Between the Duke and the Devil

by Devon, Eva

  Annabelle allowed herself to rest back against the leather chair and gaze into the fire.

  She sat in companionable silence with Jane.

  And yet, despite the events of the day, despite the fact that they no longer had to worry about men like Caxton in their lives, Annabelle could not shake her sense of growing dread. While one avenue had been cleared and they were no longer in danger, there was still the issue of the prince.

  Whatever was she to do in that regard?

  For every day that passed, she became more and more certain she could not betray Tristan in such a way. The truth was, it wouldn’t even just be a simple betrayal of Tristan, it would be a betrayal of herself. She had no wish to play such a part, and she did not think that Tristan would wish it either.

  No, she had no desire for wealth or titles.

  She was a duchess, for goodness’ sake. And even if she was not a duchess, even if she lost all of the accoutrement that came with her newfound status, she felt certain that she would prefer it to the price she might have to pay if she were to go with the prince.

  “I can fairly hear yer brain buzzing from here, ye ken,” observed Jane.

  “Can you,” asked Annabelle alarmed.

  “Oh, yes, it is quite loud,” said Jane easily, turning her wine glass slowly between her thumb and forefinger. “As a matter of fact, it sounds more like a mass of angry hornets rather than bees.”

  “You would be quite right,” replied Annabelle, grimacing.

  “Is it to do with today?” Jane asked tentatively. “I did no’ think ye would be distressed by the death of Caxton.”

  “I am not at all distressed by it,” replied Annabelle quickly. “I am quite relieved, and I am exceptionally proud of the way that you took such action.”

  She looked at Jane with admiration. “I could not be more proud of my sister,” Annabelle added.

  Jane smiled, clearly glad that Annabelle approved.

  “Then what is it?” Jane inquired, kindly, but insistently.

  Annabelle nearly fidgeted in her chair.

  “The truth of it is, I don’t know how to say,” replied Annabelle.

  “Well then, best just say it,” informed Jane. “Too much prevarication will only cause whatever it is to become more muddy and it will give ye more distress.”

  Jane gave a succinct nod. “No, one must simply be out with it and be done. Do no’ let it linger inside ye. Tell me what it is and, perhaps, we can come up with a solution together.”

  Annabelle stared at her sister-in-law, stunned at the offer of assistance.

  Of course she could tell Jane. Jane had seen the darkness of this world, and would not be shocked. Jane might have been innocent and sweet once, but now she knew the hardness this life could bring.

  Jane would not shirk from Annabelle’s confession. Of that, Annabelle was certain.

  “You knew that I did not marry your brother for love,” Annabelle said.

  “That was evident from the strangeness of yer marriage,” agreed Jane. “But I think that ye love him now.”

  Annabelle felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment but she felt rather pleased that Jane could tell.

  “Do you see that?” Annabelle asked.

  “Och, indeed I do,” replied Jane. “I see it verra clearly. My brother loves ye, too, of course.”

  Annabelle jerked. Could that really be true? She knew that he admired her and she felt a deep sense of admiration for him, too. But it seemed almost impossible to believe that he could love her.

  Could he?

  They had come to trust each other. That, she felt, was certainly true. The events of today had confirmed it. But love? Had anyone ever loved her truly?

  Jane seemed to sense her thoughts. “Ye ken I love ye, too.”

  Annabelle stilled, agog. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I love ye,” said Jane simply. “Can ye be surprised by that?”

  Tears stung Annabelle’s eyes. She never used to cry. Not one drop. Now, she seemed to brim with saltwater at the drop of a hat.

  “To be honest, Jane,” Annabelle confessed. “I have never been loved by anyone except, perhaps, my mother, and that was many, many years ago.”

  Jane scowled. “How is such a thing possible? Ye are such a wonderful lady. Ye are so fierce, so strong, so—”

  “Full of duplicity,” cut in Annabelle, unwilling to be sanctified. “I have made my fortune by the misfortune of others.”

