Dukes Are Forever Page 17

  She swallowed, suddenly terrified. “Edward, what’s happened?”

  “I found something that belongs to you.” His voice was ice. “I thought you might want it back.”

  “What is it?” she whispered, so unnerved at the sudden change in him that her body trembled at the reappearance of the black hardness that she remembered from the first time she met him.

  His cold, controlled face belied the anger she sensed seething inside him. “Your letter.”

  “My letter?” she repeated warily, confusion and alarm roiling inside her.

  When he answered, his cold voice lacked all emotion for her, so distant and uncaring that fear leapt into her chest. “To your father.”

  Her heart stopped. And when it began again, the pain was searing. He knew she’d written to her father, he knew she’d defied him…Oh God, what had she done?

  Her body flashing with panic and desperation, she took a deep breath to steady herself and said as calmly as she could as her world fell away beneath her, “Edward, please let me explain—”

  “I told you never to contact him.” Slowly, his self-control and restrained anger only adding to her fear, he took her hand and placed the crumpled paper onto her palm. “But you wrote to him anyway.”

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “He’s my father. He’s the only blood relative I have left. I couldn’t just turn my back on him when he needed me.”

  She expected cursing, fury—instead, his face was nothing more than a blank, emotionless mask as he stared at her. “You sent him money.”

  “Because he needed it. You said he was bankrupt.” Each word was a desperate breath, willing him to believe her. “I am sorry, Edward, I should never have sent it. But it was only a letter—”

  “It’s much more than just a letter, Kate.” His voice was an icy accusation. “You chose him over me.”

  “I didn’t! I wanted to tell you about the letter, but—”

  He arched a dubious brow. “But you were too busy seducing me for your own gain?”

  She slapped him, her palm cracking hard against his cheek.

  An excruciating feeling of loss and betrayal burned inside her, so hard and terrible that she couldn’t breathe. She’d been swept into a horrible nightmare when all she wanted to do was awaken, safe in his arms, as she’d done that morning. Yet he was accusing her of such horrible, awful things—she clenched her hand into a fist, her palm still stinging from the contact with his cheek.

  Edward froze, his only reaction a flickering of his cold eyes. Then his hand slowly rose to his cheek where a red mark already began to form, and she saw a mix of regret and guilt flash across his face. But he said nothing to apologize.

  “I would never do anything like that,” she forced out, her heart tearing. He had it all backward, completely wrong! She’d given her innocence to him because she cared about him, because she wanted to be in his arms, and for no other reason. “How can you believe—” She choked, a miserable wretchedness swirling through her.

  “It’s been done before,” he said coldly.

  “Not by me.” She shoved at his shoulders to push him away, the searing torment inside her unbearable that he would think her capable of such an act. But he didn’t budge, not even to shift away, and a soft cry of anguished frustration escaped her. “Edward, I would never do that!”

  He gave her a freezing look of unrepentant contempt. “Just as you would never deceive me by contacting your father?”

  Her heart shattered. In that moment, she felt the gaping distance between them, the cold apathy replacing the warm affection he’d shown her last night and this morning.

  “I wanted to trust in you, Kate, you of all people.” He stepped away from her, his hands dropping to his sides as if he’d completely abandoned her now, as if he couldn’t bear to be anywhere near her, and each word sent a quiver of wretchedness through her. “But you destroyed that, and now I can’t trust you again.”

  Her eyes were so blurred with tears that she could barely see the lines of his face, but she didn’t blink to clear them away, because she didn’t want to see the unforgiving coldness in him. There was no tenderness in him now, nothing gentle or warm, nothing of the man she loved.

  Standing less than a foot away, Edward was lost to her.

  * * *

  The tiger opened the coach door. “We’ve arrived, miss.” He flipped down the step. “Greymoor.”

  Kate peered beyond him through the drizzling rain at the house.

