“I d-don’t understand,” he stammered. “’Ow do you ’ave the ring…?”
“Wiley,” De Villier said.
Wiley gave it to him? Before Anthony could make sense of it, a side door opened—and Roger Wiley entered the study. At the sight of the sweep’s cruel features, self-preservation overrode shock, and Anthony bolted toward the main door. He didn’t make it, the familiar beefy hand catching him by the scruff, lifting him clear off the ground.
He yelled for his life, punching and kicking out. Wiley’s fist slammed into his jaw. Metallic pain flooded his mouth, the blows coming again and again, pounding the fight out of him. Finally, he slumped to the ground, curling up against the onslaught, the truth more agonizing than bruises and shattered bones.
De Villier knew about me…this whole bleedin’ time…
“That is enough.” De Villier’s voice came from above him.
“Beg pardon, sir,” Wiley replied. “What do you want me to do wif the bugger?”
“Your job was to keep him away. That was the deal.”
“Brat’s slippery as a lamprey. From now on, I’ll keep ’im chained night and day—”
“No. I want a permanent solution.”
“Do you mean…?”
“I don’t want to see him again.”
De Villier’s command penetrated the red waves of agony. Anthony forced himself to sit up, to look at his sire.
“I ’ave your blood,” he gasped out. “You would murder you own son?”
De Villier’s eyes were as cold and dark as the Thames. “A powerful man isn’t blinded by sentiment.”
Anthony’s survival instincts wouldn’t let him die this way. He tried to get on his feet, pain forcing him back on his knees. Using his hands, he dragged his broken body away from the danger.
De Villier abandoned my mama, and she suffered, died because o’ ’im. ’E paid the Wileys to abuse and imprison me, work me like a slave. And now the bastard wants me dead…my own father—tears rolled down Anthony’s face, despite his vow not to show weakness—…’e’s my enemy. I’ll never forget…
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wiley snarled.
Anthony crawled doggedly on. The vicious kick caught him in the ribs. He heard the snap of bones, the helpless cry of an animal claimed by the dark.
1
1830, Traverstoke, Country Estate of Curtis Billings
Miss Gabriella Billings dashed into the moonlit courtyard. Her slippers took her down one of the graveled paths, away from the laughter of the guests and strains of the orchestra floating from the ballroom. She sought the sanctuary of hedges that lined the quadrangle. White marble statues of Greek gods gleamed in the darkness, seeming to offer protection from the outside world.
Under the watchful eye of Diana, Gabby couldn’t keep her emotions in any longer. All through supper and the dancing afterward, she’d kept a brave face, never letting her smile slip even in the face of subtle—and not so subtle—snubs. Years of experience had taught her that her best defense in such situations was to keep her expression cheerful and feign ignorance. To simply pretend that she didn’t understand the underhanded insults. If she didn’t give others the satisfaction of seeing their barbs hit home, then sooner or later they would leave her alone.
The strategy, while effective, was not without its cost. It required all of her willpower to keep her manner bright as the slights pierced her skin, their poison trickling into her lifeblood. Now her strength deserted her, tears leaking down her cheeks.
Father spared no expense in throwing this house party. All for your sake. Yet you’ve managed to become the outcast…of your own dashed fête.
She looked up at the sky, and even the stars, in their bright glory, seemed to be mocking her.
What’s wrong with me? she thought in despair. Why can’t I fit in? Why must I be the object of incessant ridicule?
“Good evening, Miss Billings.”
Gabby started at the smooth, cultured baritone. She swiped the backs of her gloved hands across her cheeks and pinned a smile in place before turning around. Her heart stuttered when she saw who was standing a few feet away.
Adam Garrity was one of her father’s business associates and the most ruthlessly elegant man she’d ever met. His coal-black hair was immaculately slicked back, his somber tailoring fitting his lean, virile figure like a glove. She guessed that he was a dozen years older than her own age of two-and-twenty, but his austerely handsome features defied such banalities as age.
