The Duke's Revenge

by Alexia Praks

  “She is my mother, my lady.” There was no surprise in that, Ivy thought, as she gazed at the door with a longing.

  “Yes, that is why you two are so alike. I am rather surprise that you are married to your mother’s lover.”

  Ivy flashed her gaze to the woman. “I’m sorry?”

  Lady Jersey gasped and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, goodness, you honestly did not know?”

  “What should I know?” she asked, her dizziness disappeared. Her heart was drumming in her chest now.

  “I only heard rumors but years ago your father had demanded a duel with your husband for the good name of your mother. You see, your mother and your husband were once lovers.” Lady Jersey explained, her eyes narrowed with satisfaction.

  Ivy clutched her hands to her stomach. Her face paled even further and her dizziness appeared once again in full force. “Excuse me,” she said and rushed pass the woman toward the door. She made her way across the long, tall room toward the luxuriant garden. There she stood, gasping in the cool night air under a tree as tears flow down her cheeks. She sobbed and hugged herself as the world spun around her.

  A while later, her head stopped its spinning and she felt much better. She straightened up and turned to look at the huge mansion. From where she stood, she could hear the hums of voices and music floating toward her. She stood up and walked further away from them all.

  Along the pathway there were Chinese lanterns hanging at interval on the tree branches which helped her find her way. She found herself standing near numerous tents that had been set up. Servants were quietly rushing around and setting up tables with wines and foods.

  The mere thought of food turned her stomach. She clutched her midsection and rushed to a tree. Her head started spinning again. She rested against the trunk and closed her eyes, just for a moment....

  “Is something the matter?”

  She opened her eyes and turned. In the dimness, she saw a man, dressed in an elegant evening attire standing before her.

  “I am sorry but I am missing my manner, Lord Sherington at your service.” He bowed.

  She nodded at him and said, “I am all right, thank you for your concern.” She straightened up and took a deep breath.

  “You are very pale, are you unwell?”

  “Nay, I am all right. There are too many people in the ballroom, and I was just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all,” she said and turned to go.

  He caught her arm.

  She gasped and turned to stare at him.

  He quickly withdrawal and said, “I beg your pardon, but I did not know your name.”

  “It is improper, my lord, for you to come and talk to me in this dark place. I am a marry woman, my lord, I do not want gossip to spread around me.” She turned.

  He grabbed for her arm.

  She twisted around and shook her hand free. “Please, sir!” She glared at him.

  “Very well done, Ivy.”

  “How do you now my name?” Her body began to shake and a coldness creep up inside her as he stared at her with his bizarre eyes.

  “It does not matter how I know your name, my dear. I am rather fond of you. So beautiful, just like a butterfly you are.” He advanced toward her.

  She stepped back. “Good bye, sir,” she said and turned. He caught her arm and pulled her to him. “No, let go!”

  “How could you marry that bastard?”

  “Let me go!” She shoved him.

  He tightened his hold and forced his lips on her. She shook her head as he squeezed her between him and the tree.

  When she thought she was going to suffocate and fainted, he released her. Or rather he was being pulled away from her. She looked up through her teary eyes and saw her husband gave the man a hard blow to the face.

  Sherington fell to the ground, his lips bleeding.

  Max reached down, caught Sherington’s collar, and lifted him up. “Don’t you ever touch my wife again,” he said through gritted teeth. He threw the man down as though he was a bag of rubbish.

  Sherington fell on the ground on his backside. He looked at Max and sneered. “You’ll pay, you bastard, I’ll make sure of that. One day, I’ll get my inheritance back. I’ll make sure of that. You murdered my father, you bastard, I’ll make you pay.”

  “Don’t blame other people for your own folly, Sherington, blame yourself for being incompetent,” Max snapped. “Now, get out of my sight.”

  Sherington glared at him as he stood up. “Next time,” he said and rushed away.

  Max turned to his wife. He came to her and wrapped his arms around her.

  Ivy leaned against him. He was so warm, so solid, and she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep.

  He touched her chin and tilted her face up toward the lantern light. As he looked down at her pale face, his thumb gently rubbed against her sore lips.

  He moved his head down and whispered, “Best if we leave here.”

  She blinked. Tears rolled down her cheeks to her lips. He wiped them away with his thumb.

  “Come along, wife,” he said, guiding her toward the entrance.

  Their carriage was brought around to the courtyard, and they left Carlton House. During their ride back, she was securely tucked in his arms and her head was rested against his chest as a pillow. Once they had arrived at Edington Mansion, Lisa escorted Ivy to her room. There she bathed and then went straight to bed.

  She slept restlessly, dreaming of her husband making love to her mother, and she being raped by Sherington. Her mother and Sherington were laughing at her.

  The next morning she woke she knew that she must leave London. She knew London was no place for her. She could not handle the endless parties and balls, meeting new people, eating, drinking, and gossiping behind each other’s back. The country was where she belonged. There she would be able to breathe more easily and relax. Everything was too much for her to bear here.