  Large and foreboding, the gray stone façade blended into the low clouds behind it and stood isolated against the empty moors. Only a scattering of outbuildings gave any hint that this was more than just a deserted house in the wilderness. There was no sign of life, no animals in the barnyard, no servants scurrying to meet the carriage. Chimneys stabbed into the sky, but a lack of smoke trailing up from any of them made the scene feel even colder, even more dreary.

  So this was to be her new home. She shuddered.

  The tiger reached inside to grab her small bag and extended his hand to help her to the ground.

  The trip had been a long one, nearly two full days since she’d been placed into Edward’s coach at dawn per his orders and driven away from Brambly and everything she’d ever known, stopping only to change horses and switch drivers before continuing on through the night. She was cold, tired, and hungry, and more alone than she’d ever been in her life.

  But most of all, she was angry. Edward had sent her away because he no longer trusted her and so delivered her halfway across the country in order to keep her away from her father…and from him. And also as punishment. That was why he couldn’t let her remain at Brambly. He thought she’d deceived him in an attempt to free herself from the guardianship, and by simply riding back to London and leaving her alone on the farm, he would have given her exactly what he assumed she’d tried to manipulate from him—her old life in a newly furnished house. What he didn’t realize, however, was that her real punishment was not being sent to the moors but being sent away from him.

  Yet each mile that took her farther away only grew her determination to return to Brambly. She looked around at the rocky, harsh moors stretching out in every direction and bit her bottom lip. Somehow.

  The front door swung open. A large woman in a black uniform blocked the doorway, her iron-gray hair pulled into a severe bun.

  “Miss Benton?” she demanded in a thick, German accent.

  “Yes.”

  “Lutz,” she introduced herself, then took the bag from the groom.

  Kate watched the tiger return to the coach. As soon as he swung into his place on top of the carriage, the driver cracked the whip, and the team rolled through the mud toward the road, leaving her behind.

  She stood in the drizzling rain and watched until it disappeared, and with it, her last link to Brambly.

  Mrs. Elston, Dorrie, sweet Arthur…they were why she was here, why she hadn’t already executed her escape. Edward had kept his word and pensioned them, letting them stay on in the little cottages at Brambly, but he’d been very clear—if she ran away, he would revoke the pensions and strip away their allowances. Knowing the affection he’d come to feel for the servants during his stay, Kate wasn’t certain he’d actually do it, but it was a threat she wasn’t willing to push.

  So she left her home without a struggle. Their pensions exchanged for her exile. It was a deal with the devil.

  But the one thing she’d learned from watching her father’s behavior all these years was that deals and contracts could always be manipulated. She’d find some way to rewrite the guardianship and free all of them, no matter what she had to do to make it happen.

  “Come,” Mrs. Lutz ordered.

  Kate followed her into the house. Dark and uninviting, with heavy pieces of furniture scattered randomly throughout and no cushions, no pillows, no curtains to soften the rooms, the house was just as harsh as its furnishings. Despite the darkness of the gray, stormy day, there were no lit candles
, and every fireplace was cold.

  Mrs. Lutz led her upstairs, opened a door, and pointed inside.

  Kate paused. A massive bed with heavy drapes dominated the room, with an armoire, a dressing table, and a single wooden chair the only other furniture. The walls were bare, as was the floor.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Lutz repeated with a nod, and Kate understood that this was to be her room. “His Grace his orders.”

  “Oh, I am certain of that,” she muttered. When the housekeeper, who apparently spoke only a handful of words in English, stared blankly, Kate sighed. “Never mind.”

  Mrs. Lutz gestured toward Kate’s cape and shoes. “No.”

  Apparently, no was Lutz-speak for undressing, and Kate removed her cloak and shoes and placed them into the housekeeper’s waiting hands. With more pointing and more no’s, and no choice but to obey, Kate slowly slipped out of the muslin and stockings until she wore only her shift and handed them over.

  Then she watched, stunned, as the housekeeper grabbed her bag, shoved her clothes inside, then tossed the whole lot outside into the hall. When Kate started after them, Mrs. Lutz stopped her with a muscular arm.

