The Duke’s Improper Bride

by Paula, Rebecca

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted without thinking. “I said such terrible things and I’m hiding away as though I’m a child instead of making it right.”

  “At least you know what you should be doing. I give you credit for that.”

  Isaac sat up, scratching his neck. He reached the point of drunkenness where it no longer made the slow hours bearable. That was yesterday. Today, he had fallen into a dark hole he couldn’t seem to find a way out of. Isaac had travelled the globe, he had hunted people down, and he had taken lives out of this world as if he were God himself. And he had done so without blinking most days.

  Then there was Corsica.

  And that cottage in Scotland where he happened upon the beautiful woman with a navy cloak with scarlet ribbons on her bonnet.

  His heart had been won and lost nearly as quickly as he could inhale.

  How was it possible to fall in love so quickly without knowing?

  It was different with Nora.

  Isaac hadn’t simply fallen in love with her. He was possessed by her, and she had made a home in his heart. And he had been so quick dismiss her out of his life as soon as she knew the truth about his.

  “I need to go to Scotland. Now.”

  It all had been a mistake.

  How could he ever expect her to love him when he kept such secrets? How could he expect there to be honesty in their marriage when he swept her misgivings about London away?

  He rose, attempting a bow as the room slid forward in front of him.

  Clara turned from the window, a smile stretched upon her face. “I was hoping to hear such news. I’ll see you have some coffee for the journey. First, clean up.”

  Chapter 11

  Isaac travelled to Scotland without delay, only stopping for a short while, to eat and wait out the darkest point of the night.

  Once he finally discovered where he needed to be, there was no point in waiting. It would only rob him of more time with his wife. His wife, who would not be getting her annulment.

  There had to be a way. A way to compromise and see that they could be together.

  Isaac rode up to the MacAllens’ house, his heart somewhere in his stomach, sinking with fear that this could mean the end. He would beg. He would do whatever necessary to win back his wife, but he knew Nora was headstrong. That determination, when mixed with fear, seemed a force that no one could break. But he had to try. He couldn’t let her run away without striving to win her back.

  Nora deserved to be loved, and he would do his best to love her every day for the rest of his life if she allowed him. But much more – he would listen. He would give her the space to navigate London and become the duchess she wished to become. That’s what he wished, for his wife, home with him, whether in London or in the country – to love, and to continue to grow in love.

  Isaac knocked on the door, dragging in a shaky breath. The maid opened it, ushering him into the morning parlor. Mrs. MacAllen sat by the fire, sipping a cup of tea.

  “Good morning, Mrs. MacAllen.”

  She raised her eyebrows, then nodded.

  Perhaps there would be a lot of begging involved then.

  “I’m here to speak with Nora.”

  Mrs. MacAllen set down her cup then ran her hands over the piece of embroidery draped across her lap. “Are you, Your Grace?”

  Isaac hadn’t doubted that news of their marriage had reached her parents; they had been the ones to write them first. Still, it was odd that Mrs. MacAllen wasn’t fawning over his presence. It wasn’t like her to not take advantage of such a social call. That had been her aim with her daughters, hadn’t it? To make excellent matches and to help her husband win a seat in Parliament.

  “Yes,” he said stiffly. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. None of it compared to the ache in his chest.

  Mrs. MacAllen motioned for him to sit in the chair opposite the fire. He did so, never relaxing. Perhaps Nora was hiking. He should have checked the cottage first.

  “I find it funny that a few months into your marriage with my daughter, you’re here, of all places. She belongs with you in London. As your duchess.”

  For such a society-minded mama, Mrs. MacAllen spouted that last part full of vitriol.

  “You arrived here,” she continued, “in Scotland under suspect circumstances, the painter locked away in his cabin. You left with my daughter, eloping, and bringing her to England without a word to either myself or my husband. And now you return—a duke, no less—asking to speak to my daughter, whom I haven’t seen since you ran off with her. I feel as though you’re leaving out an important part of the story.”

  The best part.

  Really—those blissful weeks of learning each other, of being in love and growing together. Before Isaac had royally fucked it all up. He wouldn’t give Mrs. MacAllen those details either.

  “Maeve is with child,” Mrs. MacAllen said, when he didn’t answer. She rose from her seat, and he jumped to his feet. “The babe is arriving in the winter. We’re so delighted.”

  “Where is Nora, Mrs. MacAllen?”

  “She’s your responsibility now, Your Grace. It appears your wife no longer wishes you to know her whereabouts.”

  “I assumed she returned here. She loves the Highlands.”

  “But does she love you, Your Grace?”

  He had heard about mothers-in-law, but this woman was another nasty beast all together.

  Mrs. MacAllen removed a flask from her pocket and siphoned a drink before pushing back her hair. “You married her. She’s your problem. I’ve dealt with her long enough.”

  “You’re a miserable cow,” he snapped. “She was never a problem. And she’s entirely too good for the lot of us. For what we’ve all had her endure.”

  Before Mrs. MacAllen could reply, Isaac dashed out of the room.