She’d met him for the first time that afternoon when he’d arrived unannounced to the house party. Such was Garrity’s power that her papa, one of the wealthiest and most influential bankers in London, instructed her to have the best suite readied for their unexpected guest’s use.
“Whatever Garrity wants, Garrity gets,” Father had told her in no uncertain terms. “You must ensure that his stay is nothing short of perfection, Gabriella.”
All her life, she’d wanted desperately to please her papa, and this occasion was no exception. He’d spent an exorbitant amount on the party, renovating the sprawling country estate and providing first-rate entertainment and refreshments for the guests. He’d even provided her with a luxurious new wardrobe and dazzling jewels to match. All because he wanted her to make an aristocratic catch.
And you’re failing miserably at it…the way you’ve failed at everything.
Realizing that she still hadn’t answered the esteemed guest, she pushed aside her woes.
“Good evening, Mr. Garrity,” she said. “Are you, um, looking for something?”
“I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
She blinked, not certain how to respond. If he was with any other female, his comment might be construed as flirtatious. But since he was with her, he was likely being literal.
“You wanted a breath of fresh air in the courtyard?” she asked.
His gaze remained steady on her face. During their introductions earlier, she’d been struck by the intensity of his presence. His exquisite manners were paired with a predatory stillness. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to: it was as if he was simply waiting for one to make the wrong move. If life were a staring contest, Adam Garrity would always emerge victorious, the very last to blink.
She’d seen other guests scurry away from him, unable to bear his compelling authority. She, herself, found him fascinating. She’d recently read Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and he could have stepped out of the pages of her imagination. He was exactly how she pictured Shahriar, the mighty sultan whose betrayal by his adulteress wife led him to wed and execute a new bride every day…until the brave and beautiful Scheherazade captivated him with her stories, turning him from his dark path.
It wasn’t just Mr. Garrity’s inky hair and hard eyes, the cruel yet sensual curve of his mouth that reminded her of an ancient Persian king. It was his aura of power. That bone-deep male confidence bordering on arrogance that aroused a strange awareness in her…
“I wanted to know that you are well, Miss Billings,” he said. “I saw you leave the ballroom.”
That he’d noticed her absence was surprising enough. That he was concerned about her well-being and had made the effort to find her was downright shocking. Her pulse fluttered.
“You are ever so kind, sir,” she said breathlessly. “But I am quite well, as you see. The ballroom was just, um, a bit stifling.”
More accurately, it had been the smothering condescension of some of the guests that had made her flee. That and the fact that her dance card was nearly empty. Her potential suitor, the gruff and unapproachable Viscount Carlisle, had done his duty, partnering her in a quadrille, but his expression had betrayed his impatience with the task. Carlisle’s interest in her was motivated by his financial circumstances, but as her father had succinctly put it, “Beggars can’t be choosers, girl.”
Is it wrong that, for once in my life, I want a choice? she thought dejectedly.
Her dreams were simple: all
she wanted was a husband to love. He didn’t have to be handsome or rich, just nice and understanding. A comfortable sort of man who wouldn’t mind her flaws and who would enjoy spending time with her, doing ordinary things. She wanted to make a home with him and bear his children. To have a place where she would feel safe and always belong.
“Perhaps you would care for a stroll, Miss Billings?”
Mr. Garrity’s invitation reclaimed her attention. Her jaw slackened; surely a man as important as he was wouldn’t think her worthy of his time? The realization struck her: he must be acting out of obligation because he was her father’s colleague.
“That’s ever so considerate of you to ask, sir,” she said earnestly. “But it’s unnecessary. I’m sure you have much more important matters to attend to.”
“None more important than what I’m attending to now.”
She tilted her head, not following. “What are you attending to?”
“You, Miss Billings,” he said simply.
“Oh.” The startled sound popped from her lips.
His gallantry flooded her with a foreign, pleasurable warmth. Her heart pounding, she hoped the moonlight hid her furious blush. She didn’t need red cheeks to go with her red hair.