  “You took my clothes!” Kate cried out in disbelief.

  A stinging crept behind her eyes. She’d been torn away from her home and now forced from her clothes as if to completely obliterate any last connection she had to Brambly. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she was thankful at least that the anger inside her kept the sobs in check.

  “Old clothes no good.” Mrs. Lutz opened the armoire. “New clothes,” the housekeeper assured her with a proud smile. “Moors clothes. Strong clothes.”

  Two dresses hung inside, all black and roughly made of worsted wool, a pair of sturdy work shoes sitting beneath. There were two sets of white shifts and gray wool stockings, along with a single night rail, but not another color, not one soft piece of sprigged muslin or satin. Moors clothes, indeed. Her new wardrobe was as harsh as the barren wilderness around her.

  So that was his plan. Edward wanted to cut her off from the world and cast her from his life, right down to her clothes. After all, she thought with faint bemusement, wasn’t that what prisoners of war were forced to do—strip from their uniforms and don prison garb, to rob them of the comfort of their identity and place in the world?

  But he was wrong if he thought a Puritan wardrobe would break her. They were only clothes, and she’d gone without so much for so long at Brambly that she was used to extreme sparseness and utility. What were a few clothing adjustments when last spring she’d had to beg the miller for a sack of flour to feed her household?

  Clothes! She nearly laughed at that. Edward was going to have to try a lot harder than this if he truly meant to break her.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Lutz pointed at the black dress, then left the room.

  Shooting a narrowed gaze at the door, Kate reached for the dress. She had no choice. The only way to free herself was to play along and wait for whatever bid for freedom she could seize.

  “His Grace his orders,” she mocked as she slipped it on.

  Pulling her hair back into a bun, she gave a cursory glance in the dressing table mirror. At her appearance, a small giggle burst out.

  She pressed her hand against her lips, but she couldn’t stop, and the giggling turned into full-throated laughter. She knew that if she didn’t laugh, she would have broken down from the hurt and outrage that tore at her. In angry resentment at herself for being so foolish as to believe her father would ever love her, and in utter wretchedness that now Edward never would.

  Oh, there was nothing funny about her situation, but she couldn’t help it. She was certain Edward wanted her in the black dress, with its high neck and long sleeves, to purposefully hide all her femininity, the same femininity he thought she’d used to trick him. A continuation of the punishment of her banishment from Brambly. But she didn’t look sexless—she looked ridiculous!

  She choked back the laughter and collected herself, then told her reflection, “You will not break me, Edward.”

  He believed she’d deceived him with her body. That she’d lied, schemed, pretended. But how on earth could she have ever pretended those wonderful sensations he created inside her when he made love to her? Or the way she gave herself over with utter abandon? Or her feelings for him, when she held him so close afterward, never wanting to let him go?

  But in her desperation to find a way to make her father love her, she’d given Edward real cause to distrust her. She had sent money to Papa, and she had asked Edward to give up the guardianship after she made love to him. For goodness’ sake, everything she’d said to him, everything he’d offered could all be seen as self-serving to that end. She would have laughed at that, too, if she wasn’t so angry that he’d so easily believed her capable of it.

  It was madness! All of it.

  The only sins she’d committed were in wrongly believing in her father and in loving Edward, and for that, fate was punishing her. And in that, she realized ironically, she’d become exactly like her mother.

  But she wouldn’t surrender, and she refused to cry any more tears for him. Absolutely refused!

  “You will not break me,” she repeated fiercely. “And I will find a way from this place.”

  She might have lost Edward, but nothing would stop her from returning home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  London, Three Weeks Later

  There you are, Edward.” Augusta swept into the study of Strathmore House, wearing a gold brocade dress as bright as the gray April day outside was dreary.

