis agreed to cut you.”
“Oh, the monster…” she let out a muffled moan.
“I would say both the boy’s parents have a bit of monster in them, wouldn’t you? I wonder though…” Rowen eyed her. “Would Francis ever forgive his mamma for this monstrous act?”
She said nothing in reply. Rowen’s hands covered his father’s. The ring. He needed to remove the ring.
Gritting his teeth, he tugged the Oakley signet ring from his father’s cold, bony finger.
The dark green bloodstone mottled with red, carved with the Oakley crest, was not refined or elegant, but simple, coarse even; an ancient stone of warriors and battles.
Sucking in a breath, Rowen slid it on the small finger of his left hand as his forefathers before him had done.
That expectation, that inevitability that had hung over him since the moment of his birth, was now fulfilled. It had come to pass in such an abrupt and violent way, and it felt heavier than gold.
Rowen smoothed out his father’s bare hands over the coverlet, the gold ring on his hand gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
“Rowen, promise me, you will never tell Francis.” Mrs. Bellamy’s voice shook, and he faced her. Her eyes were filled with tears” . “Swear to it.”
Curling his hands tightly at his side, the feel of the gold ring smooth and warm, he stepped toward her and dipped his head, bringing his face but an inch from hers. Her breath caught loudly.
His fingertip flicked at her chin, and she gasped. “I shall make no such promise to you. In this severe case, Mrs. Bellamy, you are most certainly obliged to make promises to me.”