The Duke of Darkness

by Cora Lee

  Miss Stone’s shoulders slumped. “Yes.”

  “The Olivia Lockwood who was then compromised just days before her wedding?” Lady Teverton pressed.

  “Yes,” Miss Stone said, lifting her chin and looking Teverton in the eye. “I meant to tell you sooner, my lord, but I didn’t know how.”

  Lady Teverton’s nostrils flared. “You must turn her away, Teverton. If anyone finds out she was here, that she’s related to you, she could ruin our daughters before we even have any.”

  What were they on about? Rhuddlan found himself searching the faces of each person in the room, but to no avail.

  Teverton looked at his mother again, whose confusion had been supplanted by wide-eyed recognition, then back at Miss Stone. “I can certainly understand that,” the viscount said slowly. “Though it would have been nice to know that your reputation is the reason you’re having difficulties.”

  “Would someone please explain what is going on?” Rhuddlan asked, his eyes darting from Teverton to his wife to Miss Stone. But whatever courage Miss Stone had summoned seemed to have faded, and her gaze dropped to Teverton’s shoes.

  “Miss Olivia Lockwood was the daughter of a wealthy merchant—Teverton’s distant cousin—and became betrothed to the Earl of Windermere’s heir.” Lady Teverton’s smile was almost smug as she recounted the story. “But she was ruined right before her wedding. She was caught in an intimate embrace with a footman and abandoned by her fiancé.”

  Rhuddlan’s first thought was that someone should have called out old Windy’s heir. No gentleman would ever jilt a lady, no matter the circumstances. Once he’d given his word, he was bound to follow through.

  His mind let that go for a moment and seized on two other, brand new facts: Miss Stone was in fact a gentleman’s daughter, not the lowborn laborer he’d assumed her to be, and she’d been ruined by a footman.

  Miss Stone’s mouth was set in a hard line, face burning red. “I was afraid you wouldn’t see me if you knew.”

  “You’re right about that,” Lady Teverton answered for her husband. “You deserve whatever fate has dealt you after what you did.”

  Then the mantle clock struck the hour.

  Rhuddlan stared at it dumbly for a moment, fishing out his gold pocket watch and comparing it to the clock atop the fireplace. “I’m afraid I must go,” he said, his voice sounding stilted to his ears. “I have an appointment that I cannot miss.”

  Miss Stone made a strangled, gasping noise, then bolted from the room. Rhuddlan wanted to go after her—question after question filled his head—but he could not miss the opportunity to join forces with a man even more powerful than he was. It might be his only chance to bring his brother to heel.

  He said his hurried goodbyes to the rest of the assemblage and made his way out to the stables. When he reached the entryway he paused, glancing up the staircase in the direction of Miss Stone’s chamber. Even if he had the time, she likely wouldn’t welcome visitors now, anyway. Perhaps, if he wasn’t too late getting back, he could speak with her then and get answers to some of his questions.

  Perhaps, by then, he might work out how he felt about her deception.

  One of the letters sent to Teverton Estate for Rhuddlan had been from the Duke of Sussex, who Rhuddlan had known well for a number of years. Sussex’s letter directed Rhuddlan to meet him at what turned out to be a small farmhouse, with no signs of life except the single cow grazing in the pasture.

  Rhuddlan stabled his horse and walked cautiously up to the house, circling the structure before trying the front door. It was unlocked so he entered slowly, sweeping his eyes around each room as he moved through the ground floor.

  “Ah, there you are,” came a voice from what seemed to be a small parlor, the door standing open. Prince Augusts Frederick, Duke of Sussex sat in a crude wooden chair by the fireplace, his feet propped up on the cold grate.

  “I made sure I wasn’t followed,” Rhuddlan replied, dropping into a matching chair opposite his friend’s.

  “Good.” Sussex sighed. “You heard Cumberland is back in the country?”

  Rhuddlan nodded. He’d had a letter from Lewis in the packet, too, containing reports from more than one of Rhuddlan’s informants who’d spotted Cumberland. “Without his wife and child.”

