The Silent Duke

by Michaels, Jess

  “Plotting?” Baldwin repeated with a shake of his head. “Why would Josiah plot?”

  She shivered. “His father taught him hate. He taught him vengeance. He taught him entitlement. The last duke’s violent and cruel behavior didn’t just stop because you were removed from our home, Ewan. The man found a way to punish us all for various offenses.”

  Ewan blinked. He’d heard rumors and hints of his father’s bad behavior toward the “good” sons. He knew there was abuse. But he hadn’t really pictured what that would mean. How his brothers would be as changed and damaged by it as he had been. He’d come to see them all as a unit of terror, not as individuals.

  “You say he is plotting,” Matthew said evenly. “What exactly is Josiah determined to do?”

  She swallowed hard. “Josiah’s worst impulses are driven now, fueled by drink and lament and a yearning for what he feels was taken from him.”

  “And what does he want?” Ewan wrote, his frustration that she was dancing about the topic reflected in Matthew and Baldwin’s faces.

  She turned away briefly. “Your—your demise,” she whispered. “He has murdered you in his head a dozen times. I’ve heard him talk about it.”

  Matthew staggered back. “Josiah wants to kill Ewan?”

  “The title would pass to him then,” the duchess said with a nod. “All would be resolved as he felt it should have been years ago.”

  “You knew this and you said nothing until now?” Baldwin all but roared. “What kind of mother are you?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “I heard him talk about it, plan it with his brother, but I never thought he was serious. It was idle words, that’s all. Just idle and impotent rage.” She pushed past them into the room. “Until yesterday. He’s had spies in your midst, Ewan. For years they have reported your movements.”

  “Spies?” Smith interrupted, jolting forward. “From this house?”

  She shook her head. “No, Smith, you did a good job pushing out any servants who might have been loyal to my husband’s ideals. He has other sources. That doesn’t matter right now. One of those sources wrote to Josiah, saying that Lady Portsmith was visiting.”

  Ewan jolted as Charlotte’s name was brought into what sounded like a very dangerous and deadly story.

  His mother kept talking. “He told your brother that you and Charlotte had been alone together on the estate for several days. And later when he saw you together, this person suspected a connection between you that went deeper than a mere friendship. The very notion that it could be true drove Josiah wild.”

  “What does that mean?” Ewan scribbled.

  “He destroyed his rooms, he beat his valet, his rage was…” She cringed. “It was horrifying, darker even than your father’s worst days. It became clear that his plans to do you harm were no longer just fantasies in his mind.”

  “But why would Charlotte and any relationship Ewan might have with her drive Josiah this way?” Matthew asked.

  “Heirs,” she whispered. “If Ewan were to marry and produce an heir, then that would become the line of the title. It would veer away from Josiah forever.”

  Ewan staggered and took a long step away from his mother. As if distancing himself could make this horrible thing she was saying go away.

  “So his plans, which were up until that point only vague, had to sharpen to a point before it was too late.” His hands shook as he wrote those words.

  She nodded. “Yes. He insisted we all make the journey here, holiday or no. He had to see for himself, and if he felt the rumor was true, decide what to do about it.”

  “That’s what he meant when he said he’d seen enough earlier today,” Baldwin mused. “He saw the connection between you and Charlotte with his own eyes. He felt it confirmed what he’d been told.”

  “All the way back to town, he railed about what he was going to do. How he would destroy your world.” The duchess covered her face with her hands. “Destroy you. I know I have not been a mother to you, Ewan. I had no idea how to be. But the idea that he would strike you dead…” She drew her fingers away and stared at him. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

  He turned away, pacing to the window. The full truth of her words washed over him, and his stomach turned. So this is where they’d come to. What his father’s hate had born and bred into men he should have called brothers. Now at least one of them wanted him dead.

  “He’ll come for me, then,” he wrote, handing the notebook to Matthew to read out to the Duchess of Donburrow.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know. I assume so. He went off to that horrid Mr. Griffin as soon as he left me at the inn, with Roger trailing along behind him.”

  “Mr. Griffin?” Smith interrupted from the door. “The—the shopkeep in the village?”

  The duchess pursed her lips in his direction, like she was annoyed he had interrupted her little tale. “Yes,” she said, her tone snippy and short. “Griffin is Josiah’s spy.”

  To Ewan’s surprise, the color left Smith’s face and he staggered, reaching out to support himself on the doorjamb.

  “What is it?” Matthew asked, moving toward the butler. “Why does that mean something to you?”

  Smith swallowed. “Your Grace, Lady Portsmith and her mother departed for town almost an hour ago. She had—she had an item to pick up, she said. From Mr. Griffin’s shop.”

  Charlotte stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother to come down beside her. With a smile, she looked around the village of Donburrow. Her mother had been right that getting off the estate was the right decision. A little distance made her more certain than ever in what she planned to do for Ewan tonight. What she planned to say.

  She just needed the silver notebook to start her journey.

  “Griffin’s Emporium,” her mother read with a shake of her head. “Gracious, he does think highly of himself.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He is the most dreadful man,” she whispered as they linked arms and headed toward the shop. “You have no idea, Mama. Ewan told me things that had I known, I never would have bought a single thing from the man.”