  Jane leaned forward and frowned. “I canna entirely believe that. I think ye are framing yerself in a verra negative light on purpose. Do ye wish me no’ to love ye, is that it?”

  Annabelle swallowed.

  Was that what she wished, for Jane not to love her? It was very possible. She was quite unused to such a thing, love.

  “I don’t know,” Annabelle admitted. “But, it is a strange feeling to hear that one is loved.”

  “Well,” Jane replied factually, “I have had the good fortune of being loved by several people, my father, poor soul, who never got over the death of Mama, my mother, and my brother, of course. And I have had great affection from the people who raised me, so I am quite accustomed to love.”

  “Which is why you know the pain of the loss of it,” said Annabelle.

  “I supposed that is true.” Jane bit her lower lip before she declared, “But it must also be extremely painful to never ken love. To never feel its kindness or affection, or the safety that it can bring.”

  Those dratted tears stung Annabelle’s eyes again and, this time, she could not stop them from rolling down her cheeks. She quickly dashed them away and forced a smile.

  “Don’t do that,” protested Jane. She reached out and took Annabelle’s hand in her own. “I can see that it greatly saddens ye. And I can see how much ye wish to be loved. Ken that ye are. Ye are deeply loved by me. Ye have made my life so much better, so much more bearable. And ye have taught me how to be strong, Annabelle. How could I no’ love ye for giving me the gift of myself?”

  Annabelle did not know how to reply. How could she? It was such an astonishing profession. She had given Jane the gift of herself? That seemed entirely ludicrous, but it also seemed to be true.

  And also true, she had come to love Jane. She cared deeply about what happened to her, and how the world touched her friend, her sister.

  “Well, then,” Annabelle said, squeezing her sister-in-law’s hand. “I must tell you the truth. Perhaps it will change your thoughts of me.”

  “Perhaps it might,” Jane agreed. “But, it will no’ change the fact that I love ye. Love does no’ change just because one’s opinion changes.”

  Annabelle blinked astonished. She’d never thought of it that way.

  Annabelle cleared her throat and forced herself to say, “I married your brother, so that I might become available to another.”

  Jane blinked, then shook her head. “Do forgive me, I doona quite follow that line. What, exactly, do ye mean available to another?”

  Annabelle groaned.

  Jane had grown, of course, in the ways of the world. But, perhaps, she was not quite accustomed with the ways of the aristocracy.

  “You see, Jane,” Annabelle ventured, “if you must know, the Prince of Wales thinks I am a rather attractive person.”

  Jane laughed. “Well, who would no’ think ye were an attractive person?”

  Annabelle laughed, too. “That is exceptionally kind. But when a prince makes it known that he finds you attractive, well, there is really only one thing that happens next.”

  “And that is,” Jane prompted.

  “He wishes you in his bed,” Annabelle replied.

  “I see,” said Jane, her eyes wide. “And so, ye married my brother, so that ye might go to the prince’s bed?”

  Annabelle sighed. “No, I don’t think so at all. I married your brother to escape, and because I knew he was the person to be with. He was. . . is. . . the person who could see me, and who also knew I needed to leave my uncle’s house.�
�

  “There,” Jane replied, surprisingly triumphant. “Ye kent even then that my brother would love ye, and that ye would love him.”

  Annabelle took a drink of her wine. Was that the truth of it? Was it that simple? Had she known even then that Tristan would love her and that she would love Tristan?

  It occurred to her that it was that simple. That was why she’d even mentioned his name to the prince.

  “But, what am I to do now, Jane?” Annabelle all but begged. “I am in such a coil. Your brother married me at the instructions of the prince. We were not to be married for love, or even affection. It was purely a way in which there would be no scandal if I was to have an affair with His Royal Highness.”

  Jane pursed her lips then instructed, “Well, tell His Royal Highness no.”

  “No?” questioned Annabelle, barely believing she had heard correctly.