  “Nora,” he yelled. “Nora, please, I’ve come to talk.” He repeated his request, climbing two stairs at a time before the maid and footman approached him, their eyes wide with confusion.

  “She isn’t here, Your Grace,” the maid said. She walked him to Nora’s old bedroom. The room hadn’t been touched.

  “Mrs. White may know,” the footman added.

  “Get this man out of my house,” Mrs. MacAllen shouted from below.

  Isaac turned, slamming Nora’s bedroom door behind him and bounding down the stairs.

  “Gladly.”

  Isaac returned to his carriage and headed to Mrs. White’s - out of caution - but the dread building within him was too hard to ignore. He was too late.

  Nora hadn’t left to escape him. She had left to help Daniel escape the asylum.

  Isaac only hoped he would find her in time to save them both.

  * * *

  Ireland. As green as Scotland, but nowhere near as beautiful.

  Especially the hellscape in front of her. The land, the sea, the air, this was nothing but a sinister picture of grays and shadows, even as violent waves crashed against a rocky shore. Seagulls swooped from the sky, bickering over scraps of food.

  The asylum was a dull stone dwelling, imposing, even as it perched dangerously close to the vicious sea below. A few trees dotted the gentle slope on one side, leading to a well-worn path. Trees closer to death than life.

  What a wicked, nasty place.

  Nora shook as she knocked against the thick door, the palms of her hands clammy. She clutched onto a copy of the newsprint and focused on the rotting ledge of the adjacent window as the door cracked open.

  “I’m here for the cleaning position.”

  An older woman answered, her voice gruff. “I’ve no need. It was filled yesterday.”

  The door began to close, but Nora stuck her foot in the way, wincing when it was pinched. “I’ll clean for no p-pay for six months. Please, I’ve nowhere to go.”

  “We’re not a poor house,” the woman squawked back. “Though might as well be the same.” She took Nora in from head to toe.

  Nora fought the urge to straigh
ten and hold her chin high. Instead, she ducked her head lower, never meeting the woman directly in the eyes.

  “It’s a nasty job,” the woman said, opening the door a little wider.

  Just beyond, Nora couldn’t see much. Inside, the building was dark, as if there were shades on the windows. But she didn’t need to see in—the stench was enough to turn her stomach.

  “I’m a h-hard worker,” Nora said at last, her voice low. Her body tensed as her words stumbled.

  “I’ve no room for you. You’ll sleep in the kitchen, one meal a day.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mrs. Healy.”

  Nora nodded. She was certain she’d be in hell once she stepped over the threshold. Stuart would have loved throwing her away into a place such as this. If she had gone through with the marriage, that is. Stuart would have done his duty first. He would have seen there was an heir. But Nora had been foolish to think he had ever believed she deserved to take up space.

  “Well, come in, come in.” The woman ushered her inside the small foyer. The curtains were drawn across the large windows above a grand staircase. “Follow me. You’ll start at once.”

  * * *

  No man, woman, or child should have to endure what Nora witnessed as she cleaned. She had never seen death, but there were several bodies halfway on their journey to meet their maker. And the crying. The crying was horrible. Almost as much as the screaming—the yells filled with anger or pain, and sometimes both.

  She had been spat upon, pushed, yelled at, and made to cower, but Nora cleaned with only one mission—to find Daniel.

  It was well into the evening with only candlelight remaining as she finished scrubbing the last hallway and still, Daniel was nowhere in sight. There were two addresses, two asylums. Perhaps he was in Scotland after all.

  Her stomach dropped. What if she was too late? What if, like the others she had seen, Daniel had become a shell of a man? Her dearest friend locked away by his family. The very people who should have loved him.

  She stood, tossing the rag into the bucket, and wiped her hands on the dirty, torn apron she had been given.

  “Daniel?” she whispered. Her voice was lost in the howling sound of despair and madness. It was just as well. What did she believe was going to happen here? It was a mistake to walk into an asylum believing she could free her friend, when there was a chance she was risking her own life in the process.

  For a moment, Nora thought she heard a small noise. The hair on her arms stood at attention and her body stiffened.

  “Danny?”

  A faint, questioning ‘hello’ came from the end of the darkened hallway. Her heart raced as she rushed forward, her feet heavy and clumsy.

  “Danny?” she asked again. Nora tried to walk past the patients without showing signs of rushing, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she were being catapulted toward the darkness for a reason.

  She followed the answer, stopping in front of a caged room with several bodies inside. Some were asleep, others motionless, but one was pacing the room’s length back and forth. The body was nothing short of a shadow figure cutting its way through the darkness.

  “Danny?” Her breath came quick, her chest feeling as if it were about to explode.

  The figure walked to the bars and pressed his face between them. The little light thrown from the lantern in the hallway cast just enough for Nora to see.

  “I’m dreaming,” the man replied.

  Nora reached her hands out, tentatively waiting as her heart sank. The eyes before her were so much emptier than the last time she saw him over the holidays. They had shared a merry dance after a game of charades with Mrs. White, and they had snuck away from the crush of partygoers at the New Year’s Ball. They had sat for hours in the library talking about what they wished for the New Year. Danny had left her with a kiss on the cheek and a simple, “farewell, duck.”

