Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “I’ve wronged my wife,” he heard himself say hoarsely. “I have to find a way to win her back.”

  He gave Murray the necessary details. About De Villier, Gabby’s trust, the fight he’d had with her last night. As he spoke, he heard his own perfidy more clearly than ever. He hated himself for hurting her, for making the wrong choice time and again. Murray listened, his expression somber and without judgement.

  “She said that…she’d run out of love for me,” Adam concluded tightly.

  “And you’ve never said anything that you didn’t mean in the heat of anger?” Murray shook his head. “Look, I’ve never been married, but I know women…at least in the biblical sense. Trust me, one can learn a lot about ladies in intimate situations—”

  “Is there a point to this philosophizing, or are you just bragging about your prowess?”

  “My point is that women, as a whole, tend to be forgiving creatures. They have to be, don’t they, in order to deal with us hardheaded bastards. And your wife, in particular, is one of the sweetest, most devoted ladies I know. She loves you, and she’s not going to stop loving you overnight, even if you’ve had your head up your arse.” There was compassion in Murray’s eyes...and empathy. “I’ve made my share of mistakes. Ones I couldn’t undo. The next best thing was owning up to them and accepting responsibility.”

  “I accept full responsibility for my actions.” His throat worked. “But how do I convince Gabriella to give me another chance?”

  “Just go to her and explain things. Bare your soul, if need be. If that doesn’t work, try groveling…although your lady is far too nice to let you suffer for long.” Murray regarded him with a small smile. “I’m sure the two of you will come to a compromise.”

  Clarity struck Adam. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. To prove to Gabriella what she meant to him and hopefully win her forgiveness.

  “There will be no compromise,” he stated.

  “See here, if your marriage is important to you…”

  “It is the most important thing in my life.” Everything else—his past, his anger, even his vengeance—paled in comparison to what he had with Gabriella. The gift she’d given him. “Which is why I won’t stand in the way of Gabriella’s wishes. If she wants control of her trust, it’s hers. I’m not going to fight it. I’ll prove to her that I married her because I wanted her…because I love her.”

  “You never do anything in half measures, do you?” Murray murmured. “And your revenge against De Villier?”

  “Either I’ll find another way to take the bastard down or I won’t. But I won’t sacrifice my marriage doing it.”

  He rose with single-minded purpose, the desire to see his wife eclipsing everything else. Once he saw her again, everything would be all right. Because she made everything all right for him…had been doing so for years. His thirst for revenge had blinded him to what had been in front of his face all this time. What his amnesia had helped him to realize.

  The peace he was looking for…he already had it.

  Now it was time to show his wife that he was worthy of her love.

  Murray stood, offering his hand. “Good luck.”

  “I’ll need it.” Adam shook the other’s hand and added gruffly, “Thank you.”

  “You gave me a second chance all those years ago. I’m just returning the favor.”

  With a nod, Adam headed to the door. It swung open, narrowly missing him.

  Kerrigan stood in the doorway.

  “We’re leaving,” Adam said to his guard. “Get the driver—”

  “Something’s happened, sir.”

  The look on Kerrigan’s face sent a chill through him.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Mrs. Garrity was ambushed. In broad daylight, on the way to her father’s house,” Kerrigan said, his voice low. “She had three guards with her, but they were outnumbered—killed.”

  “Where is my wife?” Adam said as the iciness spread and spread.

  Please, God, no. Don’t let anything happen to her. I’ll give anything, do anything…

  “They took her. Left this in the carriage.”

  Adam snatched the piece of paper from the guard.

  If you want to see your wife alive again, await my instruction.

  36

  Gabby came to, blinking groggily in the dimness.

  Where am I?

  She managed to rise to her feet. When she swayed, she steadied herself against the wall, felt cold, powdery brick beneath her fingertips. Smells tickled her nose: coal smoke, sulphur, and brine. Where was she, how did she get here…?

