Duke of Treason (Rogues from War Book 3)

by Lisa Torquay

  She chose a seat, and he sat behind his massive desk. “You can start your story from the beginning. I am listening.”

  Right to the point, are we?

  “I am sure I do not know what you mean.” As a buying time ruse, she did not think it too smart.

  His gaze trained on her, distrustful and unwavering, from up his long nose. “Your yesterday’s stunt tells a tale of long training.”

  “Oh, that.” The intensity of his scrutiny held the power to bare her to him, which called for retreat tactics. She stood, straight spine, high chin. “I am afraid I have nothing to say about it.” She looked down on him at once. “If this is all, Your Grace.” She hoped her brisk pacing to the door discouraged him.

  What a delusion! His large prowl took him away from his desk as her hand found the door-knob.

  He neared the door. “I heard of a man roaming the vicinity of the graveyard.” She pulled the door opened. He banged the door back shut, his hand resting on it over her head.

  “So?” She evaded anew. Cold shiver ran though her at his mention of the fact.

  “Were you going to meet him?” He stood so close to her, she could see the soft lines on his thin, sensuous lips. For a crazy second there, she wondered what he would do if she ran her finger over those lips. “No.” She must tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

  “Is he your paramour?” Those pierced her merciless.

  The idea embarrassed her. She had ever only associated the word ‘lover’ with him. “No.” But she lowered her lashes, unable to face him.

  “You are lying!” He interpreted her bashfulness as insincerity, by the looks of it.

  He caught her arm and brought her even closer. Her eyes flew to his. “I am not!”

  A deriding side-smile drafted on that rugged face, his voice lowered. “You are a pleasure-loving creature.” His assessment appalled her; she was not a selfish person. “As a widow you must have your… urges.”

  Ire surged in her with such force the impetus to punch him on that elegant Latin nose of his became almost uncontrollable. She jerked her arm from his hold and stepped away. If he only knew her urges had never had a chance to be… quenched!

  “My urges are my own.” She sibilated with hot temper. “If I have a paramour or not is not your concern!”

  Those murky depths became a stormy hazel, his jaw pulsated, and she he fisted his hands by his side. “It is my business, too, if you dally in my estate.” His murmur carried fury.

  She held her stance even higher. “I will be sure to remember that, Your Grace!” His title came as a shard of ice. This time, when she opened the heavy door, he did not intercept her.

  Romulus stood in the middle of the solar with a strange sense of emptiness at her departing. The feminine smell of her, though, remained teasing his nostrils.

  He was going to thrash any man who dared to come near her! Romulus paced his solar, fuming. He did not even care that she dodged his questioning. But the idea she might have someone made his temper rise to exploding point. To hell if he had the right to do it or not!

  She became a woman in full possession of herself. He never thought she would bloom to this fiery and self-confident person he met here. Maybe, he should let her go, and be done with it. Her presence made him restless, edgy. Aroused. The idea of her leaving caused him even more vexation. Damn her!

  He must go do something or he would perish in madness. Wrestling would wear out his tensions, but he got no one to practice it with at the moment, his men of affairs all busy. So, he rang for the butler and told him to have his horse saddled. A ride would do him good.

  *

  After disentangling from the unnerving Duke’s questions, Annabel searched her coachman and found him in the stables. They found a deserted spot, and she talked to him.

  “Do you think you could saddle a mare for me this afternoon without raising suspicion, Branson?”

  The man took out his hat and scratched his head. “I can try, milady.”

  “Good, Branson. I need you to take it to the east outer gate.” Her bonnet shaded her face. She still kept the key she had stolen from the gardener.

  “Aye, milady.” He put on his hat back.

  “Also, I need directions to the house of a tenant called Burns. Check if Peter has it. I asked him for it.”

  “Very well. And, milady.” She turned to him as she started walking away. “Our carriage is nowhere to be seen. I heard the Duke had it taken to the village for mending, but I do not know where.”

  This would not do, she thought. They must have the carriage at the ready if they needed to flee of a sudden. “Then I will need you or Peter to go to the village and find out. Make sure you pay for the fixing and have it at hand.”

  Branson nodded, and she walked briskly to the keep.

  *

  From her window, she peered. Annabel waited for the Duke and Miller to set out on their horses. She had dressed a grey riding habit and would pretend a ride for revelry if things became, say, hectic. Even if she violated the unnerving man’s decree!

  Hurrying to the east gate, relief took her as she saw that Branson stood there with a splendid white mare, side-saddled. The coachman gave her the mare as she mounted by herself and obtained his information about that Burns tenant.

  The mare was a smart and pliable animal. Annabel kept her at a slow trot to allow distance between her and the Duke. She would find vital information in this meeting, for sure. He would not be so secretive of it if it was not so.

  As she rode through the field, contentment took her. She loved riding, mostly astride, true, but still… The temperature kept comfortable though the sky became overcast since luncheon. Blackthorne lands proved to be neatly cared for and productive. To the west, she knew, his lands met the Atlantic. She would like to ride there once to enjoy it.

