Her Duke of Secrets

by Christi Caldwell

One didn’t… until it was too late.

  William stood on unsteady feet, and Edward rose alongside him. “Tell him to find another.”

  “The order of succession is clear. The only way for you to be severed from the role is through a direct appeal to the king or by a lack-of-confidence petition made by at least three members of the Brethren.”

  He chuckled, the sound rusty and sharp. “I’m sure you can find a good deal more.”

  “No one will betray you, William. Therefore, you are the only one who can end your service to the Brethren, by petitioning the king yourself.” Edward gave him a pointed look. “And I believe the fact that you haven’t indicates that, for all your protestations, you have not given up on the work you do.”

  A mirthless laugh, bleak, black, and empty, rattled William’s chest. “Is that what you believe? That I want this title? You are a bloody fool.” But then, why shouldn’t Edward believe that? William had displayed a single-minded devotion to his role and the organization.

  Edward didn’t so much as flinch at the invective tossed at him. “Very well, then the Brethren can go hang,” he said in hushed tones. Damning words that, if overheard, would see him absolved of his role. “The others, the members, they are concerned about the implications for the Brethren.” He took a step toward William. “I care about what happens to you. You were fortunate enough to survive. I don’t want to see you like this anymore.”

  Like what? Battered by headaches, eerily empty, incapable of feeling… of being around anyone.

  Edward settled a hand on his shoulder. “You must at least want justice.”

  “Justice,” he repeated, the echo dripping with condescension. “Justice is the rubbish of books and ancient legends.” What good would justice do? It would change nothing. The woman whose safety and happiness had fallen to him had been failed. Whoever his enemy was, and the number of suspects was undoubtedly vast, he—or she—had won. The only end that would see him nameless foe ultimately triumph was William’s death, and that was a fate he’d prayed for daily over the past year.

  “I’ll not bother you any further…”

  “Good. Do not.”

  “I’ll ask you but one more time to think of your godson.”

  Leo. His bookish nephew’s somber visage flashed in his mind’s eye.

  Had his brother always been this damned tenacious? William ground his teeth, and as soon as he did, agony bolted along his jawline. He swallowed back a gasp, refusing to give in to the pain. William struggled for control of it.

  Edward held William’s gaze, his eyes tortured. “This is not who you are.”

  “You are wrong,” he said flatly. Pinpricks of pain dotted his vision. “And furthermore…” He sank back into the mattress. “No one can help me.”

  In the days following the attack, when William had hovered between life and death, the king’s best, most-skilled doctors had tended him. Not a single one had managed to rouse him. And when William had at last opened his eyes to a blurred world and a buzzing in his ears, they hadn’t helped then either. Instead, he’d drawn forth only fragmented memories that, when put together, did not make a whole story. Those gaps remained still, with only Adeline’s terrified screams cementing the experience.

  His temples pulsed, and a sharp ache radiated along his jaw.

  “But if someone could…” Edward dangled. “A life free of pain. One where you don’t spend your days bedding whores and losing yourself in drunken oblivion.”

  William fixed on the former part of that enticement. Those five words hung there, a temptation.

  A life free of pain.

  What his brother spoke of was not an emotional healing that could never come, but rather, the healing of a physical wound that had turned William into a prisoner in his own household. It was a gift he didn’t deserve, but he’d always been selfish. He proved as much now.

  Wordlessly, William nodded slowly. The movement and the extensive talking he’d done this day sent agony lancing through him.

  Edward opened and closed his mouth several times. “I… I… I will return shortly.” And as if he feared William would change his mind and toss him and the supposed savior out on their arses, his brother rushed off.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind Edward, William hunched over and gave in to the pain that the exchange had cost him. Curling into a ball, he moaned.

  Edward insisted that he was fortunate to be alive. When, in truth, his nameless enemy had notched the ultimate victory, for William had survived when death would have been easier… and preferable.

  Chapter 3

  Elsie had not slept in more than thirty-three hours.

