To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  “My daughter?” Rockhaven scoffed. “Who do you think questioned your identity first?”

  Ice clawed through his chest as Declan pivoted to her. “You?”

  She dropped her head to her chest. “I merely said you were a different person from the boy I remembered.”

  “I intend to ask Parliament to perform an inquiry into your background to determine your real identity.” Rockhaven directed his proclamation more to the crowd than to him.

  Resolution straightened his spine. “I am Declan William Aman Sinclair, eighth Duke of Darington.” Declan planted his feet and stared at the earl. “I’m confident that will be proven in short order.”

  With those words, he swept from the foyer, cutting a swatch through the crowd, which whispered in his wake. Heartache was an unlikely armor, and the words slid off him and fell to the floor, much like his hopes and dreams. For how could he hope for a future with Alethea when his very identity was in doubt?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  August 1824

  I wish I could see his face when he hears of my actions.

  -The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon

  “How could you?” Alethea whirled on her father, unshed tears burning her eyes and clogging her throat. “How could you call his identity into question, and in front of all these people? How could you lie and say it was my idea?”

  The earl cupped her cheek. “I told you he wasn’t good enough for you. You should have listened.” He glanced over her head. “Finlay, escort your sister to the carriage.”

  An arm wrapped about her, turning her away from the watching crowd. “This way.”

  When they had stepped outside, the cool air blew through her hair and billowed the cloak Finlay placed over her shoulders. She welcomed the stinging bite.

  “What happened, Allie?” Finlay grabbed her arm, his concerned gaze scanning her face.

  Hot tears slipped from her eyes and coursed over her cheeks. “Once again, Father has ruined everything.”

  Animated voices rose from the theater steps behind them, and glancing back, Alethea saw her father approaching, a small crowd of gentlemen about him. Her spirits sank lower when she recognized most of the men as lords or members of Parliament.

  “I can’t ride home, in that cramped cab, with him. I can’t do it, Fin. I may try to strangle him.” She gathered her skirts in her hands and started walking backward down the lane, unwilling to take her eyes from her father.

  “Where are you going?” Finlay followed her, his face crinkled in confusion.

  “I’ll walk home. Or take a hackney.” She slashed her hand through the air. “But I refuse to be near him. Not now. Not ever.”

  “Allie, where are you going?”

  Hearing her father’s call, she turned, increasing her pace. Darting around the corner, she stepped toward the road, raising her arm to hail a hackney, when an all-black carriage jerked to a hard stop in front of her. She stepped back as the door was thrown open, and before she could open her mouth, two large hands grabbed her and hauled her into the carriage. When she was released, she stumbled and cracked her head on the handle of the opposite door. Her world went blank.

  …

  Tamosi was in need of a good, hard run. So was Declan. Pity it was the middle of the night.

  He stood in Tamosi’s dark stall, brushing the stallion’s coarse mane while the beast snoozed. Declan wished he could sleep, but despite his efforts, his thoughts kept returning to the humiliating scene at the opera. For a fleeting moment the pain of Alethea’s betrayal pierced him anew, and he gritted his teeth against it.

  It wasn’t until he walked into his chambers, the faint scent of honeysuckle still present in the air, that he could reflect on the situation without the lenses of hurt and betrayal distorting his view. Alethea had appeared just as shocked as he had by the earl’s revelation, and after everything she’d shared with him, the trust she’d shown by revealing her most scandalous secret, he should have shown more faith in her.

  Still, after the earl’s treacherous ploy, the urge to reveal the truth of the twins’ birth was tempting. He hated Rockhaven more for forcing him to even consider it.

  But he was unwilling to play that ace unless there was no other way…and he’d allowed Alethea, and Finlay, time to prepare properly for the scandal.

  He dropped his head to rest on Tamosi’s flank. After proving himself, his worth, his expertise his whole life, why was he so surprised he now had to prove his very identity? In truth, Lord Rockhaven’s move to delegitimize him was clever. If the man sought to gain control over the partnership, having Declan proclaimed illegitimate would mean there was no Darington heir to stand in his way.