  “That’s right. No,” Jane declared firmly, holding Annabelle’s hand tight. “I’m sure he’s heard the word before.”

  Annabelle paused.

  Could one tell a royal highness no in such regards?

  She had heard that the prince could be extremely emotional and very difficult. But perhaps, that’s exactly what she should have done to begin with, or it was what she should certainly do now.

  For she had the same right as any person to say no.

  Could she do it? Could she dare?

  And in that moment, looking at Jane, Annabelle realized she must for all the young women who had been taken by force, who had been manipulated and coerced, who had been assumed to be saying yes when they actually wished to say no.

  Annabelle had never had any wish to go the prince’s bed. That had been entirely a thing of her uncle’s making. She had been a pawn in a game that she had no desire to play. And now it was time to tell one of the most important pieces on the board that she had no wish to play anymore.

  “Doona ye hate being bandied about and being managed by all these men?” Jane asked. “Doona ye think it’s time it stopped?”

  Annabelle couldn’t quite believe her ears.

  Where had the tentative creature who’d run the moors gone? It seemed as if she’d vanished entirely and come into herself. Jane was certainly not afraid anymore, and in her declaration, she was making that very evident.

  “But what of the consequences?” Annabelle demanded. “What will happen to Tristan?” she asked.

  “Och, Tristan?” Jane responded. She blew out her breath. “Pfft,” she said. “Tristan is a duke. Tristan has a great, vast fortune, and Tristan has lived abroad. I doona think that Tristan would like ye to go into another man’s bed to further his already grand title. I think that he will be verra happy to face whatever consequences may come, if that is what ye wish, too.”

  “But he is the laird of this clan,” Annabelle protested. “His family has ruled this clan for generations.”

  “Yes,” Jane said, “but what good should that do him if he betrayed his own wife or himself? No, the Highland way is quite different, thank ye verra much. We might kill people in dark corners, obviously, but we do no’ betray our own if at all possible. We doona toss them to an English king.”

  Annabelle stilled.

  She’d never thought of that.

  She was one of their own now.

  A Highland lady.

  Suddenly, it made her laugh, the picture of a Highland lord rebelling against an English prince. After all, it was true that she was the lady of the clan.

  Could she, too, rebel? Would that be truly what Tristan wished? She did not think that he would wish her to go, to give herself to someone else. Certainly not for a fortune, and certainly not for more titles. But he might be concerned about what could happen to his people.

  Would the Prince of Wales be so vindictive?

  Goodness, she wondered, did he even have such power? He was only the Prince of Wales, after all, not some ruddy potentate or even a king.

  What could he do? And if he could do it, would he? They were difficult questions to answer, and it seemed to her that the only way to find out would be to tell him no, and to see what he might do.

  They had only known each other for a few hours’ time. Surely he had already forgotten her. It was quite possible, really, that he should have done. He was a man of fickleness, so it was said.

  Perhaps she could send him a gift. She almost laughed out loud. Surely she could think of something, or some possible exchange for her own person, or perhaps, perhaps she could simply tell him that while she admired him vastly, she admired her husband more.

  “Will ye do it?” Jane asked. “Will ye do as I believe that ye can and should? Will ye be faithful to yerself and tell the bloody prince no?”

  Annabelle swallowed the rest of her wine, girding her loins.

  “I will,” she determined. “I will tell him no, and I will make it clear that I love Tristan, and that under no circumstances could I be swayed away from him.”

  “Ye ken they do say he is a great romantic,” Jane said. “Perhaps, that is how ye should explain it. Tell him that ye have fallen madly in love with yer husband, and that ye could never stray from his side.”

  Annabelle laughed. “It would be the truth.”

  Jane smiled. “There ye go then. Tell the prince the truth. It is a rare thing to do. Perhaps he will appreciate it.”

  Perhaps he would, thought Annabelle. Would Tristan appreciate it, too? She hoped so, and there was only one way to find out.