  It was not the first time she’d gone without sleep, and thirty-three hours was certainly not the longest amount of time that sleep had eluded her. Sleeplessness was an all-too-familiar state for her since her father’s death.

  One’s body eventually passed a point far beyond exhaustion and entered a realm where sheer rote living drove one.

  For Elsie, after agreeing to accompany her two nighttime visitors to London, it had become terror that prevented her from any real rest.

  Instead, she and Bear had traveled at the edge of gold velvet squabs more comfortable than the mattress Elsie lay upon each night, braced for the moment of her murder.

  Just like Papa.

  Just like Papa.

  Just like…

  “Nervous, are you, Miss Allenby?” Mr. Bennett called over. His voice echoed from the rafters of the palatial foyer ceiling.

  On the carved mahogany hall bench, Elsie stiffened. Bear sat up at her side.

  She stole a glance out of the corner of her eye. Bennett lounged against the black double doors. With his back resting against those heavy panels, his arms at his chest, and the heel of his right boot propped up, he’d set himself up as a sentry. His message rang clearer than his taunt: She was caught.

  Her heart thumped an off-beat rhythm. Why had she agreed to come to this place? Because she’d had a momentary lapse in sanity. “I wouldn’t be here if I were afraid.”

  “Ah, but I did not say afraid,” he pointed out. “I said nervous. They’re two entirely different sentiments,” he explained, speaking in the way he might to a young child slow to process a detailed lesson, and that only ratcheted her annoyance up a notch. “One is a primal instinct by one who knows they’ve been bested. The other?” He sneered. “Is possessed by one who knows she is guilty of wrongdoing.”

  He is trying to get a rise out of you.

  From the moment Mr. Bennett had invaded her cottage and then handed her down from the carriage nearly thirty minutes ago, he’d been attempting to do so. And she’d be damned if she gave him, or any other of those within his distinguished organization, that satisfaction.

  Elsie reclined against the wall in a display of feigned indifference, even as outrage snapped through her. “Given the lack of loyalty shown by the members of your organization, you’d be far more accurate substituting ‘he’ for ‘she.’”

  Mr. Bennett let his foot fall to the floor. “I don’t trust you,” he stated flatly.

  Elsie tipped her chin up. “That is shocking.”

  He frowned. “What?” he asked, suspicion rich in his nearly obsidian gaze.

  “We concur on something.” She peered down the tip of her nose at him. “I don’t trust you either. Nor do I like you.”

  Mr. Bennett smiled coldly. “Ah, and that is where we differ. For I don’t care whether anyone likes me or does not. And certainly not you. A traitor’s daughter.”

  There it was, stated baldly in plain terms. No more dancing around what had otherwise been an insinuation from the gentleman. It had been inevitable. She’d been expecting it.

  Still, the allegation sucked the air from her lungs, and a tense energy exploded in the room.

  Elsie seethed. “How dare you?” Using the arm of the bench, she pushed herself to standing. The length of their carriage ride had drained the energy from her limbs, and they trembl
ed faintly.

  A harsh amusement glinted in his eyes.

  “You can go to hell.” Her dog growled his support. “You and—”

  “Miss Allenby, my apologies for keeping you.”

  Elsie turned so quickly, she stumbled and hurried to right herself.

  Lord Edward Helling stalked forward.

  But for the faintest growth upon his cheeks, he didn’t have the appearance of one who’d ridden for hours to Bladon and then back to London a mere hour after he’d arrived at her cottage. His garments were unwrinkled, without a speck of dust. Even his cravat was an artful display that Beau Brummell himself would have striven to emulate.

  “This is not going to work,” she blurted when he neared her.

  That brought him up short. He completed his steps, closing the remaining distance between them. “I beg your pardon?” he asked coolly.

  Her gaze slid to Mr. Bennett, and the taller gentleman, who’d somehow managed to convince her against her better judgment to accompany him, followed her stare.