  He’d see Sanders immediately on the morrow to determine what needed to be done to prove his identity, should Rockhaven push for an inquiry. Surely, signed affidavits from old friends and servants, as well as a record of his memory of past events, would hopefully prove adequate.

  The sound of rapid footsteps crunching over the gravel brought his head around. He exited the stall, grabbing a lantern as he walked out of the stables. Finlay appeared at the yard gate a moment later, his evening clothes askew.

  “Dec, she’s been taken!” Finlay exclaimed, bracing his hands on his knees. “Do you know who would do such a thing?”

  “Allie?” He gripped his old friend’s shoulder. “What’s happened?”

  Finlay scrubbed a hand down his face. “She was pulled into a carriage outside of the theater.”

  A lump of fear coalesced in his throat. “Tell me what you remember about it.”

  The viscount released a tremulous breath. “Carriage was black. Four horses, one was gray. A large bloke with short hair grabbed her and pulled her in.”

  “You remembered the color of the horse?”

  “It reminded me of the stallion from Tattersall’s.” Finlay quirked his mouth before he frowned. “Dec, the carriage pulled up right in front of her. It’s like it was waiting specifically for her.”

  Declan pounded a fist into his palm. “Of course it was. I’m sure narrowing down the culprit will be easy.”

  Finlay cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s go ask your father,” Declan said, his teeth clamping down in rage.

  The men raced to Rockhaven House, fear and urgency giving life to Declan’s tired body.

  Finlay led the way to the front door, flicking away the butler’s concerns for their sudden and harried appearance. Without preamble, he burst through a door at the end of a hall and blurted out, “You know who took Allie, don’t you?”

  The Earl of Rockhaven jumped to his feet from where he sat behind a desk rifling through a haphazard stack of paperwork. He hastily removed spectacles from his nose. “What on earth are you talking about, Firthwell?”

  Finlay approached until he stood directly before him, toe to toe. The younger man’s chest rose and fell in agitation, his eyes narrowed and irate, while the older man looked at him in question. Never had their similarities been more apparent than at this moment, Declan thought.

  “Who took Allie? Declan seems to think you already know, and I’m inclined to believe him.” Finlay jabbed his father’s chest with a finger.

  The earl nodded slowly, his face ghostly pale. “It was the vicomte. He sent a note to tell me he had her.”

  While Declan experienced a small bit of satisfaction at being right, Finlay braced his hand on the desk. “That’s a name I had hoped never to hear again.” He glared at his father. “Why did he take her?”

  “Your father hasn’t paid the Frenchman what he’s owed.”

  “Why the deuce not, Father? How could you allow yourself to be in debt to such a man?”

  Rockhaven crumpled in his chair. “I would have…I should have…but I couldn’t. He won’t release her until I’ve settled with him. However many years it takes, he wrote, but warned me to be quick about it.”

  Finlay raised his brows in question, appearing to be a second away from grab
bing the earl and shaking him.

  Rockhaven glanced up and pinned Declan with a look of deep loathing. “Because he came back and destroyed all my plans.”

  Finlay looked back and forth between his father and Declan. “Explain.”

  “Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice, Finlay Swinton.” The earl rose to his feet, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

  To Declan’s great shock, Finlay grabbed his father’s shoulders. His hold on the earl tightened until the older man winced. “I will talk to you in the manner you deserve. Allie is gone. Because of you and your schemes and lies. Wasn’t it enough you hurt Mother and Aunt Caitriona, not to mention the entire Sinclair family? Now your selfish acts have harmed Allie, and I’ll be damned if I court your goodwill ever again.”

  Rockhaven slumped in his chair, any fight within him seeming to have been extinguished. “So you know?”