  A rather easy task to spot Burn’s house, she dismounted and tied the mare a good distance from there and walked to the back of the place. No one stood outside, the windows and doors shut, she saw horses tied outside, including the Duke’s. She approached a window she deemed stood in the sitting area. The hushed murmurs proved her right.

  “I know you find it odd we are running this operation from here.” She overheard the Duke. “But it is less suspicious than if I was in London.” Murmurs of agreement followed.

  So, her superiors had been right, she thrilled and sharpened her ears even more.

  “I will need volunteers to travel to Saint Helena. It is imperative we reach it before they discover us.”

  Voices indicated a few of the men prompted to go. “Excellent.” His grave tone came again. “Next week, you are sailing from Port Quin with my ship, which is already docked there.”

  Port Quin being the most important in Cornwall.

  Extreme excitement invaded Annabel. This is what she came here for, the pinnacle of her mission! She needed to send word to London post haste.

  “Our man in the continent will instruct you on further plans.” The Duke completed. “If you have no questions, we need to go and prepare.”

  This also confirmed his treasonous activities, which left a stale taste of disappointment.

  Chairs scraping the floor told her the meeting finished. She hid behind a tree to see how many attended and report to London.

  Seven men left the house, including the Duke. Annabel waited until they had mounted and gained distance from the place. Quickly, she mounted her mare. She needed to be away from here as fast as possible.

  Out in the fields, she spotted the Duke not far ahead. She pulled the reins to open the distance, and the mare nickered quite loud, the sound carrying in the breeze. The Duke’s horse turned to her, and she had time to see his scowl before she turned and pressed the mare with her ankle to gallop.

  Darn his sharp ears! She allowed the mare full speed, his Arab black stallion’s hooves pounding the soil behind her. Now she rode at break neck haste, unsure where she headed. She kept on, the flat terrain not so difficult to manage.
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br />   If there was one damned thing that irritated the hell out of Romulus, it was a disobedient woman. More precisely, a disobedient Annabel! How on earth this hellish female succeeded in passing through his guards constituted a mystery he was not sure he wanted to uncover. She had only to smile to muddle his own common sense! Imagine the others…

  Her mare came from excellent breed, but would never be a match for his stallion, which made him close in on her. He remembered her being a first-class amazon, and she did not make it easy for him. From the direction she headed to, he calculated he would be able to corner her soon enough.

  Less trained than his stallion, the mare showed signs of tiring and did not gallop so fast now. Annabel kept checking her back and forged ahead, nonetheless.

  Minutes passed and Romulus sighted the cliff. She saw it, too, no doubt. Now he would grab her annoyingly defiant person and drag her to the castle. By the hair if need be.

  Down the cliff, the ocean battled the rocks with furious waves, the sound resonating in the air. The sea blew a strong wind to land.

  She halted the mare, turned it to him and dismounted. Not one to shy away from confrontation, was she? Livid, he also dismounted and marched to her. His hat gone, his dark brown hair free.

  “I ordered you to stay in the castle.” He rumbled rough. “You are to obey me!”

  Her resplendent eyes shone rebellious on him. “I will not obey you. Ever!” She threw fearless. The woman could be tempting in whatever mood she exhibited. And her stunts were carrying him to a state of unhinged arousal.

  “Oh, but you will.” He devolved, nearing her. Her skirts flew with the wind, the same wind ripped her bonnet from her head, making wisps of hair flutter around her perfect face. Her little upturned nose rose with her proud chin.

  She laughed. Laughed, the senseless chit! “Never!” Her back as straight as a warrior, she looked directly into his eyes. “If anything, I might do just the opposite of your edits!” She never cared for his sombre stance.

  He stanched mere inches from her. “Indeed?” He rumbled and laced her firmly by her slim waist, clashing their bodies. She gasped while he lowered his head to her. “Then, do not moisten your lips.” He commanded.

  Her gaze fell to his mouth, and she moistened her lips. The opposite of what he ordered.

  “Do not sigh.” He licked her lower lip.

  She sighed.

  He nibbled her bee-stung delicacy. “Do not close your eyes.”

  Her lashes already fluttered down on her flawless cheeks.

  His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “Do not even think of opening for me.” he murmured in the end of his own forces.

  But she did more than that, her arms snaked up his thick neck to merge in his sleek hair and pull him down to her.

  Talk about disobedient.

  He was lost!

  She did not resist when his tongue plunged in her, thirsty and ardent. On the contrary, she received him, licked him. Caused his perdition.

  And he did not care anymore.

  He deepened their kiss, tasting the sweetness of her, inhaling the femininity of her. Feeling the softness of her. His muscled arm held her tighter, they touched everywhere. His other hand closed around her nape, revelling in the satiny skin there.

  Annabel lost all sense of property. If she ever had any around him. His scent mixed clove, horse and man, his velvety hair all around her fingers, his stubble teasing her mouth. She moaned.

  She forgot who she was. Forgot who he was, what he was, the kiss chasing everything from her head.

  His powerful body so enticing against hers, she kissed him greedy, as if this was the last one on the planet. The ridge of him imprinted on her, never forgotten and so much missed! This threw her body in such urgency, she climbed up on her toes to reach for more.

  It was his turn to groan.