  Lord Edward gave the man a look. “I’d have a moment with Miss Allenby.”

  The other man dropped his head in a mocking bow. “Miss Allenby.”

  As soon as he’d gone, Elsie dropped her hands on her hips. “You’d both expect me to help one of yours, while my father and our name should be disparaged by you?”

  His mouth tightened. “I’ve no time for offended sensibilities. What your father was or was not no longer matters.” Because he was dead. Elsie flinched at the unspoken reminder. “My brother, however, is alive and in need of your assistance.” Narrowing his eyes, Lord Edward lowered his head, shrinking the more than one foot of distance between them. “And for any belief you had that this might have been a decision within your control? Let me assure you, it was not. The ultimate result was your coming and helping my brother. Now”—he swept an arm forward, motioning down the same intersecting hall from which he’d arrived moments ago—“if you’ll follow me.”

  A shiver racked her frame, and she moved closer to her dog.

  Her father had made faulty missteps where the Brethren were concerned, and in her letting momentary pity overshadow everything she knew about these people and joining them anyway, she’d also made a perilous mistake. If one danced with the devil, one ultimately found oneself burned by that dark demon’s flames.

  And it was a certainty they’d make her regret leaving. She read it in this man’s cold, unyielding eyes. Motioning for Bear to stay behind, she swept ahead.

  Lord Edward immediately fell into step beside her, his long-legged stride erasing her lead.

  “If you’re expecting to find a proper duke awaiting you, you are wrong.”

  She glanced up.

  Lord Edward’s attention remained on the path ahead.

  “I have no expectations, Lord Edward.” Elsie’s dealings with wounded, scarred animals over the years had proven that it was better to not have expectations that compromised one’s ability to avoid forming preconceived ideas about a treatment plan.

  “You’ll find him—”

  “I do not need you to tell me how I will find him. I’ll see for myself,” she interjected. “And then I shall evaluate my ability to help… or not help him.”

  Lord Edward brought them to a stop before a heavy oak door. He reached for the handle, but she intercepted him.

  He stared at her with a question in his eyes.

  “He is aware I’m coming?”

  The gentleman gave a curt nod.

  “Then there is no need for formal introductions. I will meet him alone.”

  “Impossible,” he said flatly. “I’m his brother, I’ll be there, and someone will be there with you at all times.”

  The arrogance of these gentlemen. Of course, the guardians of the kingdom and its people would have an inflated sense of self and their role in… everything. “Lord Edward,” she said calmly, “every encounter and experience I’ve ever had with wounded animals have been conducted in private, with only myself and the creature. His Grace will be no different.”

  He thinned his eyes into narrow slits. “My brother is no animal.”

  Elsie offered a gentle smile. “Lord Edward… we are all animals.”

  The obstinate gentleman opened his mouth to object, and she lifted a finger. “You insisted I come here, and I’ve done so. Now I’d ask that you allow me the freedom to see to the task with which I am charged.” She paused. “Or… I can just leave?”

  Even as she said it, she knew the lie in that suggestion. The Brethren would not simply allow her to return to her Bladon cottage and become the invisible figure she’d made herself into these nearly five years. Or, the figure she’d thought she’d made herself into. They’d known all along about her. They’d just been waiting until they’d had need of her. Because they always exacted some form of repayment.

  Even so, she saw the war that waged in the tall stranger. He needs me more than he doesn’t trust me. It was why she knew many long moments before he spoke that Lord Edward Helling would ultimately capitulate. “Very well,” he said gruffly, retreating a step.

  That concurrence, however, had also come too easily.

  Lord Edward, and the world, might protest any similarities made between people and animals, and yet, both shared a like wariness that made them equally predictable.

  Therefore, his agreement wasn’t enough. “Nor do I wish you to wait outside the rooms, listening in on our meeting.”

  No sooner had that order left her mouth than Lord Edward sharpened his gaze on her. “You expect I should trust you.”

