Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  “No.”

  “And why not?”

  “Well, you killed the fun of that with your failed acrobatics, didn’t you?” he retorted, and she snickered at the reminder of how she’d interrupted his tryst by nearly falling to her death.

  “Besides,” he added after a slight hesitation, “I don’t like…purchasing people.”

  “I see.” She nodded at him, her esteem of the eccentric duke climbing even higher at that, though the admission, or at least the topic, seemed to have embarrassed him.

  He gazed at her with a sardonic half-smile, looking intrigued at her boldness on this topic. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the word at my club is that the divine Miss Burns has now moved on to the Marquess of Rushford.”

  “What?” Serena lurched forward. “Are you jesting? Rushford has been paying court to me!”

  Now it was Azrael’s turn to laugh. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, love. But, really, how do you think she feels, having to lower herself to a mere marquess when she’d thought she’d snared herself another duke?”

  She shook her head at him. “You are bad.”

  He flashed a wily grin. “Just a bit cynical, is all.”

  “Well, I wish them happy,” she said with a huff. “But for what it’s worth, I think you should have another party. A regular one, without masks.”

  “Would you come if I did? Officially, I mean? No sneaking in the window. You’d send back a proper RSVP then actually show up?”

  “Of course I would.” She beamed at him, knowing she deserved the ribbing on that point. “If I am invited, after my scandalous behavior at the last one.”

  “Oh, you will be. How could I have a party and not invite my most agreeable neighbor? As long as you promise not to climb the trellis.”

  Moved by his gentle confession, she put her hand on her heart. “You have my word as a gentlewoman.”

  “Said the unchaperoned little kidnapper,” he murmured.

  She chuckled again, and they lapsed into companionable silence, chatting only now and then of idle things until the end of the second hour, when they stopped to let the horses take a break.

  CHAPTER 8

  Owlswick

  Azrael got out of the coach and made sure the place seemed suitable and not too crowded. He did not wish for either himself or Serena to be recognized. He had a look around while assisting Paulson in lining up a place where the horses could stand to rest their legs.

  When the innkeeper’s boy ran out into the yard to attend them, Azrael made sure that his animals would be watered and given a carrot or two. Then he returned to the coach and handed Serena down.

  Though she did not don her mantle, she had put on her bonnet again with the fetching plaid ribbon around it. Azrael found her inexpressibly adorable with the bow tied beneath her chin.

  “What is it?” she asked as he stood there smiling doltishly at her again.

  “Nothing. Shall we?” He gestured toward the quaint stone inn that awaited them.

  She eyed him with playful suspicion, but took his arm, and they went toward the building. It felt good to get out into the fresh air and stretch his legs.

  “Another two hours, eh?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Do you want a cup of tea or something to eat?”

  She shook her head. When they went into the galleried coaching inn, the few people inside turned and glanced at them—the landlord and a couple servants, several other travelers. Serena smiled at them, and Azrael had no doubt they all assumed the two of them were a married couple.

  It was increasingly difficult not to let his mind wander down the path of what it would have been like if this beautiful, vibrant young woman were indeed his wife. What it would’ve been like to share a bed with her every night…

  He supposed that would have made him the envy of male London, and more enemies was the last thing he needed. So he told himself.

  They parted ways briefly to avail themselves of the water closets, but as soon as the horses had had a break, they were back on the road and, once more, off came the bonnet.

  All her little feminine fussings and pattings of her millinery entertained Azrael to no end. Watching her was far better, anyway, than contemplating what awaited him when they reached their destination.

  Instead, he let Serena distract them both from their boredom with one of those ridiculous guessing games that people played on Twelfth Night. Normal people, anyway. The game had hardly been part of his family’s holiday routine.

  Soon they were laughing as they tried to get each other to guess the identities of the characters they’d chosen. But when Serena quickly stifled another yawn, Azrael arched a brow.

  “Am I boring you?” he asked.

  “No! Of course not.” She smacked him lightly on the arm. “I had a dreadful night’s sleep, is all.”

  So did I. He flicked away an image from his hideous nightmares like a fly. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable if you wish.”

  She glanced around at the coach. “Hmm. Maybe I shall.”

  He watched her in curious amusement as she tried to fit herself this way and that on the opposite bench. She finally gave up and crossed the carriage to plop down beside him instead.

  Without so much as a by-your-leave, she leaned against him, resting her head upon his shoulder.

  “Ah, that’s better,” she declared, snuggling against him, and Azrael had to agree.

  Her warm, soft body felt wonderful beside him. He could feel the aura of happiness around her, and it amazed him to think that he could have that effect on the girl. Her hair smelled like honey and flowers.

  Soon he put his arm around her to give her a more comfortable resting spot, and they both propped their feet up on the bench across from them. Their guessing game trailed off, and they relaxed together in silence for a while.

  Azrael rested his head atop hers, but he should’ve known that the devious little wheels in her mind were still spinning.

  “May I ask you question?” she murmured after a while.

