Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  Table of Contents

  Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

  CHAPTER 1. The Forbidden Man

  CHAPTER 2. Cat and Mouse

  CHAPTER 3. Intruder Unmasked

  CHAPTER 4. In the Dark

  CHAPTER 5. Bonfire Night

  CHAPTER 6. Drawn In

  CHAPTER 7. Traveling Companions

  CHAPTER 8. Owlswick

  CHAPTER 9. All the Dark Corners

  CHAPTER 10. Ghosts

  CHAPTER 11. A Change of Plans

  CHAPTER 12. First Snow

  CHAPTER 13. Destined

  CHAPTER 14. Origins

  CHAPTER 15. The Past Catches Up

  CHAPTER 16. Angels & Demons

  CHAPTER 17. Coming Home

  CHAPTER 18. Wild at Heart

  CHAPTER 19. Blood Ties

  CHAPTER 20. The Duke’s Revenge

  CHAPTER 21. Unleashed

  EPILOGUE: Snowfall

  Author Note

  FREE Gaelen Foley Starter Library

  Visit other story worlds by Gaelen Foley

  About the Author

  Also by Gaelen Foley

  Copyright

  MOONLIGHT SQUARE, BOOK 2

  DUKE OF SECRETS

  Gaelen Foley

  CHAPTER 1

  The Forbidden Man

  A single moonbeam, ghostly and pale, slanted through her window, piercing the blue-black darkness of her chamber to illuminate the clock face. Quarter till midnight, it read.

  Almost time to go.

  Lady Serena Parker sat tensely on the edge of her bed, waiting. No sound but the mantel clock’s steady tick-tock filled the heavy stillness in her room. Her pulse, however, beat at a quicker pace, considering her illicit intentions.

  Dry-mouthed, she took a sip of tangy white wine to settle her nerves, then rechecked the lacings of her half-boots.

  All the while, the large, fluffy family cat perched on the windowsill, posted as her lookout. Wesley’s striped tail twitched as he peered out through the glass.

  But even with the feline’s keen night vision, not even the tabby could see the duke’s corner mansion on the opposite side of Moonlight Square from the bedroom window.

  The autumn leaves still clinging to the plane trees in the garden park blocked the view of Rivenwood House, as Serena herself had confirmed, many times.

  Now and then, her family’s London townhouse creaked around her in the autumn wind gusts of this chill October eve.

  But inside her room, it still smelled of summer, thanks to the flowers sent by suitors who had only grown more ardent now that she was no longer seen in the company of her unlikely former favorite, the bookish Lord Tobias Guilfoyle.

  The thought of her quirky ex-beau gave her a pang; Serena took another shaky sip of wine.

  Alas, Toby had proved a coward, caving in to his parents’ disapproval of their match after certain revelations had emerged.

  As for the rest of her suitors, they were all the same. They bored her. Toby might’ve been quirky and rather hapless, the dear, rumpled thing, but at least he was an interesting person.

  Anyway, larger matters than marriage obsessed her now. How could she take the slightest interest in love when her entire world had been turned upside down by the awful things Toby had uncovered about her family while researching information for his book?

  She needed answers—by God, she deserved them—and that was why she was fully dressed and prepared to leave the house as midnight approached.

  On the face of it, she knew her plan this night was rather mad, but she had suffered in darkness and ignorance long enough. Her mother’s cruel, heartless, stubborn refusal to divulge basic truths about Serena’s origins left her no choice but to seek the answers on her own.

  The clock bonged once, nearly making her jump.

  Quarter to twelve now. She got up restlessly and paced over to join Wesley by the window.

  Glancing out, she watched the moon-silvered treetops half stripped of leaves sway and toss in the wind, but they still blocked her view of Rivenwood House on the opposite corner of the square.

  Drumming her fingers silently on the white window sash, Serena supposed she was nervous but not afraid. On the contrary, she felt sharply focused, maybe even a little excited at the prospect of the night’s dubious adventure. Eager to go.

  She just wanted to make sure she gave the revelers at the duke’s mansion enough time to throng into the party and have a few drinks.

  Midnight should be late enough, she trusted, considering all London had been waiting for this night with bated breath.

  It was the first time the intensely mysterious Azrael Chambers, Duke of Rivenwood, had ever opened up his house to Society.

  Given the reclusive, pale-haired nobleman’s peculiar mystique and his family’s dark, almost spooky reputation, reportedly counting among their ancestors the infamous John Dee, occult master and court astrologer to Good Queen Bess, it was no surprise—to her, at least—that with Hallowe’en approaching, His Grace had chosen to summon the ton to a masquerade ball.

  Serena, too, had received one of the coveted invitations.

  No doubt the enigmatic loner had only sent it to mock her, however, considering the cat-and-mouse game they had played for the past few months, without even having a proper introduction.

  They were neighbors in Moonlight Square, of course, but they’d never met properly, for he was a man who famously kept to himself, and—more importantly—her mother had always forbidden her to talk to him.

  Until recently, Serena couldn’t fathom why. She knew her parents were acquainted with him somehow, for she had a faint childhood memory of the young duke visiting their country house in Buckinghamshire once, some thirteen years ago.