  They entered the shop together, causing the little bell on the door to jangle in announcing their arrival. Charlotte looked around, surprised that the shop was empty. Of course, it was the holiday.

  “He does have some nice things, though,” her mother said, parting from her side and moving to look at a bonnet behind the window display.

  As she did so, Griffin appeared from the back of the shop. When he approached, Charlotte noted that he seemed very pale. And as he looked at her, she found that the very confident and smarmy expression he had shown her the previous day seemed gone. He appeared anxious as he moved to the counter.

  “Lady Portsmith,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve come for your item, I assume.”

  She nodded. “I have, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry it could not be delivered as we originally discussed.”

  He shifted his weight. “Er, yes. I am sorry about that, myself. My normal boy refused to work on the holiday, and some things came up that could not be foreseen.”

  “Well, it matters not,” she said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I didn’t mind the ride to town and my mother wished to peruse your merchandise.”

  Griffin jerked his gaze in the duchess’s direction and paled even more. “Oh, I did not realize you came with another person. Of course you are welcome here, my lady.”

  “Your Grace,” Charlotte corrected, taking a high and mighty tone she very rarely employed. No one deserved it more than this snake. “My mother is the Duchess of Sheffield.”

  Griffin seemed to sway on his feet ever so slightly and he muttered something beneath his breath, but then he steadied himself. “You are most welcome, Your Grace,” he called out.

  Her mother waved a hand in acknowledgment from across the store and Charlotte cleared her throat. “Now, about my item?”

  He glanced
again at Charlotte’s mother, then said, “It is in the back. Will you come with me to inspect it?”

  Charlotte wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Come in the back?” she repeated.

  She didn’t think she’d gone into the back of a store before, not unless it was a dressmaker’s and she was to be measured there rather than in the comfort of her own home.

  He nodded. “My engraving tools are there, you see. If you want to add anything beyond what you requested, it will be easier to do it there.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose that makes sense. Mama, I am going to accompany Mr. Griffin to the back. I shouldn’t be but a moment.”

  Her mother smiled up at her. “Very well, my dear. Take your time, I’m enjoying Mr. Griffin’s selection of books.”

  Mr. Griffin tossed the duchess a tight smile and then motioned Charlotte toward the back of his store. She followed him through a small room in the back and down a dark, dusty hallway. She hesitated a fraction, for this entire endeavor seemed very…odd.

  “Just a bit farther,” he said, smiling at her like he could read her anxiety. “Through this door.”

  He motioned to a door on the far end of the hallway. She followed him as he opened it and led her into a small room. It was obviously a storeroom of some kind, dark and dingy, not the kind of place where it seemed one would do intricate engraving.

  “What is this about?” Charlotte asked, edging back toward the door.

  Mr. Griffin didn’t answer, but smiled at her nervously. Her heart leapt and she swung around to exit the room, but found the two of them were not alone. Standing at the door behind her, closing it and locking her in, was Josiah, Ewan’s brother. And he had an expression on his face that was exactly the same hate and animus she had seen him point toward Ewan. Now it was hers, and it was terrifying.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, hating how her voice cracked.

  He ignored her and glared at Griffin. “Why is it just her? Where the hell is my brother?”

  Griffin shrugged. “I assumed they would come together when I sent the message you asked for earlier. But it’s just her…and her mother.”

  “Mama!” Charlotte screamed, rushing for the door.

  Josiah rolled his eyes and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her backward into the room as he clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, but he was big—not as big as Ewan, but far bigger and stronger than she was.

  “Shut your mouth,” he growled. “We’re far enough back in the shop that your mother isn’t going to hear you. So shut up.”

  She glared at him over the hand over her mouth and he glared right back.

  “This is a pickle, my lord,” Mr. Griffin said, worrying his hands. “What about the duchess?”

  “This is all going to be complicated,” Josiah agreed. “I don’t need a dead duchess on my hands with everything else. But how to get rid of her?”

  Charlotte began to struggle as his words sank in. Dead. Complicated. He was going to hurt her. He wanted to hurt Ewan.

  And if she wasn’t careful, her mother too.

  “I said stop!” Josiah growled, grabbing her hair and yanking until her head angled back painfully. “Or I’ll snap you in half right now.”

  She stopped struggling as she stared up into his twisted, ugly countenance. She had no idea how he’d become this way. She didn’t want to know. She just wanted to live.

  She took a few long breaths and said against his fingers, “I won’t shout.”

  He glared at her as he lowered his hand. “You’d better not.”

  “You don’t have to…hurt my mother,” she whispered, trying not to cry. She thought a man like this might like those tears. They might make him even more wild and driven to take what he wanted.

  “Don’t make me,” Josiah said, his grip tightening on her arm painfully. “Now let me think.”

  She swallowed and looked at Mr. Griffin. She knew there were daggers in her eyes. He saw them too, and shifted. “Is there a back entrance, you craven bastard?”

  He flinched at her slur and Josiah actually laughed. “You have fire. No wonder the idiot likes you.”