  “That Aunt Cait was actually our mother? That you were unfaithful to Mother with her own sister? That you got her with child and forced Mother to accept Allie and me as her own children, despite the heartache and humiliation she experienced?” Finlay shook his head, disgust surrounding him like a toxic cloud. “How you probably organized the late Duke of Darington’s murder?” He bent down until he hovered in his father’s face. “Oh, I know. And Allie knows. And unfortunately for you, Declan knows.”

  His father blinked until his gaze slid to Declan. “This would never have been an issue if he’d stayed away. After those disastrous investments, Albert died and the partnership and its assets were finally mine to do with what I wished. I had a chance to settle with the vicomte once and for all.” The earl’s face turned red. “And then he ruined everything.”

  Declan approached the man. A million words raced across his mind. Threats. Claims. Demands. But when he opened his mouth, he found all of those concerns paled in comparison to his concern for Alethea. “Despite everything you’ve done, all the ways you’ve hurt your family and mine, and my pledge to kill whoever was responsible for Albert’s murder, I love your daughter. The very thought of her out there, with men who will bring her to harm for offenses you’ve committed, makes me want to tear you limb from limb. She deserved better from you, Rockhaven. You failed her.”

  The man clenched his jaw resolutely before he nodded.

  “Where would she have been taken?” Declan demanded. He would worry about holding the man accountable for his many crimes once Alethea was safe in his arms. Until then, he could go to the devil.

  “I don’t know. The vicomte has properties across the country and the Continent.” The earl gripped his hair and closed his eyes, a picture of panic. After a long moment, he relaxed, his gaze speculative. “His main base of operations is St. Petersburg. I’d wager he’d hold Allie somewhere along the coast, so if he had to raise anchor immediately, he could.”

  How would they possibly pinpoint where Alethea had been taken, when all of England could hide her?

  A spark of hope flared suddenly in his mind, he turned to leave, only realizing he was alone when he reached the hall. Backtracking to locate Finlay, he hovered on the study’s threshold. A small part of him knew he should allow Finlay privacy with his father, but he needed to hear his words.

  “I want you to contact the vicomte and arrange to pay the debt.”

  “I don’t have the—”

  “I’ll pay the debt,” Declan growled. He’d pay any sum to see Alethea safe from harm.

  Finlay held up a staying hand. “Just negotiate with the man, so we have time to discover where she’s being held. Can you do that?”

  The earl turned pale-green eyes to where Declan stood, and he dug his nails into his palms to keep himself from shaking the man into agreement.

  Rockhaven nodded. “Of course. I’ll stall as long as I can. Just bring her home.”

  Finlay said, “I want you to leave, Father. I don’t care where you go, but leave England. As soon as possible. If you are not gone by tomorrow, I will bring you before the authorities myself. We have Mother’s diary in our possession, along with her recollection of a particular conversation you had with the vicomte. I’m sure Parliament would be very interested to know the details of it.”

  Rockhaven glanced down at the desktop, grief etching itself into the lines of his face. “I want to see Allie before I go.”

  Finlay hesitated. “Very well, but I doubt, after everything, she’ll want to see you.”

  And with those words, he turned and stormed out the door, Declan following close behind.

  …

  Alethea’s eyes snapped open, and she blinked at the roof of the cab as she collected her bearings. Her neck was stiff, her mouth dry, and her head pounded to the drum of the horses pulling the travel carriage racing down the road.

  Her last memory was fleeing the theater, desperate to escape her father. She scanned the cramped space until they alighted on the tall man sitting at her feet. Mr. Cartwell. Her bodyguard.

  “You,” she shrieked, attempting to sit up, but she instead pitched forward to tumble off the squab. Her hands were bound behind her back, and with nothing to break her fall, her shoulder crashed into the floor. It absorbed the majority of the impact, but her chin cracked sharply against the carpet. Bursts of light flashed before her eyes.

  Thick arms lifted her immediately, and she was gently placed back on the seat, now upright.

  “My apologies,” a large Russian man said tonelessly as he sank onto the seat across the cab.