  Sussex pooched his lips out. “He apparently stopped overnight at my old hunting lodge, and caught the housekeeper and butler by surprise. They wrote to gently rebuke me for not letting them know he was coming. But he hasn’t written to the family to say he was here.”

  That was tantamount to sneaking into the country. “My informants say he’s been seen in St. Asaph.”

  “That’s bold,” Cumberland said, his brows rising. St. Asaph was only a few scant miles from Rhuddlan Hall. “Consorting with Nick?”

  Rhuddlan shook his head, stretching his legs out before him. “They wouldn’t be so careless. I’m surprised Cumberland is even in Wales while Nick is there.”

  “Where is Lord Nicholas?”

  Rhuddlan lolled his head back. “Last report I had said he was in Shrewsbury.” Far enough away to not be personally responsible for anything happening at Rhuddlan Hall, but close enough to direct his minions.

  “Any other disturbances since the mill?”

  Rhuddlan briefly described his own injury and the attack on Vaughn. “Neither attack can be traced back to our esteemed brothers, of course, but Vaughn’s beating was certainly a result of his employment with me.”

  Sussex sighed, clasping his hands together in his lap. “What can I do, Rhuddlan?”

  “The biggest help would be information—whatever your people find out about Cumberland, about Nick, about anything they might be doing.” Rhuddlan’s network of domestic spies was as wide as he’d implied it was to George Grayson, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once.

  “I will instruct them to send copies of any pertinent information directly to you, as well as to me,” Sussex said agreeably.

  “Excellent. Perhaps between the two of us, we’ll be able to put together a case against at least one of them,” Rhuddlan replied.

  Sussex’s eyes went wide. “You intend to prosecute?”

  “I highly doubt anything would come of a prosecution against Cumberland, even if I had solid evidence,” Rhuddlan said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Even if he were convicted of something, he’d claim Privilege of Peerage and would not be punished.”

  Sussex seemed to relax slightly at that pronouncement, but still looked worried. “But you would pursue charges against your own brother?”

  Rhuddlan understood his friend’s concern. Nearly everything Nick might conceivably be charged with would result in a sentence of hanging if he were found guilty. And, as he was not yet Duke of Rhuddlan, Nick would not be able to claim Privilege of Peerage like his patron. “I’d rather it not come to that, but Nick has destroyed people’s lives. And the destruction has become worse since I left Rhuddlan Hall.”

  He pulled from his waistcoat pocket one of the letters he’d taken from his chamber at Teverton Estate and handed it to Sussex. It was from his temporary principle secretary, detailing two more attacks that took place on the grounds of the estate and a parish church nearby set afire while people were inside.

  Sussex’s eyes widened once more, but when he looked up he was shaking his head. “You can’t know it was Cumberland and Lord Nicholas who did this.”

  Rhuddlan pulled one more, smaller note from his pocket and handed it over. The note was unsigned and in someone else’s hand, but there was no mistaking who was behind it.

  Turn over control of the dukedom to your brother, Luca, or the violence against your people will continue.

  “This still doesn’t prove it was him,” Sussex said weakly. “It could be someone working on his behalf.”

  It most definitely was someone working on Nick’s behalf, and profiting from it. But Rhuddlan didn’t say so aloud. “Look at my name, Sussex. Who in the world ever called me Luca?”
/>   Sussex stared at the note for several long moments. “Your mother,” he said softly.

  Rhuddlan’s mother had been a Moldovian noblewoman, and had affectionately called her younger sons by the Romanian forms of their names. Nick had been Nicu since his birth, and Rhuddlan had been Luca. A lump formed in his throat at the thought—Maria, Duchess of Rhuddlan had died when her middle son was only sixteen and her youngest just seven years old.

  Rhuddlan cleared his throat. “This is most certainly Nick’s doing.”

  Sussex looked up from the note. “He’s invoked your mother’s memory and threatened thousands of people in the same ransom demand. Has he no conscience?”

  “Perhaps he’s hoping the threat will be enough to scare me into compliance,” Rhuddlan said, slouching down in his chair again. “But I want to be prepared in case he thinks to follow through on it.”