  He rose from his mahogany desk to greet her, and she frowned at the stack of paperwork that had occupied him all afternoon. After his return from Spain, he’d thrown himself into running the family finances, at first to simply learn the extent of the family’s properties and wealth. Now, however, since his recent return from the countryside, she was certain he pored over the books himself only because it gave him an afternoon’s worth of distraction until he could leave for supper at White’s and a night of drinking and cards.

  “You employ several accountants and agents,” she reminded him as she gestured at the paperwork. “It is unseemly for a man of your rank to be concerned with his own wealth.”

  “And how does a man remain wealthy if he’s not concerned with it?” he quipped dryly, coming forward to give her a warm kiss on her proffered cheek and to help her off with her wrap. He handed it to the waiting footman.

  “Well, I suppose it could be worse.” She tugged off her gloves. “You could be at White’s again, gambling it away.”

  “I do not gamble it away.”

  She scoffed. “Are you attempting to tell me that you do not play at cards?”

  “No,” he countered evenly, a faint smile on his lips that never reached his eyes, “I’m telling you that I do not lose.”

  But Augusta knew better.

  In the past three weeks since his return from the countryside, he had been frequenting White’s nearly every night. Always before, he’d found the club stifling, the level of gambling not challenging enough for his skills, the company insufferable. But now, he had been going there every night, playing cards until the wee hours of the morning, and she suspected it was because he did not want to face the nightly silence of the town house.

  Further, he’d been losing.

  Her heart lifted hopefully when she’d heard that juicy bit of on-dit last night at the opera. If her nephew was losing at cards, then even the activity of the club hadn’t been sufficient to distract him enough to give him peace. Whatever had happened in Sussex still plagued him.

  “What can I do for you this afternoon, Augusta?”

  She withdrew a letter from her reticule and placed it on the desk. “This arrived at Meacham’s office.”

  Edward’s jaw tightened as he glanced down at the letter. Then he leveled his cold gaze on her and demanded, “How the devil did they get Meacham’s address?”

  Augusta had long ago learned not to b
e intimidated by the Westover men’s stares and arched a brow in imperturbable response. “I suppose the same way they were able to send letters to you at Hartsfield Park, then here at Strathmore House,” she replied calmly, secretly admiring the perseverance of the former Brambly House servants in pleading for their mistress’s return. “What does that make now, seven letters in all?”

  “Ten,” he corrected tightly.

  So he had been paying attention. Interesting. “If Mrs. Elston has gone to the trouble of sending this one through your solicitor, perhaps you should read it.”

  Ignoring the letter, he leaned back against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. A cold, distant expression masked the anger she knew simmered beneath.

  It was the posture of a stubborn and strong-willed man, a determination she’d seen before from all the Westover men. With them, she had known better than to press, but with Edward, at that moment, she wanted to frustrate him even more.

  Because anger was good. It meant he was still alive, that the nephew she loved survived somewhere inside the cold man standing before her.

  She shook her head. “You cannot keep that girl locked up in the moors for the rest of her life.”

  “Actually, I can,” he said matter-of-factly. “She has Mrs. Lutz to care for her, and in the moors, she cannot cause trouble.”

  Or, she thought, force him to resolve whatever unpleasantness happened between them during his visit, which was more likely the reason, knowing her nephew as well as she did. This time, he couldn’t send himself into war to escape the woman who caused him problems, so he sent away the woman instead.

  “You also cannot keep ignoring those letters,” she added.

  “I can do that, too.”

  “For God’s sake, Edward,” she sighed in exasperation, “what did that innocent child do to make you hate her so?”

  “She is not a child,” he reminded her in a low voice. “And she is not innocent.”

  Augusta pressed her lips together. “When you became determined to exact your revenge on Phillip Benton because the courts did nothing, I tried to change your mind,” she explained quietly. “I even sent word to Thomas Matteson and Nathaniel Grey in hopes that they would be able to talk sense into you. But when it became obvious that nothing would dissuade you, I relented and let you carry out your plans because I realized something you did not.”