  Chapter 26

  Night spilled in through the towering castle windows. Only the silver light of the Highland moon illuminated the passage as Tristan took slow steps. The day had been full of events and a great deal of emotion.

  He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders and he wished he could feel free, but he did not. For even though his sister was now at peace and relieved with the outcome of Caxton’s demise, there was still something that he had to face.

  That damned, inescapable, dark shadow on the horizon would not let his spirit be at ease.

  How was he going to broach the subject with Annabelle? It needed to be done though, and so he must. It could wait no longer. She was strong, and he felt that she knew that she was beloved here.

  Now that they had shared such an event as today, surely she knew how much she meant to him. Surely, she knew he wished only her happiness.

  So, he had to tell her the truth. He had to tell her that he would not be able to bear it if she went to London and found herself at Carlton House.

  Resolved, Tristan strode the last few steps to their chambers and very silently opened the door. Spotting her across the room, he paused and was unable to tear his gaze away.

  She sat in her night-rail. The thin linen of it caressed her slender frame.

  Her long, dark hair fell in coils about her face. She wrote quickly. The quill scribbled over the pages. And, as she leaned forward, her shoulders curved as if she were writing something which was extremely important. The scratching sound of the nib on the paper filling the air was matched only by the jump of the flames in the fireplace.

  The room was dark but touched by the amber glow of flames. He tried to take this moment in. She was so focused and so determined. It was remarkable watching her do something with such purpose. She placed the quill down, sanded the document, then quickly swept that away and pressed it. She stared at it as if she were very pleased.

  “What have ye written?” he asked softly.

  With what appeared to be deliberate care, she turned to the sound of his voice. She did not smile, which gave him concern. If she was not smiling then whatever she had written was serious.

  It was no small thing.

  She braced her arm along the back of the carved oak chair.

  “I have written a letter,” she said evenly, her eyes sparking with some unknown emotion.

  “A letter?” he queried.

  He knew she had few acquaintances, very few friends, and no living relatives. To whom coul
d she be writing?

  “Yes,” she replied easily. “I have made a decision, you see. But before I send it, I wish to discuss it with you.”

  He took another step into the room. “Oh?” he prompted.

  “Yes.” She lifted her chin as her beautiful, pale shoulders squared. “It is incredibly important that we discuss this because I believe I know what you might wish, but I cannot know for certain.”

  “And what is that?” he asked carefully.

  All of a sudden, it felt as if the room was swallowing him whole. Was she going to say something that would cut out his heart? Was she going to say it was time for her to go to London and to secure their future? How did he explain to her that she did not need to secure their future? He had power enough and he wished for no more.

  She sat a little straighter. “I have written to the prince, and I have told him no, thank you.”

  “No, thank ye,” he repeated, hardly daring to believe what he’d heard.

  The slow pound of his heart began to accelerate as the meaning of her words became clear.

  “Correct,” she confirmed. “No, thank you. I have absolutely no desire to go to London.”

  Annabelle all but shuddered. “I hated it there as a child. I don’t wish to go again. And I have no desire to be anywhere but by your side.” She arched a brow. “And certainly not by his.”

  She let out a slow breath then began again, her voice low and deep with emotion, “You see, I explained that I have fallen in desperate love with you. That I am madly passionate about you, that I am all but your slave and could never leave your side. And if I did, I should pine away and wither with great sorrow.”

  The latter part Annabelle said with such affected drama that he almost laughed. But, a part of him wished so deeply that she meant what she said. Not that she would pine away for wanting him, of course. But that she did love him so deeply.

  “And why did ye wish to discuss it with me?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

  “Well, the prince might be angry,” she warned. “What if he replies that he’s furious? And what if he demands—”

  “It doesna matter,” he cut in. “The prince can be furious all he wishes. We will ride the tide of it. We will explain it to Lord Brunel. We will explain it to the prince, and we will tell them all to be damned if that’s what must be done. We will face this tide, as we have faced everything else. I’ll run away with ye to Canada if need be, or the Americas.”