The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  “Gregory!”

  Sebastian turned at the sound of the feminine squeal.

  Dorothea, Penelope, and Reynolds stood in the distance, staring at the scene before them. Shawls covered their ball gowns, and behind them Joshua and Sam stood with guilty expressions on their faces. The coach was behind them, the noises of the horses obscured amidst the commotion and the sounds of the waves and wind.

  “Sweetheart.” Lewis’s voice quivered, and he rushed toward Dorothea.

  She stared at him, making no move to touch him.

  Lewis’s shoulders dropped. “My face is a bit more rugged than normal.”

  “How—how can it be? You are alive. The general urged us to come, but I didn’t expect this . . .” Dorothea wrapped her shawl tighter, looking distraught. “Or am I dreaming this?”

  She looked to her friend for confirmation. Penelope’s mouth had fallen open.

  “I am most certainly alive, sweetheart,” Lewis said, his voice shaking with emotion.

  “But how can that be? They told me you had died.” Dorothea walked toward him, her dress dampening in the long strands of wet grass. She brushed her hand over her brow, her face flushed.

  Lewis knelt before her. “I am so sorry, Dorothea. I never wanted to cause you worry. It has been agony knowing you suffered.”

  “Worried! I was beside myself with grief. I loved you.”

  “Can you forgive me? Please say you can forgive me.” Lewis grasped her hands.

  “I don’t know.” Dorothea’s eyes grew rounder, and she looked at Penelope and Sebastian, as if for help.

  “I was going to see you tonight, but I got delayed.” He gestured at Sir Ambrose, who sat grinning. William pointed Sir Ambrose’s pistol at him.

  She turned back to Lewis. “Why did you pretend to be dead?”

  The man reddened. “My dearest. It is not my fault the war office preferred me to pretend to be dead. I was injured, and when I woke up, they warned me not to resume my current identity.”

  “You could have told me.” Dorothea pulled her hands away from his and folded her arms, frowning. She shook, her breath heavy.

  “I tried to, I swear, I—”

  “How very emotional we are tonight,” Sir Ambrose said from his perch.

  “You!” William clenched his fists. “You should be quiet. This is all your doing.”

  “I am afraid I have little patience for your love affairs.” Sir Ambrose turned to address Dorothea. “I am afraid you have the most abominable taste in men. You could have had me. I would have made you a wealthy woman.”

  “I will too.” Lewis drew himself up. “If she’ll have me again.” He turned to Dorothea. “Will you marry me, my darling?”

  Dorothea was silent, and Lewis’s face, so hopeful initially, darkened. “Of course. You may not desire to marry me. Sebastian told me your engagement with him was broken, but… Forgive me.”

  Dorothea coughed. “I will marry you.”

  “Truly?” Lewis asked, his voice rising.

  “Truly,” Dorothea said.

  Lewis smiled.

  Sir Ambrose laughed. “Do you intend to keep her in your decrepit manor house?”

  Lewis frowned. “It is not that decrepit. If you had not scared everyone away with your vicious rumors . . .”

  “Not everything I say is a rumor. Quite a lot is the truth.”

  He had a strange gleam in his eye. William’s chest tightened when he saw the baronet look directly at Sebastian. He started toward Sir Ambrose, hoping to quiet him. The pistol did not seem to be sufficient hindrance.

  “Your former fiancé,” Sir Ambrose regarded Dorothea, “I could tell you stories about him.”

  He was going to reveal their secret.

  “Please don’t,” William called. “You mustn’t.”

  “Oh, really?” Sir Ambrose smiled. “Dorothea, my sweet, do you want to hear some stories?”

  She shook her head, her dark curls spilling from her chignon.

  “No? I think I would surprise you.”

  “Do be quiet,” Dorothea screamed.

  Sir Ambrose smiled. “Did you know your fiancé—former fiancé—bears unnatural affections for your brother?”

  William froze at the words, watching as his sister’s face constricted. Of course she knew, but she didn’t want her closest friends to know as well. Shame, such a constant companion for him, surged through him once more. He avoided Sebastian’s eyes.

