The Revenge of the Betrayed Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Emily said, “Yes, that is my only bit of peace when I think of not having children. At least they do not have James for a father.”

  “You would make a wonderful mother,” Pearl said. “I had better get back to the kitchen or those girls will have fouled up the evening’s roast.”

  Emily nodded. She gave the woman a smile as Pearl hurried off to keep her kitchen staff in line. Emily stared back out the window. She could put James’ mistress out onto the cobblestones, but she had no interest in dealing with James. Let the woman keep him entertained.

  ***

  The evening meal was delicious as always, but James barely touched it. Emily told the maid to tell Pearl that the meal was wonderful which seemed to just amuse James all the more. “Is there something in particular that amuses you tonight, my husband?” Emily asked the man.

  James shook his head. “I am merely in a good mood, darling,” James said with a smile.

  Emily eyed the man. “May I ask how you have come about this reinvention of yourself?”

  “I go forth to conquer tonight,” James said with a grand gesture of his arms. “I shall this night slay the enemy and bring home his gold.”

  Emily sighed. “You are speaking of gambling,” she said as she pierced a piece of roast with her fork.

  “In a matter of speaking, but it is so much more than that, Emily,” James said as if she were a simpleton. “I am going to join Mr Duarte and Oscar for a friendly game, but I do not believe he can be as astute at cards as they say. I shall venture out and see for myself how this legend holds up in the flesh.”

  Emily bit down a scornful laugh. “You mean that you are jealous of the attention everyone is giving Mr Duarte, and you hope that by beating him it will somehow imbue you with his aura of mystery, or do you just lash out at everyone that threatens you.”

  “Not even your sharp tongue can bother me tonight,” James said with a smile. “I am set for greatness.”

  Emily gave the man a doubtful look. “Are you certain of that? After all, the man is said to be a veritable devil in the flesh. I doubt even the high and venerable James Winchester can stop a devil.”

  “You are smitten with him,” James teased as he raised his cup.

  Emily sighed. “I do not know the man. Unlike you, James, I do not form bonds based on someone’s hemline or shape.” Emily shrugged and said, “And why would you care about which way my affections fall?”

  “In truth, I do not,” James said before he took a deep drink from his cup.

  Emily frowned. “Should you drink so much before you go off to slay your Spanish dragon?”

  Laughter spilled forth from James, and he slapped the table. “That is a good way to look at it. The English knight going forth to slay the Spanish dragon and take his golden hoard.”

  “Well, let us pray that he does not devour you before you get to slay him,” Emily said.

  ***

  James smiled at the Spaniard. The man’s grey hair was loose and framed his scarred face. The slight limp and the man’s appearance spoke of age, but his eyes looked bright and clear. James wondered yet again what the man’s age actually was, but he did not expect him to comply with an answer. Mr Duarte was known as much for his private nature as he was for his ability to play cards.

  James knew the men who had touted the Spaniard’s uncanny ability to look into your eyes and see into your very soul. James had known plenty of unscrupulous card players who knew how to steal away a man’s earnings. He was confident that he could prove this Spanish devil to be merely another charlatan who was quick with his fingertips.

  “Are you in?” Mr Duarte asked him. The Spanish accent and perfect English of the man grated on James’ nerves. He willed the man to simply stumble over a word, but the Spaniard never did.

  James nodded. “Of course, I am,” he said with an edge. “You should probably not be so eager, Mr Duarte. It gives away your hand.”

  “Oh?” Mr Duarte asked with a one-sided smile that James wanted very much to leave bloody every time he saw it.

  Adopting a cool manner, James shrugged. “Could be,” James said.

  “So, what do you think I have in my hand then?” Mr Duarte asked as he waited for James to put down his bid.

  James threw in his coins and said, “Well, let us just see.”

  “You are calling the hand then?” Mr Duarte asked.

  James tapped his cards on the table. “Yes, I am.”

  “It is very early in the game,” Mr Duarte said, his voice soft and reasonable.

  Sneering at the man, James asked, “Are you delaying because of the state of your hand or out of some sense of nobility?”