  “Aha. As if I have a choice.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too frightening.” She glanced up at him and saw his sardonic smile. “I was just wondering what it was like for you, growing up under the administration of a bunch of trustees. What was it like having this Lord Stiver fellow as your guardian?”

  “Awful,” he said.

  She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked at him with concern. “Why? Was he cruel to you?”

  Azrael was quiet for a moment. “Not compared to my father.”

  She winced with compassion, but he did not want that turning into pity, so he turned her questions right back on her. “What was it like for you growing up with the infamous temptress Lady Dunhaven for a mum? Did ol’ Dunny ever mistreat you, suspecting a cuckoo in the nest?”

  “No, never. He doesn’t know. Besides, he has his two boys, who are the spitting image of him, but I was always his little girl.” She shrugged. “Of course, I bear no physical resemblance to the man, but I’ve always looked so much like Mama, that that was all anybody ever noticed.”

  “I see. But how did your mother treat you?” he asked. “Did she like you, or were you just a painful reminder of her wicked past?”

  “My mother would’ve spoiled me rotten if I’d let her,” she declared, then paused. “At least now I understand why. Having already lost one daughter, she was happy to give me whatever I wanted. But, Azrael, why did you say it was awful having Lord Stiver as your guardian?”

  “So persistent,” he whispered, tapping her on the nose with a fingertip and then pushing a lock of her sable hair behind her dainty ear.

  She searched his eyes earnestly. “You can tell me, can’t you? I would’ve thought anything would’ve been better than your sire.”

  “That is true. I told you, my father was an evil man.”

  She nodded.

  Azrael didn’t like the topic, but it seemed he shared Lady Dunhaven’s weakness f
or wanting to give this lovely creature anything she asked.

  Very well, he thought. It would be interesting, anyway, to gauge her reaction. He had never attempted to tell anyone about such things before.

  “Father put on a good show for outsiders, but everybody close to him lived in dread of the man.”

  “Why?”

  “Occasional fits of rage. Late hours, strange habits. Unpredictable whims. Mind games. And a standard of absolute obedience required.” He hesitated. “I had a calico cat once. He killed it when I stood up to him as a boy. He broke her neck right in front of me. Said if I ever crossed him, I’d be next. I think I was ten.”

  “Oh my God.” Serena lifted her fingers to her mouth and stared at him, the color draining from her face.

  “She’d had kittens,” he said. “I had to feed them with a tiny dropper to keep them alive. But they survived.”

  “He was a madman.”

  “Well, yes,” he said in a hollow tone. “I thought everybody knew that.”

  Serena seemed at a loss for words. “My nurse said so, but I…I thought it was just an exaggeration.”

  He considered this. “Perhaps you’ve never known anyone truly evil, then. Such people do exist.” He managed a slight laugh. “And some of them have children.”

  She breathed another stunned utterance, then lay back slowly against him. “What else?”

  He was silent for a long moment, fighting with himself. Fighting with the law of silence that had been drilled into him from an early age.

  He toyed with a lock of her silken hair, unable to fathom why he’d even told her that much. Let alone why he continued. “I wasn’t really allowed to have any friends,” he said. “Our cook had a son my age. I used to play with him when I was small. Ah, he was a merry little chap, Bobby—loud, brazen. Quite the troublemaker. He never seemed to get caught at his mischief. Unlike me.

  “I can’t remember what it was that we did wrong on that particular occasion. A lot of my childhood memories are not clear. As if my mind doesn’t wish me to recall them. But I believe we broke something, a vase or a lamp or some such.” He paused. “Father beat the cook’s boy for it to punish me. I didn’t want any friends after that.”

  Serena was quiet for a long moment. “What ever happened to him? The boy, I mean.”

  “I never heard. The cook left and took her family with her after that. Hardly blame her.”

  “Was there ever any inquiry into his beating?”

  “Are you jesting? Men like my father never face any consequences for what they do. They’re quite proud of that, actually.”

  She made a sound of disgust.

  He shook his head. “They chalked it up to discipline. I think my mother gave the cook some money to keep silent about the incident. Well, in all fairness, my father hardly invented the idea of a whipping boy. Having some lowborn companion stand in for the punishments earned by a highborn youth is a time-honored tradition among those of our class.”

  “Yes, I know. But it’s a barbaric old practice by any measure—and it’s usually a voluntary post, not forced upon the child.”

  Azrael conceded this with a grim nod.

  Serena was quiet for a moment, stroking his chest as she absorbed these things that he probably shouldn’t have told her. “So, Bobby went away after that,” she said. “What happened next for you?”

  “I certainly didn’t bother finding a new friend,” he said drily. “I’d learned my lesson. What was the point, when my companions would only be used as weapons against me? You cannot imagine how guilty I felt. I made my peace with being alone and just tried to stay out of my father’s way.”

  Serena glanced at him, her face solemn, her eyes misty with tears, then she hugged him without warning.

  Azrael liked her embrace a great deal, but he hated the thought that she was feeling sorry for him. So, after a judicious thirty seconds, he politely pushed her away. He was ever so good at pushing people away.

  “My nurse told me Mama was afraid of your father,” she said in a choked whisper. “Now at least I understand why.”