  “No, Danny,” she whispered. “I’m here and you’re leav—”

  “Oy,” a voice came from down the hall.

  Nora jumped back, then quickly rushed forward to the orderly marching down the hall.

  “What are you doing talking to them?”

  She shook her head, feeling the red blush climb her cheeks and bite at the tops of her ears. At least the man questioning her couldn’t see.

  “It’s late. You’re expected to be done.” He stepped forward, crowding her against the wall. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”

  Nora swallowed, nodding as her back hit the cold stone. A few patients started to howl.

  “Pretty thing.” He grabbed a few pieces of stray hair between his fingers and tugged. “We get lonely here.”

  Nora closed her eyes and reached forward, her attention focused on one goal. The man’s mouth skirted close to her ear. Her fingers reached, brushing against the metal keyring at the man’s waist. She took a deep breath as he whispered something lewd, no doubt aiming to get a reaction out of her.

  What a vile, piggish man.

  And how utterly stupid.

  He pushed away, laughing at himself as she remained.

  “You’re to finish this floor at once or I’ll be telling Mrs. Healy.”

  She nodded, holding her breath so she wouldn’t shake, waiting. He gave her another studying look before finally turning around. He shouted at one of the patients before proceeding to the other end of the hall, then turned to go into the office by the top of the grand stairwell.

  Not a moment too soon, Nora raced back to Danny. Her hands fumbled with the orderly’s keys as she tried to fit one into the lock.

  “Nora, we can’t get out.”

  “Shh,” she said, refusing to believe anything but the miracle of her being able to sneak him out tonight. They wouldn’t stay a moment longer.

  “It’s too dangerous.” Danny’s hand shot out to grab hers as she tried to work the keys. There were too many. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  Nora flipped through the keys until one fit, then turned it.

  “I’m done doing what others think I s-should be doing, Daniel.” She yanked the door open, reaching in to gather him in an embrace. His body was frail against hers. Nora squeezed his hand. “Let’s go. We don’t b-belong.”

  But Daniel paused, dragging her back into the damp darkness. “We can’t. There’s someone else.”

  Chapter 12

  Isaac hadn’t seen his wife in over two weeks. He hadn’t received a letter, and none of his usual sources had heard of any leads on her whereabouts.

  But he had been to Ireland. And he had learned secondhand about the woman who had helped two patients escape.

  Until last evening, as he bent over a pint in some smelly tavern outside of Liverpool, he hadn’t heard anything more. But the thing about taverns is, as the day grows later, lips begin to loosen, people begin to boast, and secrets become truths better left unspoken.

  Liverpool was a large city with a dark underbelly, and getting any answers beyond the initial hint Isaac received would be nothing but luck. And luck, which very rarely showed its head in his life, led him to this doorstep.

  It was a small stone house in the Everton district, the door nearly off its hinges. The air reeked of filth with sewage running down the cobblestone street. A woman slumped against the front stoop, sound asleep. He shoved the door open and stepped inside to the musty, darkened interior. He advanced from room to room of the makeshift boarding house, sweeping back curtains that divided rooms to house families and children. A rat scurried at his feet as he headed for the second floor.

  Nothing. The same for the damned third floor.

  Until something caught his eye.

  A small access way in the ceiling was left slightly ajar. It was too much to hope, but hope elbowed its way into his chest. Isaac quietly slid the door open and jumped, pulling his body up through the opening. He crouched, hand at his waistband and ready to pull his gun if confronted. He rose slowly, studying the small dark room before he caught the sliver of lig
ht at the corner—a single candle, its flame flickering below an open window.

  A boy was curled into himself, covered with a blanket and sleeping on a patched jacket. He could barely make out the face—a boy of maybe ten years. But his features were sunken, his breathing was labored, his skin the palest white Isaac had ever encountered.

  He reached forward, wishing to stir the boy to check if he had long to live. Isaac wouldn’t let him go unseen by a doctor. He wasn’t heartless, even if the boy wasn’t his purpose for being here.

  A gun hammer clicked behind him, and he froze. With a steadying breath, he raised his hands, his back to the stranger behind him.

  “I’ve never shot a man before, but you can be my first.” The man’s voice sounded weak, as though he had been running for weeks.

  The polished syllables didn’t escape Isaac’s notice.

  “No need. Only looking for someone.”

  A second hammer sounded.

  Fucking hell.

  “Not interested.”

  Isaac smiled then, no matter that he had two guns loaded and aimed at his back. It certainly wasn’t the first time he was on the opposite end of a gun.

  But this was the first time his wife had ever aimed to shoot him.

  “Nora.” He closed his eyes on her name, relief washing over him. He had imagined all sorts of horrible ends for her in the time they had been apart. Liverpool was certainly no place for her, and sure as hell not a house such as this in the slums of Everton.

  “You found me.” She waited a beat, then, “Put your g-gun down, Danny.”

  Both guns uncocked before an uncomfortable silence collapsed upon them. Isaac examined the boy on the roughhewn floor. He reached for a pulse, but a hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him backward.