The Revenge of the Betrayed Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  He seemed to soften at her words. “It might be better if I had stayed dead,” Edward said, and Emily felt his uncertainty to the core.

  Emily grabbed his hand in hers. “How did you manage to escape?”

  “I had help from a friend that did not believe the charges against me,” Edward said as if he was reluctant to name his saviour, and Emily supposed she could understand that.

  Emily attempted to press close to the man, but Edward held her away from him as if he could not bear her close again. Emily finally let her arms fall to her sides. “What happened in France?”

  “It is clear that you were told what happened,” Edward said with a shrug. “I am sure your husband filled you in quite thoroughly. Did he not?”

  Emily frowned. “He told me what you were accused of and that you were hanged, yes.”

  “So, he did not tell you his part in it?” Edward asked, and his eyes searched Emily’s face. If the man were looking for deceit, then Emily knew he would find none, so she did not shy away from his scrutiny. Edward spoke again after a time. “I do not know exactly what happened, but I know that James was involved with framing me for it. I did none of the things that I was accused of.”

  Emily looked into his eyes that pleaded with her. She smiled at him. “I believe you. I never could bring myself to thoroughly believe what James had said. It was so unlike you.”

  “It hardly matters because I am still dead in the eyes of the law and cannot be resurrected unless I can prove my innocence,” Edward said.

  Emily knew in that instant that Edward was going to leave. He was going to vanish again. “Please, do not go,” Emily begged him. “I fear my heart would not be able to endure losing you a second time. Stay, and we will find your proof. If James was involved then, Oscar or Augustus must know something.”

  “Can you truly pretend not to know me when we meet on the street?” Edward asked her.

  Emily drew herself up. “But I do know you. You are Esteban Duarte, a good friend of the Duke and Duchess of Danborough.”

  Chapter 13

  Despite Edward’s misgivings, Emily did not betray him as far as he could tell. Oscar and James remained oblivious to Edward’s real identity as they continued to frequent the games where Edward had to keep making appearances to keep up the charade of Esteban Duarte. Now that Emily knew, it was harder for Edward to remain so neutral with the men. He longed to simply hammer the answers out of them, but he put on a smile and carried on with the plan as if nothing had changed.

  Edward had invitations lined up for months, and he often had to disregard engagements due to other obligations. He supposed that this was what every society climber’s dream was. Here he was with it, and Edward was grateful that his alter-ego was famous for being a seeker of privacy as it gave him the perfect excuse to bow out of occasions he had little interest in.

  He walked along the street towards the apothecary. Edward grimaced at a familiar voice that called out behind him. He came to a halt and turned to see Emily hurrying along the sidewalk to catch up to him.

  When she came alongside him, she gave him a breathtaking smile. “Mr Duarte, what a pleasure to see you out today,” Emily said.

  “Your Grace,” Edward said allowing the Spanish accent to cover his annoyance at the woman suddenly appearing. What was she doing here? “What are you out doing this morning that brings you all the way here?”

  Emily’s shoulders rose in a slight shrug. The pale blue dress she wore made her brown locks seem like spun gold in the sunlight to Edward. How soft must those strands of gold feel? Edward took his eyes away. He had to remain apart from Emily. For all her words of conspiracy, she was still his enemy’s wife. There should be anger there, not soft longings for a woman who had betrayed him.

  “Are you well?” Emily asked with concern on her lips.

  Edward looked up at her. “No, I am on the way to get medicine actually. If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” Edward said as he dipped his head to her. He turned as quickly as his aching leg would allow and walked away. His escape was short-lived as he heard the click of Emily’s shoes. Sure enough, Emily was abreast of him again, holding her skirts up slightly as she hurried.

  “May I aid you in some way, Mr Duarte?” Emily asked in a far too helpful tone for Edward’s liking.

  Edward sighed and came to a stop again. “I do not think it very appropriate for a lady of your station to be following me around like this, Your Grace,” he said, and his eyes glanced around, but the street was empty. He could not say if the buildings around them were empty or not, however.

  Emily whispered, “I have come to your home several times, and I have been turned away. I fear this might be the only way I can speak to you.”

  “Why would you be trying to talk to a Spaniard you barely know?” Edward asked in a low hiss.

  Emily folded her hands in front of her. The wind blew her bonnet a bit causing the curls of brown hair that hung loosely around her neck to flutter. “I was coming to invite you to tea,” Emily said primly.

  Edward laughed, he could barely help it. She looked so serious, and yet the very idea that she had come to invite him to tea, of all things, sent him laughing so hard that he feared he might not stop. She was eyeing him with a look that was both confused and somewhat amused at his laughter. Edward waved off the questioning look on her face.

