Things to settle…
“You mean me.” Her nails dug into the soft skin underneath her breasts. “But can’t you just…ignore him and hope he goes away?”
Lucas gave a short laugh. “As disgusting as he is, the duke isn’t a piece of dust to be shoved under the rug. He’s expecting me to bring you to him. When I don’t, he’ll send other men. And he’ll keep sending them. Until someone tells him not to.”
“And you’re going to tell him not to,” she whispered.
“Aye.” Above Lucas’s grin, his eyes were pure wolf. Sharp, cunning, and vicious. “That’s the plan.”
“Do you…” She cleared her throat. “Do you mean to kill him?”
“I can, if you want me to.” He studied her intently. “Do you want me to, love?”
Did she want Andrew dead?
Yes. Yes, she ashamed to say there was a small part of her that did.
Did she want Lucas to murder him on her behalf?
No.
Never that.
“P-perhaps a stern warning will suffice,” she said weakly.
Lucas’s grin deepened. “A stern warning. Exactly what I was thinking.” He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. A day or two. Three at the most. Anything you need, Bessie can provide it.”
“Wait!” she cried when he started for the door. “I…I haven’t said goodbye.”
He paused, but did not turn. “A simple farewell is best in these situations, love,” he said gruffly. “No need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
These situations? More difficult?
Her brow creased.
“I don’t–oh,” she gasped as understanding dawned, swift and horrible. “This is it, isn’t it?” When her knees threatened to give way, she gripped the edge of the windowsill to support herself. “After you speak with Andrew, you’re sending me back to Helena.”
“You should be happy,” Lucas said. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been waiting for? The opportunity to return to the life I stole you from.”
“I…I am happy. Of course, I’m happy.” Her chest tightened painfully. “But…”
“But?”
The word hung in the air between them like a guillotine ready to fall.
“I don’t want to go,” she said softly, so softly she was certain Lucas wouldn’t be able to hear, but with a savage snarl, he whirled around and stormed across the parlor.
“I told you not to make this difficult,” he growled, his face an inch from her own.
Percy’s first instinct was to cower in fear.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
Anger, in itself wasn’t frightening. It was what came after. But she knew in her heart, in her soul, in every place that mattered, Lucas would never hurt her.
At least not with his hands.
“When you kidnapped me, I had no say in the matter. I should have a say in this,” she said with steely determination. “This isn’t a decision you get to make on your own.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve damned well made it. This is for the best, Persephone.” He crossed his arms and stepped back. “You cannot stay here forever.”
He was right, she couldn’t.
But she also wasn’t ready to leave.
“The best for whom?” she asked, lifting a brow. “For you? Because I am tired of being told what to do and when to do it. I have a voice, and I should be able to use it.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. I would never stifle your voice, or your right to its use. You don’t belong here, love. You don’t belong with me.” His words sliced across her flesh like a knife, and she flinched from the bright blossom of pain they left in their wake.
“You’re just going to let me g-go?” She hated that her voice broke. She hated it. But there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Nothing except hold fast to her emotions, and pray the dam keeping them contained didn’t crack and crumble. “Just like that?”
Lucas looked away from her. “You were never mine to keep.”
“Then why keep me at all?” she demanded as frustration burst through the hurt. “Why not see Andrew the day after you brought me here? Why would you wait?”
Why would you hold me? Why would you kiss me?
Why would you make me fall in love with you?
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t have an answer to give you. I don’t have anything to give you, Persephone. I’m a bloody criminal, for God sakes. You need to be with your own people. People who understand you.”
“You understand me!” She stomped her foot as tears sprang to her eyes. “You understand me better than anyone else ever has.”
Finally, he met her gaze. But there was no hope to be found there. “I do. Which is why I know you’ll be better off without me. Goodbye, Persephone.”
She waited to cry until Lucas was gone. She could allow herself that much dignity, at least. When the tears came, they didn’t let up for a very long while. But true to her new promise, she cried only for herself.