  The attack returned in a flash. The carriage jerking to a stop. An army of ruffians—oh God, they’d shot her guards, killed them. Even as shock and grief pervaded her, she bottled it, forced herself to recount the rest of the events. The blackguards had dragged her out, smothered her scream with a soaked handkerchief, the chemical choking her lungs…then nothing.

  Who did this? Why? How will I get out of here?

  Frantically, squinting in the gloom, she tried to map out her prison, find a way to escape. Hand over hand, she felt her way along the walls, solid and thick, no way of getting through. Her palms scraped against wood.

  A door.

  She fumbled with the knob. Jiggled it desperately but it would not turn. She pounded on the door and screamed for help until her fists and throat were raw.

  No aid came. She was trapped. Held hostage by some murderous and mysterious villain.

  She sat, her back against the door, the reality of the situation sinking in. Her first thought was of Adam: how frantic he’d be, how he’d do everything in his power to find her, once he knew she’d been taken. Sweet heavens, for him it would be like losing Jessabelle all over again.

  She thought she was out of tears, but they leaked down her cheeks once more. Following Adam’s departure last night, she’d given into a fit of weeping. She’d cried for the loss of her girlhood dreams, for her shattered heart in the present, and for the uncertainty of her future. Her sorrow had felt like a dark and bottomless well, one from which there was no escape.

  This morning, she’d awoken from an exhausted sleep. Her eyes had been puffy, her chest and throat tender. Even so, she’d known that staying in bed would do her no good and, after freshening up, she’d gone to bid good morning to Fiona and Max.

  Her babes. Hers…and Adam’s.

  Looking at Max, she’d seen a miniature replica of his handsome father, down to his unruly forelock. Listening to Fiona’s happy chatter, she’d felt the confidence and ambition her daughter had inherited from Adam.

  And Gabby had realized something important: she wasn’t out of love.

  She would never run out of love because of who she was. She might not have Tessa’s cleverness, Maggie’s fortitude, or Emma’s determination, but she did have her own strength: when she gave her heart, she gave it completely. She loved with everything that she was. For right or wrong, she’d given her love to Adam...and he would have it, forever and always.

  Thus, as hopeless as the future seemed—she had no idea how they could repair the damage done to their marriage—she had her love to guide her. It reminded her of the intimacy and passion she and Adam had shared in the last month, how far they’d come. It told her to be patient: Adam had suffered greatly in his past and his recovery from amnesia must have come as a shock. Most of all, it reaffirmed the vows she’d given him and that he’d given her in return.

  For better or worse. Love was a commitment. Despite everything Adam had done, if he was willing to work to change things, to make them better, then she would fight for their marriage too.

  Those had been her thoughts when she’d been attacked. Now she didn’t know if she would have the chance to tell Adam how she truly felt or to see their beautiful children again. As despair swamped her, she heard footsteps.

  Scrambling to her feet and out of the path of the opening door, Gabby was momentarily blinded by a shock of light. A lamp…held b
y a man. She blinked as his features became clear, as she saw the unmistakable gleam of wheat-blond hair.

  Shock bombarded her. “Mr. De Villier?”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Garrity,” he said in his smooth-as-silk accent.

  Her shock gave way to fury when he executed an elegant bow…as if they were in a dashed ballroom. This is madness. The man is mad.

  She drew herself up. “I do not understand what is going on. Regardless, I demand that you release me at once.”

  “Hidden fire, as I suspected.” He hooked the lantern on the wall, revealing the room’s spartan interior. “To match that lovely hair of yours.”

  When he reached toward her, she instinctively retreated until her back collided with brick. Her skin crawled as he captured a lock of her unpinned hair, stroking it between finger and thumb. His eyes were hard, reptilian.

  “My son has apparently inherited my taste in women. I’ve always had a fondness for redheads,” he said with a smirk.

  It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying.