  “Of course.”

  He said it with a measure of conviction, but Rhuddlan could hear the doubt lingering in his voice. Who could blame him, though? What other man would plainly state his intention to potentially see his brother executed?

  Rhuddlan rose, offering his hand. “Thank you, Sussex. Truly. I know this can’t be easy for you, either.”

  Sussex stood, too, and shook Rhuddlan’s hand. “We must do what we can to keep people safe, though, mustn’t we?”

  “That is our responsibility.”

  Rhuddlan left the farmhouse and saddled his horse. Sussex must surely think him a monster, but at least the man had pledged his assistance. If he was going to bring Nick to heel and have any hope of reining in Cumberland, he was going to need all the help he could get.

  Chapter Six

  For the third time in a fortnight, Olivia found herself ushered into an aristocrat’s study. Lord Teverton had thought it prudent to convene there and talk over her situation, and Olivia agreed—she certainly didn’t want to have that discussion in front of everyone.

  The curtains were wide open, allowing sunlight to illuminate every corner of the room. There were papers and books on most flat surfaces, save the floor, as if his lordship spent a good deal of time working there.

  Lord Teverton gestured to a chair near the fireplace. “Would you like to sit?”

  Olivia nodded and perched on the edge of the chair while her cousin made himself comfortable opposite her.

  “Where would you like to begin?” he asked, crossing one leg over the other knee.

  An excellent question, and one that she couldn’t answer. This man might be her nearest relation, but she didn’t know him. She shrugged her shoulders in response. “What would you like to know?”

  “You said in your letter that you were in a difficult situation. Would you tell me about that?”

  She reached back in her mind, trying to remember what she’d written in the letter that had accompanied Rhuddlan’s. “The bare facts are simple: my income is declining, and I can no longer support myself. My only options were to appeal to you or to wed a man who was blackmailing me.”

  “Blackmailing you?” Lord Teverton asked. He sounded as if he was trying to keep his tone casual, but didn’t quite do it.

  “He knows my real identity,” she said with a frown. “I went to Wales to escape Miss Olivia Lockwood, to live a quiet life. But this man knew my parents and figured out who I was.”

  “And he tried to coerce you into marriage.”

  She nodded. “He thinks himself rather grand and wanted a connection to an aristocrat, no matter how distant.”

  “Ah.” Lord Teverton’s posture relaxed a bit. “That is a concept I am familiar with. But I take it you don’t want this match.”

  Olivia shuddered at the thought of being shackled to Sir George. Would Rhuddlan keep his promise and provide her protection now that he knew she’d lied about her identity? “If he is left to his own devices, he will kill me, my lord.”

  The corners of Lord Teverton’s mouth turned up. “You could just say you don’t want to wed him.”

  “You think I’m exaggerating,” she replied, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks.

  “You are not the first lady to consider wedding a less than perfect suitor,” he said gently. “If it’s a dowry you need—”

  “He will kill me,” she said through clenched teeth. “He has described to me how he will do it.”

  The shock on Lord Teverton’s face was almost gratifying. “You’re serious.”

  Olivia tried to relax her jaw. Being brushed off was not new—only Mrs. D., Miss H., and Rhuddlan had believed her when she’d first told them about Sir George’s threats, and no one had listened about the footman—but it still stung. “I am.”

  “And both your parents have gone on to their reward.” Lord Teverton leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. “No wonder you asked for my help.”

  “There’s one more thing, my lord,” she said hesitantly, clasping her hands together in her lap. Would he believe her this time? Or would he think she was trying to squeeze more money out of him? “When my father died, he left a sizable sum to my mother. But she spent every shilling, then began making purchases on credit she could never hope to repay.”

  His eyes narrowed for a moment. “So when she died, you were left with nothing.”

  “Nothing but debt.” And her ruined reputation, but that betrayal was still too painful to speak of.

  Understanding dawned on Lord Teverton’s face. “Is that why you ran?”