  She summoned Lisa and told the maid of her intension which the maid undoubtedly agreed for she had seen her lady’s unhappiness despite of her surrounding friends and gay atmosphere, and more importantly, her health had been declining. She had notice that her lady had not eaten much during her meal and that she was usually sick in the morning. Aye, she was worried and she, too, thought that the country air would do her lady good.

  After her breakfast of one piece of dry toast and half a cup of tea, Ivy left to find her husband. He was in his study. Standing before the door, she found it odd that she had the courage to knock when these past few weeks she had been afraid of him and avoiding him when and where ever possible.

  “Enter!” he called from the other side.

  She took a deep breath and turned the door handle. She saw that he was sitting behind his desk with the account books scattered before him.

  “Ivy,” he said in surprised, “are you feeling better?”

  “I am better, your grace,” she said and sat down on the chair opposite him.

  “Have you breakfasted?” he asked as he watched her pale face.

  She clutched her hands together and looked up at him. “Yes I have, your grace.”

  “Do you need something?”

  “Yes,” she said, “there are two things that I wanted to tell you.”

  “Go on.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “I know that you and my mother were lovers.”

  He narrowed his eyes dangerously at her.

  “I know that you must hate me very much, seeing me every day. It was she you wanted to marry, isn’t it?”

  He continued to watch her and did not reply.

  “I feel that it only fair I leave you in peace and this come to the second thing I wanted to tell you. Your grace, I...I want to return to Westwood Castle.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated, and gripping her hands even tighter, she said, “Like I said, it is only fair that I leave you in peace, and I also feel that I am tired of...London. It does not suit me. I would rather be at Westwood Castle where the country air
is better for me and...”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, “I will arrange a carriage for you and your maid.” He stood up and walked to the sideboard. “When do you want to leave?” he asked, picking up the decanter and poured himself a glass of brandy.

  “Tomorrow.”

  He halted the glass near his lips. “As you please,” he said and took a sip of the liquid.

  “Thank you, your grace.” She stood up. She wanted to go and thank him for being such a gentleman to her, but she decided against it. She turned and walked out the room, closing the door behind her.

  Max stood there, staring into space, with the glass of brandy in his hand. He rubbed his thumb against the shiny crystal as he continued to stare at nothing. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth, his eyes flared a bright blue color, and he hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering to the floor.

  CHAPTER 23

  “You have to ruin everything, don’t you?” Grace sneered at the mirror. “Just like before. He was mine since the beginning. He was never yours,” she shouted at her won reflection. “Do you remember the night of our seventh birthday? When dear, loving Papa threw us a ball? That night I sneaked out and guess what I did.” She laughed. “Aye, Grace, I went to him, that boy. Aye, he took me. He was my lover, Grace, he was never yours; you took everything away from me, and I have to take everything away from you, too. You took my earl from me, do you know that? You were such a weakling. I sometime wondered why Papa loved you more than I. Honestly, you know, I laughed behind his back because he was so stupid? He couldn’t even tell us apart.”

  She held her head to one side and her eyes were large and bright as she stared at her own image. “I will have to kill your daughter, Grace, like I killed you when you took Liam away from me,” she scoffed.

  “M’ lady?”

  “What?” Grace snapped.

  Gale jumped. She shivered at the way her mistress was glaring at her. “I have news, m’ lady.”

  “News? What news?”

  “Aye, m’ lady,” the maid said, “about her.”

  “Ivy?” Grace eyes widened.

  “Aye, m’ lady,” Gale said. “She has gone back to Westwood Castle.”

  “And he?”

  “Still here,” the maid said.

  “He kicked her back to the country, did he?”

  “Aye, just like the earl did Grace.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Grace scolded. “Had I not warn you not to mention her? That bitch, I hate her.” She glared at the maid and then turned to look at the mirror. “Now, I have plans to make.” She stroked her blond hair as she stared at her own reflection. “I shall pay my son-in-law a visit,” she said with a smiled.

  It was dark when Grace summoned the carriage for her intended visitation. By the time she had reached the duke’s townhouse, it was almost midnight. The streets, if not for the newly invented gaslight set along both side of the streets at intervals, would have been pitched dark.

  “I am here to see the duke,” she stated coldly to Evergreen.

  “He is not receiving visitor, my lady,” the butler replied.

  “Not receiving visitor?” Grace snapped. “I am Lady Westwood, I am his mother-in-law. I want to see him now.”

  “But--”

  “Move out of the way,” she barked and shoved pass the confused butler. “Where is he?”

  “He is in his study, my lady,” Evergreen replied.

  She glared at him for a moment, stalked to a room she thought would be the study, and jerked the door open.

  It must be her lucky day, she thought, for there sitting behind a huge mahogany desk was the duke.

  He looked up and said in a clam voice, “Lady Grace Westwood.”

  “Good evening tide to you too, your grace,” she said, softening her voice a little.

  “What are you doing here? In this late hour?” he asked, too damn tired to hide his irritation.

  “Could not a mother-in-law visit her son-in-law?” she asked innocently.

  “At this time of night, wouldn’t that be scandalous, my lady?”