For the love she had found in the most improbable of places.
And for the love that had just walked out the door.
Chapter Ten
“His Grace has been expecting you, Mr. Black.” The Duke of Glastonbury’s butler, a thin, reedy fellow with a perpetual scowl, admitted Lucas into an ornately decorated receiving parlor and gave a stiff bow. “He will be with you in a moment.”
“I’ll be looking forward to his arrival,” Lucas drawled, his casual tone doing nothing to betray the rage that bubbled right beneath the surface. Only the clenched fists he held behind his back were evidence of the fury he was doing everything within his power to contain. Fury he couldn’t wait to unleash upon Glastonbury.
He’d ridden through the night in order to arrive at the duke’s country residence by noon the following day. After a quick bath and change of clothes at the local inn, he’d gone straight to the manor sitting high on a hill. His swift, purposeful actions held a dual purpose. Firstly, they distracted him from thinking about Persephone. And secondly…
They distracted him from thinking about Persephone.
Lucas despised himself for how he’d ended things. He should have been gentler. Kinder. The sound of her crying as he’d left the house…it had nearly broken him. But although it had been messier than he would have liked, he was glad it was done. Or so he told himself. And as long as his meeting with Glastonbury went according to plan, his driver was going to return Persephone to her friends before Lucas returned to London.
He never needed to see her again.
He couldn’t see her again.
For once in his life, he was trying to do the right thing. The honorable thing. And he’d be damned if he ruined it. After all that she’d endured, Persephone deserved to live amidst her peers in a pretty townhouse in the middle of Berkley Square. Not shuttered away with a thief.
His world wasn’t for her. Her world wasn’t for him. What else could they do, but go their separate ways? If he were a stronger man, a better man, he would have given her up sooner. But he’d enjoyed their time together too much to want it to end.
Having coffee with her every morning. Dinner every night. He had tried to keep himself away. Keep himself busy. But even when he was working a job, his every thought had been of her. She’d completely consumed him, and although he hadn’t entered the parlor yesterday planning on it being the last time he saw her, he’d known what he had to do as soon as he had pressed his lips to hers.
So he’d done it.
It was done.
They were done.
And there was only one loose end left to tie up.
“Where is she?” Glastonbury demanded as he strolled into the room. Blessed with the fair coloring and chiseled features that had made women swoon from London to Leeds, he was impeccably groomed, with nary a single golden lock out of place. His tailcoat fit his wiry body to perfection, and his snowy white cravat framed a jaw and chin that was cleanly shaven.
It was easy to see how Persephone had fallen for him. The duke was what lady’s dreams were made of. And Lucas was very, very much looking forward to leaving that handsome face a little worse for wear.
“Your wife is not here, Glastonbury.” Lucas deliberately did not rise from the chair he’d settled himself in upon his arrival, a measure of disrespect that did not go unnoticed by his enemy.
“Why not?” The duke’s top lip curled back, revealing teeth that were beginning to yellow, a tell-tale sign of excessive tobacco use. “Is she dead? Did she die?”
The flicker of excitement Lucas saw in Glastonbury’s eyes was almost more than he could take. He gripped the armrests of his chair to anchor himself in place, his short nails digging furrows into the rich mahogany. He wanted to make the duke bleed. There was no doubt about that. But first…first, he wanted to see him sweat.
“She is perfectly well and healthy,” Lucas said coolly. “I am sorry if that disappoints you.”
Glastonbury tapped the walking cane he carried against the leg of a table. “Why would that disappoint me? I love my wife. I want only her safe return.”
“Yes,” Lucas bit out, “you loved her so much, you nearly loved her to death.”
The duke frowned. “I don’t believe I like your tone, or whatever implication you are attempting to make.”
“Oh, I am not implying anything.” Lucas smiled thinly. “I am saying you beat your wife.”
“Beat her?” Glastonbury was either an excellent actor, or his incredulity was real. Either way, his shocked response left a bitter taste in Lucas’s mouth. “I may have raised my hand to her on occasion in an effort to curb her willful spirit, but it was always for her own good.”