  “You think I’d harm him?” she shot back. His silence stood as his answer. Appalled, Elsie shook her head. What manner of beasts were these men? “And yet, you brought me here anyway.”

  “Because I am desperate,” he gritted out.

  Elsie took a step toward him, so the tips of their shoes brushed. “Then let me do my work here,” she whispered, angling her head back to meet his hostile gaze.

  They remained locked in battle.

  He was the first to look away, his gaze wandering to the heavy paneled door. Lord Edward cursed quietly. “Very well,” he mouthed. “But if he is harmed in any way, either deliberately or through your… treatments, you will pay, Miss Allenby. You will pay dearly.”

  A sad smile tipped her lips up. They still did not realize. “You’ve already taken everything from me,” she said in hushed tones. “There is nothing more you can do and no greater harm you can inflict.”

  “That is what you think.” Ice frosted his eyes. “And that is where you are wrong.”

  With that ominous pronouncement, Lord Edward retreated, backing slowly down the hall, keeping his ruthless gaze trained on her until he disappeared into the next corridor.

  Long after he’d gone, Elsie remained rooted to the spot, her body faintly trembling from the chill he’d left behind, his hardened, unspoken promise more dangerous than the words he’d hurled.

  Do not give a single one of them the satisfaction of your fear…

  Elsie drew a slow, calming breath in through her nose. And she concentrated on the slight whistled inhalation and counted as she exhaled.

  However, as she opened her eyes, the calming technique she’d used with so many of her father’s patients failed.

  My brother…He is not right, in any way…He’s suffered greatly…

  The hollow warning flitted ominously around her mind, stirring the unease that sat like a stone in her belly.

  He is just a man.

  A man who was also the leader of the organization that ultimately saw her father killed. The Duke of Aubrey gave orders as to who would live and who would die with the same ease he might select a bottle of spirits from a servant at White’s or Brooks’s.

  Elsie faltered, briefly contemplating the path she’d traveled, considering her escape.

  There was no escaping, though. Not truly. These men would find a person wherever they hid. Neither she nor her father had been bo
rn to their world, and therefore, she was no match for their ruthlessness. It was why she and Papa had failed so mightily when evil had arrived at their doorstep.

  Elsie’s fingers curled reflexively around the door handle, the cold metal biting into her palm as thoughts intruded of that summer night that left her shattered and forever marred.

  No. no. no. Please, do not leave me…

  Elsie’s breath hitched noisily, and she clamped her hands over her ears, blotting out the melded screams of suffering that had belonged to them both, but now lived on only with her.

  Enough. Enough. En—

  Elsie forced her arms back to her sides. “You are better than this,” she whispered to her distorted reflection in the glimmering gold door handle. And before the ugliness of her past staked its claim once again and her courage deserted her, Elsie grabbed the handle and let herself into the chamber.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the more dimly lit room. Had the layered white-gold and seafoam-green curtains been tightly drawn, the room would have been cast as more of a caricature from a Gothic novel, the ones where all the darkest, most-scarred figures remained locked away, denying themselves even basic sunlight. But the fringed curtains with their gold pelmets had been cleverly drawn back just a smidgeon to let in the afternoon sun. Soft rays penetrated the crack in the fabric, illuminating a path along the floor.

  Elsie cocked her head, forgetting the figure who lurked somewhere close. Instead, she fixed on the peculiar but telling detail that revealed that the man who dwelled in this space, the one Lord Edward Helling believed lost to civilization, in fact craved the light and the world outside his crystal windowpanes. For the first time since she’d agreed to Lord Edward’s request—nay, demands—her being here had nothing to do with threats or orders and everything to do with the inherent need that had driven both her and Papa. As such, she lingered there, deliberately letting the moments stretch on. Measured. Careful. Never move too quickly, but neither move too slow.

  Turning, Elsie closed the door behind her and then faced forward once more. She did not take a step, choosing instead to recognize that this space belonged to another, and she was an interloper here. “Hullo,” she said softly, another test.