  He could not have been any older than twenty-one, the same age she was now, having just attained his majority.

  Why he’d come, she did not know, but he’d left again in less than half an hour and never returned.

  She remembered the day well, not only because he’d made quite an impression on her eight-year-old imagination, but also because she’d found her mother crying after he was gone.

  An affectionate child, she’d run over and hugged the countess, asking what was wrong, but Mama had said it was all right—she was crying because she was happy.

  None of it made any sense.

  Serena knew it was all tied together, though, and was determined to get to the bottom of it tonight.

  Yet…what His Grace must think of her after all the times he had caught her staring at him over the past few months, she shuddered to wonder. He must find her very strange, indeed—though that was the pot calling the kettle black, eccentric as he was.

  She couldn’t help it. She had become slightly obsessed with the man, now about thirty-four, and it wasn’t just because of his wary, elusive magnetism, or the beautiful bone structure of his sharp-angled, high-cheek-boned face. Or his ice-blue, almost silvery eyes. Or his sensitive, unsmiling mouth. Or his elegant, understated way of moving.

  Though she had certainly noticed all these, watching him so closely.

  Indeed, he had a fascinating, otherworldly appeal, but it was not romantic interest that drove her.

  It was the knowledge, finally divulged by her old childhood nurse, that the current Duke of Rivenwood alone might possess the answers to all her burning questions.

  And so, for months now, Serena had stood back in a state of uncertainty, continually weighing in her mind whether it was worth the risk to try to approach the intimidating stranger and ask him outright what he knew about these dark family secrets.

  Secrets that her parents, the Earl an
d Countess of Dunhaven, had once shared, it seemed, with his father, the previous Duke of Rivenwood.

  Ultimately, Serena had decided against trying to involve her intriguing neighbor for a variety of reasons. First, she was not supposed to talk to that man, ever.

  Of course, after Mama had proved such a liar and a fraud, Serena no longer felt entirely bound to obey, but there were other reasons, too.

  For example, secondly, in order simply to explain the context of her questions, she’d have to confide in His Grace about some very embarrassing truths, and there was no telling how he would react.

  She did not want her secrets used against her or, worse, exposed to all the world.

  But thirdly, and most worrisome of all, the dreadful rumors that Toby had accidently uncovered in his research concerned not just Serena’s parents, but Azrael’s, too.

  And therein lay the rub.

  Everybody knew that Azrael had witnessed his father’s murder as a boy.

  The previous Duke of Rivenwood had been stabbed to death by a homeless vagrant whom father and son had caught poaching in the woods at one of their estates when they had gone out walking together.

  Indeed, it was widely thought this tragic incident explained why the son had grown up so strange and withdrawn, preferring the company of animals to people.

  The whole ton knew, moreover, that the topic of his father’s death was taboo with the present duke; one mentioned it in front of him at one’s own peril.

  And since this was precisely the subject Serena would need to broach with him to get the answers she craved, she had no idea how to surmount this obstacle.

  It didn’t seem worth it to go opening up that particular Pandora’s box. God only knew what it might get her.

  Her old childhood nurse had made it very clear, after all, that while the Rivenwood men might look like beautiful fallen angels, shining and pale, they could be extremely dangerous.

  “Even your mother was afraid of his sire,” old Mrs. Hopkins had warned—and that was saying something, for the haughty Mariah, Lady Dunhaven, wasn’t afraid of much.

  Her Ladyship knew well that her striking beauty gave her great power in the world—even more so when she had been Serena’s age.

  Back then, she could have anyone or anything she wanted, and had apparently been wild enough to indulge in that privilege as she pleased.

  Of course, now the reformed countess spent most days with her head buried in her Bible, but back then, well, Serena now knew, thanks to Toby, that Mama had been a hellion.

  And whatever unpleasant pursuits she’d been involved in, the previous Duke of Rivenwood had been the ringleader.

  Which was why Mrs. Hopkins’ ominous words still rang in Serena’s ears: “Stay away from that one, milady. He’s likely just as bad as his father, the wicked heir to an evil family.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” Serena had nearly replied.

  But if the current Rivenwood was as evil as the last one was reputed to have been, then she was wise to hesitate about approaching him.

  So for five months now, she’d hung back, growing more desperate by the day.

  And then, suddenly, out of the blue, the invitation to his masquerade ball had arrived.

  She’d been elated. Here was the perfect opportunity to get inside his house and have a discreet look around, maybe even find a few clues that might lead to the answers she craved without having to speak to him directly.

  Instead of simply accepting the invitation, therefore, she had seized upon a more devious strategy and sent back her regrets. She had a simple ruse in mind that would allow her to move about in that enemy territory much more freely.

  Oh, she’d be there, all right—she just didn’t want him to know that. Since everyone would be in costume, she figured she had an excellent chance of getting away with it, too. It was a risky plan, but perhaps she had a dash of her mother’s youthful wickedness in her…

  Wesley, meanwhile, was watching her intently.

  She bent down to whisper, “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

  The cat responded with a meow.

  “Shh, you’ll wake Cousin Tamsin.” She petted the tabby’s head, and he purred before she prowled away again.