  “Your Grace, forgive me,” Edward said as he got his laughter under control. “I am not yet familiar with all the English formalities, and I find tea to be a bizarre ritual.”

  Emily’s mouth dipped in a frown. It was a lovely mouth, Edward thought, even when it was frowning. “I see,” Emily said softly. “I forget that you are new to our country and customs, Mr Duarte. Your English is so impeccable that I would think you had been here for years.”

  “That is so kind of you to say,” Edward said in amusement as both he and Emily knew very well that he had grown up speaking English.

  Emily said, “Perhaps you could teach me Spanish. I have always wanted to learn a new language. My aunt learned to speak Portuguese.”

  “Well, the two are similar,” Edward said. “I travelled through Portugal quite often. It is a lovely place.”

  Emily smiled. “I should love to travel, but I fear that that may be out of my reach.”

  Edward knew she was referring to her husband’s gambling habit, which Emily seemed to blame Edward for, but he hardly thought he was the true devil in that equation. “That is a pity,” Edward said with little compassion. “Perhaps if the Duke were better at playing cards,” he suggested.

  Edward could see the colour rise to Emily’s cheeks. She held her chin up high and said, “I have done what you wanted. I have said nothing, and yet you continue to ruin him, to ruin me. Why do you hate me so?”

  “I really do have to go now,” Edward said, but Emily’s hand was on his arm.

  She whispered, “I cannot help you if you avoid me.”

  “You cannot even help yourself,” Edward informed her. “All I need is your silence.”

  Emily shook her head. “You are wrong,” she told him. “I know someone that can help you. Perhaps he might even see past that beard and grey hair to see who you really are, and if he did then you could heal him, and he could free you.”

  “Who do you speak of?” Edward asked, too aware of the pressure of Emily’s hand on his sleeve still.

  Emily whispered, “Augustus. He is mad with grief and guilt. He drinks himself to death in the shambling ruins of his former home while refusing all aid that I offer. James and Oscar have abandoned him to his fate. I think they would prefer him in the ground than talking.”

  Edward thought about that. Emily might be on to something, but this was neither the time nor place to discuss it. “I shall come to tea,” Edward agreed with a nod. “This is not the place for such discussions, and I have an appointment.” The ache in his leg was seeking to gain his attention away from the lovely Duchess that still held onto his sleeve.

  “This a
fternoon then,” Emily said then added, “tea at the manor is usually held around four in the afternoon, Mr Duarte.”

  Edward chuckled. “I shall be there,” he said with a dip of his head. When her light touch on his sleeve left as she withdrew her hand, Edward felt the loss keenly. He turned and strove not to limp as badly as he walked away from the woman. What good would it do for her to see his infirmary? Would she be less likely to help him or more inclined to help out of pity?

  Edward’s mind played with his endless questions as he walked, yet never found satisfactory answers. He had much to do if he wanted to make tea with the Duchess, and he had no intention of missing that appointment her. Edward reminded himself that the reason for that was that he needed answers, and not to see her face or hear her voice. She was still the wife of his enemy. She had still betrayed him.

  ***

  James sat with Oscar at the bar in Oscar’s township. The place was rustic but clean, and it reminded James of simpler times. “I always liked this place,” James said as he looked up at the wooden beams along the ceiling.

  “Me as well,” Oscar said as he picked up his beer. The man’s girth meant he could drink more than most men without getting drunk, but while Oscar did well with beer, he was a sucker for brandy, and often drank too much of it.

  It was that weakness of Oscar’s that James had come to talk to him about. “You did not speak to him of the war, did you?”

  “No, not really,” Oscar said. He sighed. “How’d we get here, James? Just look at us.”

  James scoffed, “You seem to be doing well.”

  “I cannot say the same for Augustus … and you …” Oscar trailed off as he shook his head.

  James frowned and asked, “What about me?” He gripped his beer tightly as he watched Oscar. The man had been increasingly critical of James since Oscar’s fascination with that Spaniard had grown.

  “You drink as Augustus does,” Oscar said quietly. He was silent for a moment. “Why are you determined to break yourself on Mr Duarte’s back? Do you not see that he is just toying with you?”

  James scowled at his beer. “He reminds me of something I thought I had bested a long time ago.”

  “I used to admire you, James,” Oscar said, his voice low. “The years since the war have brought horrible things. Augustus is not the only one who has nightmares of it.”