Then her common sense chimed in. As tempting as it was to spend time in the company of this charismatic man who deemed her worthy of his attention, the current circumstances wouldn’t permit it. Social rejection at one’s own party was bad enough; she didn’t need to add ruination to the list of her night’s accomplishments.
“I’d like to stroll with you, sir, ever so much, but I have no chaperone—”
“I’ve made arrangements.” He raised his hand, snapped his fingers.
A pair of burly guards emerged from the shadows onto the graveled path, an auburn-haired matron between them. Gabby recognized Mrs. Sumner, one of the guests. Over supper, she’d been a bit intimidated by the widow’s bold and provocative manner. Although, Gabby thought ruefully, she could stand to learn a thing or two from Mrs. Sumner’s ease with the opposite sex.
Flirtation, like most social skills, wasn’t Gabby’s forte.
“Mrs. Sumner has volunteered her chaperonage,” Mr. Garrity said.
“I’m glad to be of service, Mr. Garrity,” Mrs. Sumner called out in simpering, deferential tones.
With a wave of his hand, Mr. Garrity sent the guards and widow retreating back to a discreet distance. Then he offered Gabby his arm. “You have my word that this will be a short, perfectly respectable interlude. Shall we?”
“You think of everything, don’t you?” Gabby asked, bemused.
“I want you to know that your reputation is safe with me.” The stars reflected in his eyes, which were darker than the sky and so deep that she had the sensation of losing herself in everlasting midnight. “That you, Miss Billings, will always be safe with me.”
Mesmerized, she felt her fingers lift of their own accord, landing on the plush sleeve of his jacket. He led the way along the path. Given her short stature, she often had to hurry to keep up with others, which added to her general aura of inelegance. Yet with Mr. Garrity steering her, she seemed to float along, perfectly in step.
“May I compliment you on your fine looks this eve, Miss Billings?”
Now Gabby was aware of her frumpiness. It wasn’t the fault of her white silk gown, which was au courant with its fitted bodice, billowing sleeves, and full, flounced skirts. The problem was her. Her figure always strained seams in the wrong places, causing a surfeit of rumpling and bunching. Even stays weren’t a solution. While tight lacing reduced her fleshiness in one place, it made her bulge unbecomingly in others. Voices from finishing school assailed her, reminding her of her many shortcomings:
“Look at Gabriella…she’s a walking sausage stuffed in a corset.”
“And her manner? I’ve never heard anyone chatter so much about so little.”
“My mama says nothing is more common than red hair and freckles.”
Gabby shut out the painful memories of rejection. She told herself that it was kind of Mr. Garrity to compliment her. To take notice of her at all.
“You’re ever so nice to say so,” she said, her voice trembling.
“First you say I’m kind. Now I’m nice?” He lifted his brows. “Have a care, Miss Billings, lest you do irreparable damage to my reputation.”
The humor glinting in his eyes was a balm to her ruffled nerves.
“Well, I think you’re both,” she said impulsively.
“What you think is what matters to me, my dear Miss Billings.”
The endearment and intensity of his regard made her heart thump against the cage of her ribs. She found it difficult to breathe. And not just because of her corset.
Don’t be a ninny. He’s obviously just taking pity on you. Doing the pretty because he’s a friend of Father’s.
“You, um, don’t care what others think?” she managed.
“I’m a busy man. The opinion of others is a distraction that I don’t have time for.”
How she admired and envied his confidence.
“I wish I could be like you,” she said. “I wish the opinions of others didn’t matter.”
“Is that why you were crying?”
His acuity took her off guard. She pulled back on instinct, yet his hand closed over hers, keeping her on his arm. Not with force—she could have pulled free—but his touch had an engrossing warmth, one that made her grow still. His heat seeped through her satin gloves, the sensation of being trapped by his long fingers setting off quivers in her belly.
“You need hide nothing from me, Miss Billings,” he said. “If we are to further our acquaintance, it would be best for us to be honest with one another.”