  “Unnatural? They are friends!” Penelope exclaimed. “What can you possibly mean?”

  “This doesn’t concern you.” Lord Reynolds folded his hands around his wife, pulling her against his chest.

  Perhaps the action was meant well, but William felt as if he was not worthy of being looked at.

  “But what can the man mean?” Penelope said, her voice muffled.

  “I see your curiosity has been piqued. I must commend you for that,” Sir Ambrose said. “A curious person is an intelligent person.”

  “I would care for you not to address my wife.” Lord Reynolds turned to Lewis. “Do we have anything we can muffle him with? A rag?”

  “Come now, you would not deny a man his last words. It would not be Christian of you. I am under no illusions my life is drawing to a close.” He smiled. His voice grew deeper and more steady. “Your fiancé, Sebastian, is a sodomite. And you dare call me flawed.”

  “That’s enough.” William lunged at his former neighbor. “You are a murderer.”

  “How dare you tarnish my cousin’s name, just because you have a morbid fixation on his fiancée. Why he was married before. Just because his wife had the misfortune to die, you think you can create scandalous stories.” Penelope raised her head, her eyes flashing. “Tell them, Sebastian!”

  “Yes, do enlighten us all, Your Grace.” Sir Ambrose smirked and stepped toward Sebastian, away from the edge of the cliff. “Oh, I cannot call you that anymore, now that the rightful duke has presented himself. Now you are just a country squire and a sodomite. Don’t think I don’t know about the night you spent in the gatehouse with Captain Carlisle.”

  “That is enough.” Lewis’s eyes remained fixed on Sir Ambrose. “You’ll hang.”

  Sir Ambrose sighed. “I suppose courtesy is something your family lacks entirely. Forcing silence from me. I suppose when some members feel the urge to—”

  “That is quite enough,” Lord Reynolds said, his eyes dark. “I will not have you distribute any more insults. Penelope, take Dorothea to the coach. Tell Sam to drive both of you back quickly and come straight back here so we can stop by the magistrate.”

  Penelope nodded and grabbed Dorothea.

  “No,” Dorothea said, “I will stay with Gregory. I have no desire to leave his side.”

  “Lewis will be here. We promise,” Reynolds said.

  “I will be here, my darling,” Lewis said.

  Penelope clutched Dorothea’s arm, tugging her. William stared, distracted, as Dorothea untangled her arm, lifted her dress, and rushed back toward them.

  “What devotion,” Sir Ambrose said bitterly.

  William turned, the blustering wind stinging his eyes. Chalk cliffs. Not the firmest of ground. “The precipice.”

  Had Sir Ambrose heard him? William didn’t want him to tumble into the ocean.

  Sir Ambrose frowned at William. “Don’t worry, I know when to make an exit. I shall anticipate joining Dorothea’s mother in the afterlife. That sweet, innocent creature.”

  William watched in horror as Sir Ambrose stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. Perhaps he had always seen himself as invincible, greater than everyone else despite his dangerous activities.

  “The precipice,” William repeated as Sir Ambrose stepped back farther still. This time William stepped forward to warn him, blinded by the raging wind.

  “The precipice,” he repeated again before he suddenly felt Sir Ambrose’s hands on him, clutching him, as they both toppled together. The next thing William felt was air beneath his feet.<
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  *

  Sebastian’s heart plummeted.

  William fell.

  His body toppled to the side. Sebastian blinked, hoping he had not seen correctly. That William’s body falling was an eyelash dropping or his mind imagining what it would look like if the horrible had happened.

  For the horrible had happened.

  Sir Ambrose was triumphant. William and the baronet had plunged off the cliff. Sir Ambrose had clutched him in his arms, and they had vanished. Sir Ambrose had killed William, just as surely as he had killed himself.

  The others cried. Sebastian did not wait to make out their words. They should have tied Sir Ambrose up better. He should not have been allowed to stand there, pistols pointed or not. Sebastian should have said something, and he had not, too paralyzed by Sir Ambrose’s caustic tongue.