  They sat in silence. James too dreamed of the war, of Edward and that girl. He could barely remember her face now. It seemed like one should remember the face of the girl he strangled. Yet, her face was a blur. Sometimes when he dreamed her face was even that of Emily. He woke from those dreams with deep satisfaction that was quickly replaced by the acceptance that Emily was still very much there to torment him.

  “I dream of the war too,” James said finally. “Do not forget that I helped you, Oscar. I helped you and your parents when no one else would.”

  Oscar looked at the table as the colour rose to his face. “How can I? You call in that debt so often that I fear it will never be fulfilled.” Oscar looked up at James, and James saw something that he did not expect to see there. He saw resentment in the man’s face. “What of your debts to me?” Oscar asked with a snarled lip.

  “I made you a war hero. I made up for your lies. I paid for them,” James hissed at the man. “Call us even then, call us nothing.”

  Oscar sighed. “James—”

  “No,” James said as he cut off whatever Oscar was going to say. “Go to your Spanish thief and conspire as to how you will ruin James Winchester. Just remember Oscar that I always win in the end.” James stood up and stalked off. If Oscar would abandon him, then he would march alone into Hell and slay that Spanish dragon as Emily had called him. Yes, he would kill Esteban Duarte, and he would make Oscar pay for his betrayal too. No one crossed James Winchester.

  ***

  Edward walked up to the door of his family home and looked up at the gargoyle fixed firmly over the doorway. “Hello, old friend,” Edward whispered to the gargoyle that stared at him with dull, stone eyes. “I have come to see you again.” He slid his hand in the well-worn door knocker and banged on the sturdy front door of Dalton Hall, his home that he now came to as a stranger.

  A stranger Edward might be to the people within the walls of the house, but the walls knew him still. He felt their warmth and memories. He was filled with a longing to see his father again. Edward frowned and put the thought out of his head as the door was pulled open.

  The doorman eyed him. It was not the doorman that Edward expected, perhaps James had let the man go, or perhaps he had simply grown too old. “Good afternoon, Sir,” the doorman said. “May I help you?”

  Edward nodded. “The Duchess is expecting me for tea,” he explained.

  The man nodded. “Oh, of course. You must be Mr Duarte.”

  “One and the same,” Edward acknowledged with a nod of his head. The doorman pulled the door open wider to allow Edward entrance into the home. Edward gratefully came inside and followed the man as he gestured for Edward to do so. Edward could have found his way without help, but he played his part.

  The house looked different. He had noticed the changes to the walls and décor the last time he was here, and Edward felt that the changes were James’ doing. Emily had always admired his mother’s décor, and he could not imagine Emily changing things so drastically. James, however, would have sought to wipe out all traces of Edward when he took over Edward’s ancestral home.

  “Her Grace is awaiting you,” the doorman said as he indicated a door. The man rapped his knuckles against the door twice and then gave Edward a smile. Edward thought it must be a code of some kind between the man and Emily, and he let go trying to ponder it.

  Edward took a breath and opened the door. Emily sat on a sofa looking towards the door expectantly. The smile that spread across her face was warm, far too warm. Edward gave the woman a polite smile. “Your Grace, you look lovely,” Edward said. It was the truth. Emily had changed from her pale blue dress into a dress of yellow, whose fabric looked like it would feel silky soft beneath Edward’s hands.

  “And you look very handsome, Mr Duarte,” Emily said with a soft blush that Edward thought suited her nicely. She patted the cushion near her on the sofa, but when Edward sat down it was with a cushion safely between them.

  Edward looked around. “Is the Duke not joining us?”

  “He will be along later; he had an appointment that could not be changed on short notice,” Emily said primly. She whispered, “He went to meet Oscar. I feel he will be gone for some time.”

  Edward nodded slowly. “Does he know that I am here?”

  “He knows that I have a guest coming for tea,” Emily said with a smile. “You will find that my husband takes little interest in or notice of me, Mr Duarte.”

  Edward could not imagine that any man would not notice Emily, but he refrained from saying so. “What was it you wished to speak on?” Edward asked as Emily poured him tea. She did not ask what he wanted in his tea. She simply prepared it from memory. Edward smiled when she handed him the teacup. “Do you think my preferences have not changed in all these years?”

  “Have they?” Emily asked with interest.

  Edward’s fingers slid over Emily’s as he took the teacup from her. “No,” Edward said, and he could not be sure if he were talking about Emily or the tea, but the woman smiled either way. Edward fought to harden his heart against the feelings that Emily stirred within him. If things went according to plan, then Emily would be stripped of her title and ruined as much as James. He could not falter.