  “Your son?” She stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t mean Adam…”

  “Your husband didn’t tell you? I’m not surprised. The man is good at keeping secrets.” De Villier released her hair and stepped back. “I, myself, did not know that he still lived until recently.”

  An icy hand gripped her nape. “I don’t understand.”

  “In my impulsive youth, I married his mama, a beautiful opera singer named Seraphina. My papa didn’t approve of the match and disowned me. I took Seraphina to Italy; it didn’t take long for me to realize the mistake I’d made. I wasn’t cut out for living in poverty, for being a powerless nobody. Luckily, my papa offered me a way out. He’d found me an heiress to marry, one whose dowry would add considerably to the De Villier fortune. If I wanted back into the family fold, all I had to do was have the marriage annulled and return to London. The annulment was a bit tricky, given Seraphina’s resistance to the idea, but…”

  His casual shrug conveyed his callousness. “Money makes the world turn, as they say. I bribed a few officials, got my annulment, and there was naught Seraphina could do about it. The matter was settled—or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when a sweep named Wiley and his wife came to me some years later, claiming that they had my six-year-old son in their custody. They’d met the boy on a boat from Italy, they said, his mother dying before they reached the shore. The boy had told them that he was coming to London to find his father, Anthony De Villier. Out of the goodness of their hearts, Wiley and his wife had taken the boy in and would return him to me…for a handsome reward, of course.”

  De Villier paused, but Gabby already knew what he would say next. A man who’d so cruelly abandoned his wife wasn’t likely to show mercy toward his child.

  Feeling ill, she said, “You didn’t pay the Wileys, did you?”

  “Oh, I did.”

  Gabby couldn’t hide her surprise, and De Villier’s smile widened, the look of a predator who enjoyed playing with his food.

  “I paid the Wileys…to keep the brat out of my sight,” he said with relish. “As long as he didn’t cause me any problems, they could do with him as they wished. They operated a flash house and had other young boys they were training to be climbing boys and thieves. From what I understand, the brat fit right in.”

  The notion of Adam being forced to labor as a climbing boy and to do worse things, things she could not even imagine, tore at Gabby’s heart. She’d always admired her husband’s drive and success, but knowing where he’d started from, the odds he’d beaten, pushed tears from her eyes. Then a new thought struck her. Her father had said that once Adam gained control of Billings Bank, he meant to call in De Villier’s loans: surely this could be no coincidence.

  “Did Adam know that you’d paid the Wileys to keep him?” she blurted. “That you’d consigned him to this life of hell?”

  “If the Wileys had done their job, everything would have been fine. But good help is hard to find, isn’t it?” De Villier sighed like a hard-pressed lord of the manor. “When he was nine, the brat escaped and made his way to my doorstep. He didn’t know, of course, that I’d paid for his maintenance with the Wileys; he thought I would take him in. Him—a dirty, ill-bred guttersnipe.” De Villier shuddered. “Worse yet, since he was conceived before the annulment, he might have a legitimate claim to my wealth, if he could prove the relationship. My family and in-laws would never have accepted him as my heir, especially with my wife being barren. I couldn’t let the brat destroy everything that I’d worked for.”

  Premonition tightened Gabby’s throat. “What did you do?”

  “I had Wiley take care of him. For good.”

  “You ordered the murder…of your own son,” she said numbly.

  “Twice, actually.” De Villier’s smile curdled her insides. “It came to my attention several months ago that someone was methodically gaining control over my debts. It took a while to peel away the layers of legal claptrap, but I finally discovered who owned all the banks that were so willing to give me money: one Adam Garrity. Why would this moneylender be so interested in my business, I asked myself? I had him investigated; once I learned his origins, I guessed his true identity. The damned Wileys had failed me once again, and somehow the brat had survived.