  “Everybody was.” Azrael poured all his willpower into keeping his tone of voice calm and even. “So,” he said with a smile of graveyard humor, “now you know what sort of blood flows in these veins. Rather unnerving to realize that about oneself, frankly.”

  “I know what you mean.” She gave him a grim nod.

  “I suppose you do.” He gathered himself. “You see, they wanted me to take my father’s place when I grew up. Be just like him, only worse. They wanted to mold me into a mighty Promethean leader—that’s what they call themselves, Prometheans,” he added, “but I’d have rather died.”

  “Please tell me Lord Stiver did not continue these monstrous cruelties to you after your father was killed.”

  “No, no. Not to me, anyway. Though I have always suspected he had my tutor killed. And…I understand he forced himself on a few of our maids,” he added faintly, still hating the helplessness he’d felt as a young boy, unable to protect the girls under his own roof.

  He thrust away a memory of hearing one of the chambermaids sobbing as she dusted the drawing room after a visit from Lord Stiver.

  “I, however, was handled with kid gloves. The little prince,” he added with a sneer, a razor’s edge in his tone. “I was the great one’s seed, after all. Stiver’s fondest wish was to turn me into a worthy successor to that fiend.” Azrael paused. “What a terrible disappointment I have been to them all.”

  Serena reached out and cupped his face tenderly in her hand.

  Unsure what she was about, he captured her wrist, ready to ward her off, because merely talking about this had him feeling cornered. But her soft fingers molded gently to his cheek, and the sense of threat receded.

  “I think you are the most remarkable person I have ever met for enduring all this,” she whispered. “How did you survive it?”

  “By deception, of course. That is the Promethean way.”

  She searched his eyes, waiting for him to elaborate.

  He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself. “I set out to convince all my father’s henchmen that I was broken by what I’d witnessed in those woods—my father’s death, I mean. It actually wasn’t too difficult to feign.” His lips twisted in a bitter half-smile. “I know that doesn’t sound terribly heroic or even very honorable, but I was outnumbered and…I was just a boy.”

  “Oh Azrael, I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward and kissed him, much to his surprise.

  As Serena pressed her warm, satiny lips to his, his love-starved soul absorbed her tenderness with throbbing need. He was overwhelmed, sensing her desire to kiss away all his hurt and isolation. To be the bridge he needed back to life.

  If only he could let her.

  But the consequences that could follow were simply too dire, the risk too great. Stiver could use her to pull him back in. And pull Serena in, too, for that matter, after her mother had gone to God-only-knew what lengths to free her from their dark heritage.

  Beyond the reach of their wickedness, Serena had had the luxury of growing up innocent. To drag her back into it now would be the lowest form of selfishness on his part. All because he wanted her? No. He wasn’t that craven. He couldn’t do that to her.

  It was true that he hungered for her more than he’d ever yearned for any woman, with a near-agonizing intensity. He savored her innocent kisses, but even as he held her, he knew this could not be.

  He had agreed to help her today, but after that, he had to stay away from her. He had no choice.

  If he gave in to his craving and made her his bride, the bastards would simply have to threaten her to get control of him again.

  And this time, they might finally succeed at making him the monster they’d always wanted him to be. To be sure, with such blood in his veins, he dared not assume that he’d be strong enough to fight the seduction of evil in all its dark power.

  No, he swore to himself. If evil men had arrange
d this match for evil purposes, then surely their love would prove as tainted and corrupt as the sullied ground of the Owlswick estates.

  Where, it seemed, they would shortly be arriving, for his driver called back just then that the village had come into sight ahead.

  Azrael ended the kiss with regret.

  He pulled back a few inches and gazed at his beautiful almost-bride, grateful for the interruption. He licked his lips, willed down his stirring arousal, and set her at arm’s length from him once more, though he offered her a taut, reassuring smile.

  “Thank you, Paulson,” he answered.

  It was time to focus on the task before them.

  As he took a deep breath, he wondered if she still wanted to know who her own Promethean father was after hearing about his.

  She released his hand, still staring at him, her lovely eyes wide and somber.

  Feeling acutely self-conscious at her tender scrutiny, Azrael directed her attention out the window. “Here’s the village, my lady. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”

  # # #

  “Oh…yes.” Serena dutifully turned and trained her stricken gaze out the carriage window, but she was dazed by his revelations. She did not know what she had expected Azrael to say when she had asked about his childhood, but it certainly wasn’t any of that.

  She had not expected to hear about violence or mind games.

  And given her own cosseted childhood, it had never occurred to her that the person who might’ve suffered most under the late duke’s tyranny should’ve been his own son.

  Staring unseeingly at the hodgepodge of gray stone buildings ahead, her heart broken for the boy he had once been, she still wasn’t sure which shocked her more—the horrible acts of cruelty he’d endured as an innocent child, or his casual demeanor about it all now.

  How could he, the person that all this had happened to, evince such calm while she was on the verge of tears after simply hearing about it?

  It was clear, though, that her sorrowful reaction was making him even more uncomfortable.