  Alethea shrank back at the sight of his hulking presence. But her anger propelled her to say, “Oh, you’re sorry that I fell, but are you sorry you abducted me?” She leaned forward to lessen some of the pressure from her hands. A new thought occurred to her, sparked by the man’s accent. “It was you, wasn’t it? The highwayman who tried to kill the Duke of Darington.”

  The man didn’t answer, his expression unchanged. If they weren’t in such a small space, Alethea would have sworn he hadn’t heard her. But his jaw tightened ever so slightly, and she knew he had.

  She looked back and forth between the men, comprehension causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end.

  “How long have you been working for my father?” She licked her lips. “Were you responsible for what happened to the late duke?”

  Mr. Cartwell raised an imperious brow, while the Russian turned to look out the window.

  Alethea sat up straighter. “Where are we going?”

  “Portsmouth.”

  “Portsmouth? Why on earth would we travel there?” She frowned.

  Mr. Cartwell’s lip curled. “You ask too many questions.”

  She swallowed down a retort. What could possibly be in Portsmouth?

  Her life had been so simple just six months before. Now she thought of her mother’s diary and the secrets it contained. She recalled the expression of malicious delight that contorted her father’s face when he told Declan Parliament would be investigating his legitimacy. Her gaze slid to the grim mountain of a man across from her, and wondered how she’d ever been so naive.

  “Will we be in Portsmouth for long?”

  Silence.

  She bit back a well of frustration, turning to Mr. Cartwell. “So aside from following me around London, what other tasks did my father assign to you?” Mr. Cartwell sighed, but Alethea realized he wouldn’t respond. Suppressing a groan, she tried again. She shifted her eyes to the man across from her. “From your accent, I take it you’re from Russia. I’ve always been curious about Russia. It’s the largest country in Europe, but it holds itself apart from the rest of the continent. Why is that, do you suppose?”

  A muscle ticked in the Russian’s jaw, and she fought back a smile. If he was going to keep her locked in this blasted carriage on the road to nowhere, she had every intention of making it as hellacious as possible.

  Miles…hours…millennia rolled by with the carriage wheels, as far as Alethea could tell, and still her questions did not cease. After a while she’d almost forgotten Mr. Cartwell
and the Russian were even there, so intent was she on voicing random, and oftentimes nonsensical, questions to the ether. Nothing was off-limits as far as she was concerned. She asked the men whether they preferred coffee or tea, fencing to cricket, eggs and toast to scones and cream. She inquired after their families, whether they could claim any siblings, and when both continued to hold their tongues, she divulged stories of Finlay, of his determination to climb Farmer Johnson’s silo, and his propensity to charge into danger without knowing anything about it.

  “I usually had to rescue him,” she remarked, with a roll of her eyes.

  After several hours of chatter, during which Mr. Cartwell regarded her with narrowed eyes and the Russian stared out the carriage window in silence, Alethea was at the point of screaming.

  “How much is he paying you to take me away?” she demanded, exhaustion making her voice hoarse. “If you return me back to London, I’ll double your fee. Or the Duke of Darington will.”

  “Your father is not our only employer. We’ve always worked for someone else,” Mr. Cartwell said, causing Alethea’s heart to lodge in her throat.

  “It’s the vicomte, is it not?” Her tongue was heavy with fear. She glanced out the window, the blue waters of the Atlantic in the far distance.

  The Russian finally turned to her, his eyes expressionless. “The Vicomte de Viguerie has his own reasons for wanting you in his custody. No doubt he’ll tell you of them soon.”

  Alethea’s hopes sank to her feet. With a weary sigh, she collapsed against the carriage seat and closed her eyes. If she was going to find a way out of this mess, she would need her wits about her. And considering how she’d chattered for the last several hours, she needed rest. Leaning her head back on the seat, she prayed sleep would find her despite the rough road.

  A strong hand gripped her arm and she jolted awake. Sunlight peeked through the cracks in the window coverings from the west, and she suspected it was early afternoon.

  Groggily, she moved the curtains aside with her chin to peer out the window, her gaze snagging on the long expanse of ships and warehouses that stood as a marker for the port.