  “Ah, none the least.” She laughed merrily. She turned and saw the sideboard. “May I?”

  He nodded and said, “May I ask why you are here?”

  She picked up the decanter and poured herself some brandy. With the wineglass in her hand, she turned to him and said, “Why did you kick my daughter back to the country?”

  “I believe it is none of your business.”

  “Ah, you are wrong there, Dominic, I am, after all, Ivy’s mother.” She smiled as she walked to him. She leaned to his ear and whispered, “Have Ivy done something to displease you so?”

  He turned to look at her, his lips turned upward sardonically. “Why would you care?”

  “Ivy is very innocent, Dominic, she is young and does not know you like I do.” She put the wineglass down on the desk and moved her face toward his.

  “Ah, Lady Westwood, I believe that is where you are wrong. Ivy, you see, is very clever indeed, very much like you.” He moved his face closer to hers and said, “You both are money hungry sluts.”

  She gasped and glared at him with anger. “How dare you say that, Dominic, I am nothing like that.”

  “Oh? Prove me wrong, Grace.”

  “I love you, Dominic, since the first time we made love.” She brought her hand to touch the side of his face. “I love you so much it hurt inside. Don’t you understand?”

  “Then why the hell did you marry the earl?”

  She dropped to her knees beside him and lowered her eyes. “It was Papa, he was sick and in debt, and ‘tis my duty to marry the earl. If I married him, he would pay Papa’s debt. If you hadn’t notice, Dominic, Papa died only a few months after I married the earl. You don’t know how hard it was for me. I didn’t love him. It was a marriage of convenience.” She looked up at him and there were tears in her eyes. “I love you and I still do.”

  They both were quiet. She was sobbing, and he was glaring into space.

  “Why did you marry Ivy?” she asked.

  He didn’t reply and turned to look at her. She bent her head and rested it against his thigh. “Why did you marry Ivy? You are a powerful man. You could do anything. You shouldn’t have to marry Ivy at all. Do you love me, Dominic?”

  “Yes,” he said, staring down at her.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She was winning him over. She smiled as she stood up and brought her face closer to his, intending to kiss him.

  “Yes, I did once.” He caught the hair at the back of her head and said, “You disgust me, Grace. What kind of a woman are you? Your kinds don’t fool me.” He shoved her from him. “Leave now, before my patience runs out.”

  “You stupid man! Here I am, giving myself to you and you--you throw out?” she barked, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Aye, I’m throwing you out. Now get out!”

  “You are a blind man, Dominic, very blind. You obviously don’t know me well enough. I’ll get you back in this, Dominic, you’ll see. You think I really want to be a duchess that bad?” she sneered, her eyes blazing a fierily green.

  “Was I wrong then, my lady?” he said sarcastically.

  She gasped.

  “Why did you marry Ivy?” she asked again.

  “I believe it is none of your business, now out!” His nerve was just about reaching its breaking point.

  “You love her, don’t you?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You love her, I hate you. How could you love her? She looks almost like me, and yet, you love her and not me. How could that be possible? I hate you, Dominic!” she shouted and then rushed out the room.

  Max frowned after the mad woman. He turned back to look at the account books on his desk and decided to leave them for tomorrow. He left the study and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

  He couldn’t sleep, however, and laid there staring at the ceiling in the darkn
ess. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, and he wanted to see her smile at him again. It was as simple as that. And why the hell would he want that?

  ‘You love her!’ Grace’s voice kept echoing in his head.

  ‘Revenge!’ the voice at the back of his head kept shouting back. He must avenge Dominic’s death.

  Once again he saw his hands covering with blood, his brother’s blood. He was back there again, at the scene of his brother’s death. He could remember the salty smell of blood. He could remember the feel of its warmth against his skin, and then slowly it went cold.

  Even now he could remember the thick, foggy atmosphere that had been cold and bitter that dawn. He could still remember his brother’s pale face, for life was about to leave his body. The heat had faded away, and Dominic’s body had been replaced with this coldness that, even now, he could not accept. He had known Dominic was going, and he had had no power to stop it.

  “Max,” Dominic had managed to whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

  “Don’t talk, Dominic, I’ll get help, you’ll be all right.”

  “Nay, I know ‘tis the end. ‘Twas my fault, I am stupid. I know you, Max. I only have one thing to ask from you.”

  “Anything, brother, anything.”

  Dominic had closed his eyes then, to summon his strength. When he opened his eyes again, there were tears. “Don’t avenge my death. Don’t hurt Grace and her family.”

  “Dominic, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know, Max, they are innocent of all this, promise.”

  He had nodded his head. “I promise, brother.”

  “Thank you,” Dominic had whispered and closed his eyes. Then there was no more heart beat in his chest.

  Revenge, Max thought as he opened his eyes and shut his mind from seeing his brother’s lifeless body, had done him naught but caused him pain. Was Dominic right that Grace and her family were innocent? That it was merely due to Dominic’s own folly that had caused his own death? But the earl had shot Dominic in the duel, and Grace was the cause of it all.