  “This time, I hired a professional to take care of the problem. He followed Garrity to a skirmish, intending to make Garrity’s death look like the result of a clash between cutthroats. But my assassin failed too.” De Villier shook his head. “Luckily, your husband didn’t emerge entirely unscathed. His amnesia was nearly as good as having him dead and saved me the trouble of hiring yet another killer. But, of course, good things never last. When I went to check up on Garrity at that ball, my gut told me he was a loose end I had to tie. Once he had his man-of-business digging into my affairs again, I knew I had to act. Which brings us to now.”

  Understanding flooded Gabby, horrifying and relieving at once. The reason Adam wanted control of her trust wasn’t for money or power: it was for justice. He wanted to avenge his honor and that of his mama, rightly so. Moreover, knowing that his father—the man he’d crossed an ocean to find—had ordered his death, how could Adam trust anyone again? And then Jessabelle, his first love, had cuckolded him, her death burdening him with pain and guilt.

  With growing wonder, Gabby realized what a miracle Adam was. After everything he’d gone through, he’d been a faithful husband to her and loving father to their children. And who he’d been during his amnesia…that had been real. The Adam unburdened by his horrific past, the one who knew how to love, who taught her to believe in herself: he’d been real. His love for her was real.

  She remembered their fight:

  You have no idea why I’m doing this, he’d said.

  She’d responded, And I don’t give a damn.

  With thrumming remorse, she realized how she’d misjudged him. If only she’d responded differently, perhaps he would have told her about De Villier, perhaps she wouldn’t be where she was now. And she did give a damn because she loved Adam and always would. God willing, she’d have the chance to tell him that.

  “Now that you have the facts,” De Villier said smoothly, “I hope you’ll understand this inconvenience. Your husband is a dreadfully dogged and Machiavellian fellow. He’s waited and planned all these years to pounce and get his revenge…which, of course, I cannot allow. But your visit shan’t last much longer. After I’ve finished setting up the trap, I’ll send word to Garrity to come forthwith—mustn’t give him time to prepare, after all. Knowing his fondness for you—his sentimental nature always was his weakness—he’ll come straightaway, and I’ll put an end to this, once and for all.”

  She knew De Villier meant to kill Adam to protect his interests. And he’d kill her as well. Adam was clever and would know that De Villier had set a snare for him, but she knew in her heart that he would come anyway.

  Because he loved her. She understood that now.
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  And she couldn’t let him be hurt again by love.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said in what she hoped was a reasonable voice. “I’ve regained control of my trust, replaced the trustee that Adam had in his pocket. I give you my word that Billings Bank will not call in your loans until your project is complete. I will honor my father’s pledge to you.”

  De Villier studied her, his head cocked. “Hmm, an interesting notion. But I’m afraid I cannot leave my fate up to a stranger, no matter how pretty she may be. Now you’ll have to excuse me, Mrs. Garrity, for I have to prepare for the evening’s festivities.”

  He collected his lamp, went to the door. Desperation gripped her. She couldn’t do nothing, be the bait for Adam’s trap. Powered by sheer determination, she ran full-tilt toward the open door, toward De Villier’s retreating back…

  A hand shoved her in the chest. She flew backward, sprawling on the ground. Head spinning, she looked up at a scarred and menacing face—the guard from the ball.

  Her limbs shook as he scowled down at her and barked, “Stay put.”

  He slammed the door, sealing her in darkness.

  37

  Nearing dusk, fog cloaked the Thames, obscuring everything but the black water beneath the stealthy trio of lighters. Scanning the environs from the prow, Adam was grateful that Mother Nature was on his side. The dense grey miasma would provide excellent cover for his siege.

  For the greatest battle of his life, one he could not lose.

  Wait for me, my love. I’m coming.

  With a nod to Kerrigan to keep watch, he descended into the ship’s cabin, shutting the door to prevent the leakage of lamplight. The faces that greeted him were somber but determined. Once again, he was thankful that his wife’s sweet nature had won her so many friends. Despite the danger of the night’s mission and the short notice, Kent, Strathaven, and Ransom had offered their assistance, their men following in the other boats. Murray joined them around the table.