Stunned, she came to a halt. “You wish to further your acquaintance with me?”
His brows lifted. “Why does that surprise you?”
“Because you’re…” Handsome as a prince. And rich and powerful. Why would you want to get to know me? “You’re my father’s business associate,” she finished lamely.
He studied her. “Do you find me old, Miss Billings? Too old to be your friend?”
The idea was laughable. He radiated virile energy, the essence of a man in his prime.
“No,” she blurted. “Definitely not.”
His lips gave a faint twitch. He had a beautiful mouth, she thought. Thin, firm-looking lips with a wicked curve to the bottom one.
What would it be like to be kissed by that mouth?
The shockingly wanton thought burst into her head. She shoved it out just as quickly, told herself that it was idle curiosity. She’d never been kissed and feared that no one would ever want to kiss her.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said solemnly. “Now tell me what caused your tears.”
He was so strong and unflappable. The desire to unburden herself was irresistible.
“I’m a horrid hostess,” she admitted. “A complete failure.”
“How so?”
She appreciated his bluntness. That he didn’t try to placate or minimize her worries. As he continued navigating them along the garden path, it felt natural to tell him everything.
“I’m ill-at-ease at large gatherings. When I’m nervous, I tend to chatter. About the inanest topics.” She paused, then with a shrug confessed, “I’m supposed to make a good impression on Viscount Carlisle. He needs a wife with a dowry, you see, which is the one attraction I do have. Father would be ever so pleased to have a title in the family. But the problem is that I find Lord Carlisle rather, well, intimidating. And, as I’ve said, when I’m anxious I go on about the most nonsensical things.”
“I’m certain your conversation was as charming as you are.”
“At supper, I went on about bonnets and gloves for an entire hour,” she said grimly.
Instead of looking horrified—as Viscount Carlisle had during her lengthy soliloquy about frippery—Mr. Garrity slanted her an amused look. “What is it about Carlisle that you
find intimidating?”
“He doesn’t talk back, for starters. Nor does he smile, at least not at me,” she explained. “Worst of all, he’s overly large.”
A strange sound escaped Mr. Garrity.
“Are you all right, sir?” She peered at him anxiously.
“You don’t like, er, large men?”
“I prefer my companion to be a more manageable height. Being vertically disadvantaged, I’d rather not get a crick in my neck every time we dance or stand together.” She gave him an admiring look. He was a shade under six feet, every inch of him fit and well-proportioned. “You, for example, are the perfect height. Not too tall, not short, just right.”
“I’m glad I meet with your approval,” he murmured.
Something in his tone made her skin tingle. She realized how brazen she was being, commenting on his personal attributes. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?
“I meant no offense—”
“And I took none. Now about Carlisle,” he said smoothly. “Are you upset that he hasn’t come up to scratch?”
“Oh no,” she said honestly. “I’d be ever so relieved if he didn’t. We don’t suit at all.”
“Then why did you call yourself a failure?”
She swallowed, not knowing if she could share this latest humiliation aloud.
“You can trust me.”
Compelled by Mr. Garrity’s quiet command, she confided the awful events in a rush.
“At supper, one of the guests said that a lady…she must guard her secrets as closely as her jewels. And I asked, what if a lady doesn’t have any secrets? Because I’m ever so boring, you see, and not mysterious at all.”
“There’s nothing boring about you, Miss Billings. Your candor is both rare and charming.”
Her heart thumped giddily. “That’s ever so kind of you to say, sir.”
“I’m the soul of kindness, it seems. Go on.”
Entranced by his unwavering attention, she’d lost her train of thought. “Um…where was I?”
“You’d made the comment about a lady not having secrets.”
“Oh. Right.” She drew a breath, deciding that discretion was the best policy; she need not name names. “To my comment, one of the guests replied, ‘Then she has no choice but to rely on her jewels.’ Then he complimented me…on my necklace.”
Regarding the Duke Page 2