  It was now five minutes to the hour. Serena glanced down at herself, considering any last-minute wardrobe changes, but no.

  She had selected her clothing carefully for this mission, donning the plainest beige walking dress she could scrounge out of her wardrobe. She had purposely chosen something that would allow ease of movement, plus help her blend in.

  The latter wasn’t easy, considering her taste for bold colors and jewel tones. Demure whites and pastels were deemed more suitable for unmarried young ladies, but with her wavy black hair, pale skin, and brownish, olive-green eyes, just like Mama’s, those sweet, limpid shades made her look like a sickly ghost.

  Admittedly, she was vain enough to refuse to wear what did not look well on her. She was especially fond of red. But to Mama’s amusement, Serena merely snapped her fingers at those who disapproved—like Toby’s dam.

  Ah well, her mother had always let her get away with everything.

  Now at least Serena knew why.

  At last, the mantel clock began to sigh out its soft chimes, though not loudly enough to wake her timid chaperone.

  Mousy Cousin Tamsin was their spinster kinswoman on her mother’s side. She had remained in Town with Serena on Mama’s orders after Parliament’s closing and the end of the Season, when the rest of the family had migrated to the country, as usual, to spend the autumn and winter at Dunhaven Manor.

  Presently, Cousin Tamsin was fast asleep in her chamber down the hallway.

  Serena’s heart skipped a beat as she stalked over silently to her dressing table. Just for a moment, she stared at her reflection in the moonlit mirror.

  Are you sure you want to do this?

  It was brazen, reckless, sneaking into a ball hosted by a man of dubious reputation—a man she suspected was as keenly aware of her as she was of him.

  But she had no choice. After all these months, the need to know the truth about her family and own origins was driving her quite mad.

  And so with that, she lifted the waiting half-mask of beaded black satin and lace from her dressing table, fitted it over the upper half of her face, and, with trembling fingers, tied the ribbons behind her head.

  Next, she swept the black velvet domino around her shoulders, fastening the large button loop between her collarbones. With the cloak secured, she lifted the hood and draped it over her head.

  Hmm. She gazed at her reflection, transformed into some sort of mysterious lady of shadows.

  Well, it would’ve been a dreadfully dull costume if she were attending this masked ball in earnest, she thought, but since her sole intention was to blend in and avoid being noticed, the disguise suited her task perfectly.

  She paused to toss back the rest of the wine in her glass, needing its liquid courage for what she was attempting. She reminded herself that she did not intend to engage His Grace of Rivenwood tonight—or anyone else, for that matter.

  No one would even know she was there. She just wanted to slip in, have a discreet look around inside the Rivenwoods’ secretive abode, and finally, perhaps, seize upon some clue that would lead her toward the truth, or at least point her in the right direction about what her parents had got up to in their youth in his father’s fast-living set.

  Serena set the empty wineglass on her dressing table, noting the smudge on the rim from her rouged lips. She did not normally wear cosmetics, but tonight she had dusted her face with pearlescent powder and daubed her lips with scarlet stain, the better to disguise her identity.

  Satisfied with her eerie transformation, she decided it was time to go.

  “Goodbye, Wesley,” she whispered, bending to give the cat a scratch under the chin. “I won’t be long.”

  She pivoted, her cloak swirling around her. Before leaving, she silently
retrieved her invitation to the masked ball from the top drawer.

  She slipped it into her pocket, just in case His Grace’s servants stopped her at the door.

  Certainly they would be surprised to see her, considering her negative RSVP, but if it came to it, she would simply give them her blithest Society-belle smile, giggle, and say she’d changed her mind.

  She wondered if the duke would gloat if that happened—but it wouldn’t, she vowed, marching over to the door of her chamber, her pulse racing, her step resolute.

  She sidled out into the hallway, then glided down the staircase, meeting no one on the way.

  The servants were all abed by now, and with her parents and two blockhead younger brothers gone to the country, the rest of the house was empty.

  Stealing back toward the kitchens, it was an easy matter to slip out of the townhouse through the rear door. She pulled it closed with a soft click behind her, and finally exhaled.

  At once, she pressed on. Striding swiftly through the garden, she exited through the gate without a sound, then hurried down the cobbled mews, smelled the stables as she passed.

  She turned a corner at the edge of the stone wall, and the night pooled, dark as ink, as she traversed the narrow passage between the buildings.

  Such darkness was a little unnerving—perhaps all the more so because of all Toby’s peasant legends about how “the Veil” thinned at this dead time of year, allowing spirits to roam the earth, culminating on All Hallows’ Eve. Ah, but he was the folklorist and she was the down-to-earth, sensible one, who’d always laughed at his fairy stories and superstitious tales, teasing him for his overactive imagination.

  A pang of missing her longtime suitor made her wince, for they had been great friends before they courted, but she mentally shoved it off. At least now she wouldn’t have to listen to Toby’s fey nonsense for the rest of her life, she thought with a huff as she hurried along.

  A few seconds later, she burst out onto Moonlight Square proper.

  Lanterns burned outside the stately rows of large, elegant terrace houses, flickering over their tidy front doors and matching white pillared porticoes.