  Olivia nodded, fighting back tears as the fear and desperation of her flight from her childhood home rushed back. “I was alone, with no income and no practical skills except sewing. With the debt and my, erm, infamy hanging over my head, I no one would help me. I sold Mother’s jewelry and went as far away as that sum would take me.”

  He nodded as if he understood. But could a man who had only known plenty truly understand what it was like to have nothing?

  “What is it you require of me, then?”

  His voice was gentle, but Olivia cringed at his choice of words. “Require” made her feel as though she was forcing him to submit to her. “I just...” She took in a breath and let it out slowly. “I just want to live quietly, my lord. I want to be able to buy bread and pay Artie’s dog tax and… and work on my sewing in peace.”

  “You wish to return to your home in Wales?”

  She nodded. “If it’s safe to do so.”

  “I can certainly provide you with an allowance—that should take care of your bread and your dog,” Lord Teverton said with a smile. “I don’t know what can be done about this Sir George, but perhaps Rhuddlan and I can come up with something if we talk it through together.”

  “You’ll decide my fate together, then?” That bolt of fear and desperation shot through her body again. Would Rhuddlan seek to punish her for hiding her identity from him?

  “Oh, we’ll not do anything until one of us has spoken to you, of course,” he said quickly. “You are the one most impacted by his behavior.”

  The bolt subsided, but Olivia’s heart continued to pound. Her father had always trusted Lord Teverton’s father, but could she trust this man? She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “I will consult my account books and Rhuddlan, then you and I can talk further.” He rose, a polite signal that she was being dismissed.

  She hesitated, but stood and allowed him to walk her to the door, then made her way up to her chamber where Artie was waiting with his usual wagging tale.

  Olivia knelt down and put her arms around him. “We might be able to go home, soon, Loup Garou. We might be able to go home and be safe.”

  Artie sat down and rested his chin on her shoulder.

  “You’re a good boy,” she said, stroking his soft fur, “and the one good thing that came from this whole mess. If my mother hadn’t betrayed me, I would never have run away to Wales, and wouldn’t have been next door when Mr. Davies brought you home.”

  A knock on the door stole Artie’s attention away, and he barked at the noise. It was prob
ably just as well—another couple of minutes and she might have been blubbering into his fur.

  Mrs. D. was at the door when Olivia opened it, dropping into a curtsy. “Miss Lockwood.”

  “No, Mrs. D. I’m still the seamstress who lives in the cottage next door to yours.”

  Mrs. D. met her eyes and offered a small smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Olivia didn’t want to talk to anyone, possibly ever again, but she owed Mrs. D. an explanation. “Why don’t you come in.”

  Olivia built up the fire and settled in before it with her friend. “It’s true that I was the daughter of Arthur Lockwood, and that I was once betrothed. He was a nice, sweet gentleman I met at a soiree during my second season. When my father contracted smallpox and later died from it, my fiancé agreed to postpone the wedding.”

  “Oh, how sad,” Mrs. D. said. She reached out to pat Olivia’s hand, but hesitated midway, then pulled her hand back to the arm of her chair.

  Olivia pretended not to notice and pushed the hurt from her mind. “We got through it. But then my mother started talking about how lonely she was going to be when I married. She grew despondent whenever someone brought up the wedding, and eventually refused to come out of her bedchamber.”

  Mrs. D. made some kind of tut-tut noise under her breath, but didn’t comment.

  “Then one day, she sent me to a bakery near our home in London—she wanted a special kind of biscuit they made there with her tea that day. And she insisted I take a specific footman with me.”

  At the word “footman,” Mrs. D.’s eyes and mouth went round.

  Olivia nodded. “Just before we entered the bakery, the footman pulled me against him and kissed me.”

  Mrs. D. gasped, but Olivia didn’t stop.

  “There were plenty of witnesses, two of whom were close friends of my mother’s who made it a point to tell the story to everyone they knew.”

  “Oh, dear...”

  “My fiancé said he was still willing to go through with the wedding,” Olivia continued, trying not to remember the look on his face when he’d confronted her. He’d spoken more about his honor and keeping important promises than about their happiness together. “But it was clear that he didn’t believe my denials.”