  She opened even wider to him, mindless, her whole being going up in flames as he bent her back and turned his head to plunder her mouth with shameless concupiscence. Everything melted in her.

  A falcon roving high up in the sky, oversaw a man and a woman entangled in each other. His hair billowing in her hands, her skirts flagging behind her, one of his legs finding room between hers. They kissed with an eternal endeavour as the falcon circled over them repeatedly, making their image spin round and round.

  They came up for air, both breathing raggedly. She looked up to his eyes, not caring she lost their banter. He stared down at her stern as if he was the one defeated. His arms loosened her slowly as his hands spanned her waist, sliding from her inch by reluctant inch.

  “You will mount that horse right away.” He rasped hoarse, his mouth almost glued down on hers, his breath teasing her skin. “Go back to the castle.” His elegant nose rubbed hers indolent. “And if you leave the walls again, I will lock you in your room.” The threat so silky it sounded more like a promise. A promise of endless delights.

  She could not find her voice for the life of her. And he did not give her the opportunity, for his strong hands caught her middle and lifted her to the mare that had been grazing nearby. On her side-saddle, she guided her mount to the castle, closely followed by the unnerving man on his stallion.

  He did not pretend this to be a ride for amusement by making small conversation. He rode in his usual brooding manner and left her alone with her thoughts. Scattered and confusing as they came. At least, he did not realise what she had been up to, or so she hoped.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Self-disgust invaded Annabel, as she hurried to her room and closed the door. How could she have succumbed to his allure that easy? A traitor to king and country! Her hands covered her face. She had the proof today! There must be no shadow of doubt as to what happened in this castle, his machinations, his sly plans. It did not surprise her that much either. Half-French, his loyalties must be divided. But this did not excuse him, did it? He fought Napoleon on the British side. A commission paid by his father; alright, one forced down on him, by the way. His Dukedom on the highest ranks of English society, he did not have the right to play this worm-like game.

  And then came that kiss! She rubbed her forehead, pacing the carpet. No man tempted her since Charles’ death by a fever. Not one ever enticed her, except for him. In the past. She repeated her mistake in the present as well. Only the present constituted the worst of foolishness. She would have to be stupid to consort with such a man. She should find a way to escape this castle and ride back to London, report on her findings and move on to the next assignment. The office would discern how to deal with the Duke.

  She would do that. She must plan with elaborate thoroughness, or the unnerving man would track her and bring her back. He showed his tenacious trait these last days.

  When her husband died after four years of sterile marriage, she had been at a loss what to do. Without an heir, her title was honorific at best. His will gave her a considerable allowance and a house in London as per the marriage agreement. Her brother-in-law and his wife undertook the earldom. Newly married, a baby would not take long to come.

  Through hear say, she came to know of a network of government collaborators, men and women, who worked for the country. With the detailed information, she applied a year after Charles passed, to respect a modicum of mourning period. She ploughed through eighteen months of training, physical skills, lead gathering techniques, courses in politics, economics and diplomacy. Not that they treated women with any equality or even trusted them to deliver. But they needed them because nobody ever suspected them for being in service, which made them virtually invisible. This afforded her a sense of purpose she seldom owned in her life, making it less hollow and more focused. She did not regret it, quite the contrary. Her mission in Castle Blackthorne had to be the most important so far after she accomplished with success previous tasks in varied degrees of complexity. She would also complete this one with flying colours if this afternoon was anything to go by.

  Putting a stop to her musings, she sat at her escritoire to
write an extended letter to London. She would ask Peter to take it to the village to mail in on the morrow, since today everything would already be closed, the hour turning late afternoon. Better, still, she would send the footman to London to have it delivered in person. The information possessed too much importance to leave it to the mail coach. The man should hire a cart and coachman and ride straight to town. Yes, better.

  *

  He must put a man to follow her, Romulus cogitated, as he descended the stairs to the bowels of the castle. He found her exceedingly close to Burns’ today. Too much of a coincidence to let it to chance. He did not know what she was up to, but it did not bode well. Nothing could thwart his plans. This duty attached vital consequences to it. Essential that nothing, absolutely nothing, got in the way.

  Passing through a long gallery that had once been the armoury and now he used to practice fencing and wrestling, he walked in search of the cellar. It still held the old weaponry hanging on walls and armours standing on corners.

  Why he did not act fiercer and try to extract her designs from her, he did not reckon. That hellish kiss must have addled his senses. The chaste kisses they exchanged in the past did not hold the palest resemblance to this one. This had been pure volcano waiting to go up in the air with a resounding explosion. He just got lost in it, but he could not allow her to use seduction to divert him from his tasks. Even if he started the deflagration, and she fuelled it in the most maddening way.

  He wanted more.

  He wanted her.

  That was an asinine idea.

  Thoughts forced into dispelling, he entered a long passageway. In recent years, his father used one of the dungeons as a cellar, since the kitchens did not have one. The old Duke restored the dungeons, keeping their original features; and servants often cleaned them. They still displayed their peep-hole iron doors, wide open, and inside they exhibited chains hammered to the stone. One would travel in time down here and feel like the Norman invaders. Or the poor Britons! Who knew?