  “Yes,” Griffin said, turning his face. “Just on the right in the hallway is an entrance where I take deliveries.”

  She nodded and turned her attention back to Josiah. “We could leave through there. You don’t want to do anything in the shop at any rate, do you?”

  “No!” Griffin said. “Please don’t.”

  Josiah worried his lip. “Fine. I’ll go around and have my carriage brought to the back entrance.”

  He shoved Charlotte into a chair with enough force that her teeth clanged together, and then reached into his pocket and retrieved a pistol. She watched, horrified, as he turned it over to Griffin.

  “Point it at her head,” he instructed. “And if she tries to run, put a bullet in it.”

  Griffin took the weapon, his hands shaking, and leveled it on Charlotte as Josiah rushed out of the room. When they were alone, Charlotte focused entirely on Griffin.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said softly.

  He shifted and she winced, for he was shaking so hard she feared he would shoot her accidentally. “When he’s duke…he’s made promises,” he said.

  “Do you really think he’s going to be duke?” she asked, shooting a glance at the door as she wondered at how much time they had left. “He’s driven by revenge and greed, Mr. Griffin. He’s wild and has no good plan.”

  Griffin seemed to consider that. “But I’m already in it, my lady.”

  “He might kill me,” she said. “And it will all come out. You can be a villain in the piece and fall with this man. Or you could be a hero. It’s not too late to help.”

  He stared at the door for a beat, two beats, and she held her breath.

  “How?” he said softly, and her heart leapt as she began to offer him a way out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ewan burst through the door of Griffin’s Emporium, Matthew and Baldwin at his heels, and scanned the shop for Charlotte. She was nowhere to be found, but the Duchess of Sheffield was there, standing at the front of the shop, arguing with the owner.

  “You make no sense, Mr. Griffin,” she said, fisting her hands at her sides. “I have been waiting for three-quarters of an hour!”

  Ewan charged forward, pushing aside displays as he did so. Griffin’s eyes went wide and he staggered back flat against the shelves behind the counter. The duchess turned, and she jolted at the sight of her son, Matthew and Ewan.

  “What is going on?” she asked.

  Ewan ignored her, tearing the notebook from his pocked. On it he wrote, “Where is Charlotte?”

  He threw the pad at Griffin, who stammered as he read it. “Your Grace, Your Grace…”

  “Where is my sister?” Baldwin repeated, his voice shaking the shop.

  “That is what I’ve been asking!” the duchess said. “They left me almost forty-five minutes ago, to check on a gift. Then this man returned without Charlotte. He’s been trying to tell me she left from the back to do other errands, which is patently ridiculous.”

  Griffin lifted his hands, now surrounded by three dukes whose rage was very obvious. “I—he made me, Your Grace. He forced me.”

  Ewan nearly buckled. He’d had hope that his mother was wrong about Josiah’s wild rage. That when he rode into town he’d find Charlotte and her mother peacefully shopping. That she would be confused when he strode up to her and embraced her, when he vowed never to ever let her go again.

  But now it was clear from Griffin’s face that all his worst nightmares were real.

  “Josiah took her,” Matthew said, likely the calmest of the three.

  “Josiah? Ewan’s brother?” the duchess cried. “Took her—what are you talking about?”

  Baldwin took her arm, guiding her away gently to explain what was happening to her. As he did so, Matthew leaned in to Griffi
n. “You tell us the truth. Now.”

  Behind them, the Duchess of Sheffield let out a horrified cry that was like an animal being injured. Ewan flinched as she collapsed, sobbing against her son. “Not my daughter! You mustn’t let him do something to Charlotte!”

  Griffin gaped like a fish, then burst out, “He’s mad, Your Grace. Like a wild dog. I didn’t know he wanted to kill anyone. I swear to you, I didn’t!”

  That only made the duchess’s weeping worse and the sound filled the room. Ewan slammed his hands down on the glass displays so hard that they cracked. It seemed he got his point across without having to write anything, for Griffin squealed like the cornered pig he was.

  “She didn’t want him to hurt her mother,” he all but sobbed. “So she convinced him to take her somewhere else.”

  “Where?” Baldwin shouted as he fought to keep his mother upright.

  “The hunting lodge on the hill,” Griffin choked out. “She convinced him to take her there.”

  Ewan shook his head. She had convinced him, to protect her mother—and perhaps to give Ewan an upper hand. After all, there had just been a lot of activity at the lodge lately, with the tenants staying there until the thread of flood faded. He’d just been there, thanks to that, while his brother had not visited that place in…years. Decades, perhaps, Ewan would wager.

  He drew in a deep breath and turned to his friends. He scribbled, “Someone must take the duchess back to the estate.”

  Matthew moved forward and gently took over from Baldwin. “I’ll take her,” he said softly. “Her brother should be with you, Ewan.”

  Ewan spun on Griffin and wrote, “And you. If I come back here later and you are still in my village, I will make certain you suffer greatly for your part in this.”

  Griffin swallowed and jerked out a nod.

  Ewan motioned to Baldwin, and they raced out to mount their waiting horses and thundered off toward the hunting lodge just over the bridge and up a long hill. He could only hope that they wouldn’t be too late.