  Sebastian rushed to the edge, crouching down as the wind hit him, ignoring the warnings of the others. He slid on his stomach, peering down the cliff.

  His heart leapt as he spotted William, motionless, on a narrow ledge eight feet below. The man’s face shone, reflected by the moon. His hands and feet were flung out at awkward angles, splayed on the edge. Sir Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. The dark waves continued their rhythmic thrashes against the rocky wall. Sebastian gulped, conscious of Sir Ambrose’s fate, of how close William had been to having his body swept into the massive, moving, moss-colored grave.

  He might still be dead.

  Sebastian searched William’s face for a glimmer of movement, hoping for his eyelids to tremble or his mouth to open. How could he have wasted the moments he had with William? Why had they argued? Why had they not spent every night together?

  Why had they not planned to spend their lives together?

  He darted his eyes across the terrain. He needed to take William back. If there was a chance the man would survive . . . He wiggled back to the clearing.

  Reynolds, Dorothea, and Penelope gazed back at him. He wondered where Lewis had vanished to.

  “Your shawls,” he said, pointing at the two women.

  “Of course.” Penelope slipped her shawl off and removed Dorothea’s from her shoulders. She handed them to Sebastian. “Will they be strong enough? Have you found him? Will he live?”

  “We can only hope.” Sebastian took the colored fabric, tying the Oriental patterns together. The shawls were thick cashmere wool. He sighed in relief. They would not break.

  “Will their length suffice? We have petticoats . . .” Penelope began walking to the precipice, as if to spot William’s body.

  Reynolds was at Penelope’s side at once. “It is dangerous, my love. Go back to Dorothea.”

  He kissed her head, the display of affection stabbing Sebastian’s heart.

  “How can I be of assistance?” Reynolds said solemnly as Penelope hurried away.

  Sebastian smiled tightly. “You can hold me.”

  Reynolds’s eyes flickered in confusion. He had no secrets from that man.

  “Not that way,” Sebastian grumbled, flinging one end at Reynolds. “You hold one end and lower me down.”

  Reynolds nodded, wrapping his end around a tree near the cliff’s edge. “We can’t have you disappear as well. Be careful.”

  Sebastian blinked in gratitude. He grabbed the other end of the shawl, lowering himself down slowly, moving his feet along the slippery surface of the rock. He would give up everything if William lived. He would return home and never engage in another illicit act. He would be good.

  Sebastian sighed with relief as his feet hit the ground. Limestone. That should hold them. If not, it was a risk worth taking. He crouched down, crawling toward William. His eyes filled with tears as he saw him lying so rigid upon the hard surface.

  If only he had called off the wedding sooner. Why had he not? Why had William attempted to defeat Sir Ambrose by himself? Or had he wandered into Sir Ambrose’s plot by accident? With Joshua?

  Sebastian’s heart clenched, knowing the last thing William had done was leave the pub with another man.

  “Please live. Lord, please let William live.”

  He clutched William closer to him, pulling his limp body against his chest. He placed his hand over William’s mouth and was relieved to find William was still breathing. The man’s clothes were in shambles. Sebastian saw no blood, and he prayed the man would survive.

  He regarded the man in his arms and ran a finger over William’s chiseled face. He would have to attempt to carry him up the mountain soon, but now he could not resist giving him a soft kiss on the lips, bending down to touch his face, saying sadly, “I love you.”

  “Sebastian?”

  Sebastian turned and saw the stricken faces of Penelope, Lord Reynolds, Lewis, and Dorothea standing on another ledge. Penelope’s mouth fell open, and Lord Reynolds elbowed her. Even after she closed it, attempting to seem less shocked, her surprise was evident. Lord Reynolds looked at him with pity.

  Sebastian unwound himself from William, pushing him away. He removed his fingers from William’s coat reluctantly, realizing he was shaking. He swallowed, but his mouth felt dry.

  How vile it must seem! They did not know what to say. Nobody knew what to say. He was a vile creature, doing unnatural things in William’s time of need.