A growl rattled in Lucas’s throat as he slowly began to rise from his chair, a cobra unwinding itself before it sank fangs into flesh. “You are never going to touch her again.”
“What an absurd request,” said Glastonbury with a startled laugh. “I hired you to retrieve my wife, not to give me marital advice. I’ll touch her anytime I damn well please, in any manner I see fit. A slap here and there hardly merits raising such a fuss. Women need to realize their place. For some, the lesson comes harder than others. It’s not my fault that the duchess is a slow learner.”
Lucas had planned to toy with the duke as a cat would a mouse. He’d wanted Glastonbury to feel the same fear Persephone had. He’d wanted Glastonbury to beg for mercy on his knees. He’d wanted the duke to grovel.
But there was still great satisfaction to be found in watching Glastonbury’s head nearly snap off his shoulders as Lucas’s fist plowed into the side of his perfectly chiseled jaw.
The blow sent the duke reeling across the parlor. He struck the fireplace, sending a vase toppling off the mantle and crashing onto the floor. Gasping like a stuck pig, he stared at Lucas in stunned amazement, his mouth opening and closing like a fish dragged out of the water and slapped onto the bank.
“Are you mad?” he said shrilly. “You–you cannot hit me! What–what are you doing? Stop right there. I told you to stop!”
Glastonbury released an embarrassingly high-pitched scream as Lucas launched himself across the room. He pummeled the duke in quick succession, landing two blows to his face before settling into his ribs. Not quite hard enough to cause internal damage, but it went without saying the bastard wouldn’t be feeling like roses in the morning.
Hauling up Glastonbury by his cravat, Lucas pinned him against the wall, where he squirmed like a worm on the end of a hook. “I am going to repeat myself one time, and one time only,” he snarled. “You are never going to touch Persephone again. You are never going to look at her again. You are never going to be so much as in the same bloody town as her again. When she is in London, you will be here. When she comes to the country, you can go live under a damned rock for all I care. Do I make myself clear?”
“You have no right to do this! She is my wife! She is my property, and I will do with her what I see–oomph.” Tears leaked from the corners of the duke’s eyes as Lucas drove his knee upward. Pinning his forearm to Glastonbury’s neck in order to keep him from falling over, Lucas leaned in close. So close he could see the purple undertone creeping into the duke’s face as he wheezed for breath.
“You’re right, Your Grace. For some, the lesson does come a bit slower,” Lucas said silkily. “In case you haven’t realized it by now, I could snap you in half if I wanted to. Have you ever heard the sound of your own bone breaking? No?” His head tilted thoughtfully. “Would you like to?”
“P-p-please,” Glastonbury stuttered. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“You miserable, worthless excuse for a man.” Beyond disgusted, Lucas released his grip on the duke and stepped out of the way as Glastonbury crumpled to the ground and curled in on himself like a boiled shrimp. “I should kill you now and be done with it. But for some reason I cannot fathom, Persephone wants you alive. So, this is how it is going to be.”
Glastonbury’s eyes rolled in terror when Lucas crouched down beside him. He tried to crawl away, and on an annoyed sigh, Lucas slammed his elbow directly between the duke’s shoulder blades. With a muffled squeak, Glastonbury collapsed to the floor, his legs twitching.
“You are not going to send anyone after Persephone again,” Lucas said with remarkable calm. “You are not going to send anyone after me. You are going to leave us both alone, or I will come back here and make this seem like an afternoon at one of your bloody spas. Do we understand each other?”
“Y-yes,” Glastonbury moaned pitifully.
“Good. I’m so glad we could have this little chat, aren’t you?” Giving the duke a friendly slap on the back, Lucas stood up and dusted off his hands. “Enjoy the rest of the day, Your Grace.”
Whistling a merry tune, he sauntered out of the parlor, while Glastonbury writhed in pain behind him.
“Percy!” Helena’s delighted cry rang throughout the entire house. “You’re back!”
“I am,” Percy confirmed as she nudged the door closed with her foot and began to take off her bonnet and cloak. She’d hardly untied the ribbons under her chin than she found her arms filled with Helena as the red-haired countess practically tackled her to the floor.
“I cannot believe it!” Helena squealed.
“Can’t–breathe,” Percy choked out.
“Oh, dear.” Loosening her grip on Percy’s neck, Helena flashed her a contrite smile. Then she immediately took to fussing over her as a mother hen would her lost chick, first taking Percy’s outer garments and then guiding her straight into the drawing-room and onto a large sofa.
“Lie back,” she instructed. “I can only imagine the ordeal you’ve been through. You must be exhausted! And starving. It looks as though you’ve lost half a stone. Do you want tea? Water? Wine? Biscuits? Cook made them fresh this morning. Scones? Banbury tarts? Shrewsbury cakes?”
As Helena continued to rattle off sweets, Percy draped an arm over her face and wished she was in her bedroom with the curtains drawn and the candles doused. Her friend’s enthusiasm at her return was heartwarming. Truly. But Percy didn’t want wine or scones. She wanted Lucas. And if she couldn’t have him, then all she wanted to do was sleep.
“…Going to send for Calliope at once.” Helena scurried from the room, taking all of her energy with her, and Percy actually managed to doze for an hour or so until she was awoken with a start by another high-pitched squeal.
“PERCY! YOU’RE HERE!” Calliope screeched as she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands together. “I couldn’t believe it when Helena told me! Are you all right? Are you hungry? Thirsty? What can we get you? How did you get here? Oh, I’ve so many questions!”
“Tea,” Percy grimaced as she forced herself into a sitting position. Dragging a blanket off the back of the sofa, she draped it over her lap and mustered a strained smile. “Some tea would be nice.”
“Not a word until I return,” Helena warned before she dashed
out again.
Calliope sat down beside Percy. “How are–”
“Not a word!” Helena yelled from the kitchen.
“She’s got the ears of a fox, that one.” Calliope rolled her eyes. “We’ve been absolutely beside ourselves with worry. I’m so relieved to see you home safe and sound. We knew Art would be able to find you.”
“Art?” Percy repeated in confusion. “Who is Art?”
“Artemis Bishop,” Helena said as she returned the drawing-room carrying a small porcelain teapot in her left hand and three matching teacups in her right. After pouring and distributing the hot brew, she took the chair across from the sofa. “She’s a thief-taker. We hired her to find you.”
Percy blinked. “How did you find her?”
The two friends exchanged a glance.
“In Seven Dials,” Helena admitted after she took a sip of tea.
“It was Helena’s idea,” Calliope interjected. “We were nearly murdered.”
“Oh, we were not. Stop exaggerating.”
Yes we were, Calliope mouthed.
“But you’re saying Art didn’t bring you here?” asked Helena.
“No, I’ve never met her.”
Calliope’s temple furrowed. “Then…how did you get away?”
“I was released.” Her gaze downcast, Percy plucked at a loose thread on the blanket. “And my kidnapper, Lucas Black, had his driver bring me here.”
“I don’t understand,” Helena said.
Neither did Percy.
Given everything she and Lucas had shared, how could he have turned her out as if she meant nothing to him? How could he not even come back to give her a proper goodbye? Surely, after all they’d been through, a little closure wasn’t too much to ask.
“If you want to hear the whole, sorry tale,” she sighed, “I’m going to need something stronger than tea.”
Over a bottle of Madeira, Helena and Calliope listened intently as Percy began from the beginning when Lucas had appeared in the garden. She told them of how terrified she’d been, and how he’d allowed her to pack some of her belongings. A smile teased the corners of her lips when she recalled the sweet muffins Lucas had brought her, and a warm blush filled her cheeks as she told them about that first kiss, when everything had started to change.
Desiring the Devil of Duncraven (Secret Wallflower Society Book 3) Page 8