  It was not as if he did not know any better: he did. He read the Bible and went to church. He was not a heathen, whom missionaries needed to explain life to. It was definitely not appropriate to fall in love with another man, yet that was what he had done. He loved William. Loved him with all the power and emotion supposed to be reserved for a woman.

  He was depraved. Even now he yearned for William.

  “We found another way down,” Reynolds said apologetically.

  “We were worried it was taking so long,” Penelope said, her face darkening. “I mean, you cannot hoist him up by yourself.”

  “I’ve gotten to know this cliff well,” Lewis said. “William was lucky to fall where he did.”

  “I suppose Sir Ambrose is dead,” Reynolds said, grimacing at the waves.

  “I’ve sent Sam out to get a search party going for him. If the man had helpers, we’ll want to catch them.”

  Lewis stepped onto the ledge, lifting William easily into his arms. The man was strong. Lewis passed William’s body to Reynolds.

  “He’s breathing,” Reynolds said. “I think he’ll live.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Dorothea said.

  The others expertly handled William, bringing his body to safety. They chattered quickly amongst themselves, and Sebastian was grateful at their confidence in William’s survival.

  He followed them up the cliff. They laid William on the ground.

  “Sam will be back here soon with help,” Reynolds said.

  “With the general,” Lewis said.

  He had forgotten the general. The general had introduced Lewis to Sebastian. Lewis had gone to Lyngate first to contact him. If the man had witnessed Sebastian’s caresses, he could have ruined William’s career. If he lived.

  “I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, addressing Penelope, Lord Reynolds, and Dorothea. “I’m so sorry.”

  He could not look at William. He could not bear to look at that handsome figure. If he did, he might stay. And that would be terrible. Completely terrible.

  “I must go.” Sebastian trudged toward his horse.

  “Stay,” Lewis said.

  Sebastian had given into his emotions already, and now everyone—everyone important—knew. This was no way to live life.

  “I must go,” Sebastian said, looking at Lewis. He gulped, his heart shattering. “You will be the new duke. I am sure you will be happy to take on the role you always prepared for. And I will return to my estate in Yorkshire. I am sure I am not needed here anymore.”

  “I think,” Lewis said, looking at Dorothea, “I think you are still welcome here.”

  Sebastian gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for thinking that.”

  He felt like the world had come t
o an end, and perhaps his world had: he was not sure how he would ever face these people again, and he was giving up the only person whom he had ever loved.

  He could not leave now, not like this. There was one thing he needed to say.

  “This was an accident. Please try and forget it. And this is my fault. Not William’s. He was innocent. He does not share my inclinations.”

  He blinked back tears, grabbing hold of the horse he had borrowed from the general, swinging himself up onto it. He was not going to wait to hear what they said. He could not stand the thought he had disappointed them.

  Sir Ambrose was dead. At least that was good.

  He hoped William would survive the fallout. William was a soldier, stronger than he was. The risks if anyone found out about him were so much greater for William. If someone were to find out about him . . . Sebastian shuddered. William could be dismissed from the army, or even worse.

  He would go back to his old home. He would not have a new wife. He had failed in every sense. He hung his head. Shame permeated him. What must the others think of him?

  He rode up to Somerset Hall. This was not his home any longer. The sooner he could leave, the better everyone would be. Dorothea could return with her husband.

  He would disappear to Yorkshire. He wished it was not so far away. He longed to return home. Hopefully he could forget his friendships with Penelope and Lord Reynolds. Hopefully Dorothea could forgive him. Even though she now had Lewis to look after her, and that was in itself a miracle. Had that not happened, he would have been an abysmal husband. He had not known that passion could be so strong, or so destructive.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Sebastian sat in the library of his Yorkshire home, ensconced with his leather-covered books in his familiar landscape. His return fulfilled a months’-long dream, though his arrival lacked the joy he once imagined the homecoming would bring as he awaited the scandal of his inclinations to surface.

  Only luck kept the news from splattering the newspapers Grayson brought him, freshly ironed. Each morning he grabbed them from his manservant, hastily searching the large sheets for his and William’s names. Lewis’s name appeared in the newspaper on a few occasions in articles commending the duke for his bravery.