  “Neither,” Mr Duarte said. “It is no fun to win so easily.”

  James lost his temper and threw his own cards down on the table. Mr Duarte sat back in his chair and eyed James with a gaze that made him feel the same way his father used to when James was a child. The other two men in the game had already folded out and watched James and Mr Duarte with interest. Oscar, in particular, seemed to be taking in every move that the Spaniard made.

  “Very well,” Mr Duarte said in a tone that almost sounded apologetic as he laid down a hand of cards that made James’ blood boil. The man had been patiently sitting on a hand that contained four of a kind.

  James knew he had to hold his anger in, or he would lose face, but it was hard to push down the rage that bubbled up as the Spaniard pulled his earnings towards him. James watched the man pocket his money, James’ money, and he seethed quietly. “Another round?” James suggested.

  “I make it a rule never to play the same people twice in one night,” Mr Duarte said as he stood up.

  James looked at the other two men at the table. “Surely, you can make an exception as this was just a friendly game?”

  “Was it?” Mr Duarte asked with restraint. “Perhaps you should learn to school your anger before you play again.”

  The man’s words were not cruel, or scathing, but James did not need anyone telling him what to do. He was a Duke, and he would not be talked to as if he were a child by some foreigner who dared to look down his nose at a fellow of the crown. James stood up but found Oscar’s hand on his arm. James looked at his old friend, and the man shook his head.

  Mr Duarte gave them one last look before he turned. The Spaniard pulled his hat down on his head. James watched the man’s cane click against the floor then he turned to look at Oscar. “What do you mean by grabbing me like that?”

  “You were going to embarrass yourself,” Oscar hissed.

  James stared at Oscar then spat, “Perhaps you are more concerned about whether Mr Duarte will attend your next party. Perhaps you should remember all the things that I have done for you and all the things we have done together.” James eyed Oscar intently before he scooped up his hat and left.

  ***

  Edward lay in his bed. The ache in his leg reminded him that he was indeed still quite alive. The light filtered in, and he made himself get up. He had to see about getting some powder from the pharmacy for this ache.

  He pulled on his trousers and hunted down where he had put his overcoat when he had come in. He had not hired any staff to help him as he preferred his privacy. He could do most things for himself, and most people seemed to accept his solitary existence as another of his eccentricities.

  The air held a chill that Edward had not expected. Clouds were blotting out the sun, and the street was cast in a gloom that Edward felt to his very core. He had matched wits with James for the first time and found the man impatient and temperamental. The long coat brushed against his legs as he lengthened his strides as much as he dared with his aching leg.

  The click of his cane on the stones beneath his feet echoed in Edward’s ears. He knew that most assumed that he was senior to his actual years, and he did nothing to dissuade that line of thinking. The weaker he appeared, the more of an advantage Edward had to his way of thinking. Cantara had always told Edward that being underestimated was a
bonus that no man should ever look down upon.

  “Good morning, Mr Duarte,” Mr Reuben called as Edward passed by his tailoring shop.

  Edward lifted his hand to the man but did not slow his pace. He had an appointment with the local apothecary, a rather disagreeable man who tried to pour laudanum down Edward’s throat every time he walked in the door to the man’s pharmacy. Edward had no use for the side effects of the drug. He needed a clear head for his revenge to work.

  “Mr Duarte,” the apothecary said in a pleased tone as Edward made his way in the door to the cramped building stuffed even fuller with bottles of all shapes and descriptions. “You’ve come for more of the powder?”

  Edward nodded. “Yes, and only the powder. There is no need to try and sell me anything else.”

  Apothecary Shumel nodded with a smile. “As you say,” the man said. “There are wonderful benefits to laudanum, Sir.”

  “Just the powder, if it pleases you,” Edward said as he laid his hands over the top of the cane and waited for the man to measure out the powder.

  Once the apothecary was done, he handed Edward the powder in a small pouch. “Just a pinch at a time,” he reminded Edward who put some coins on the counter in front of the man. “Always a pleasure,” the apothecary said as he counted his money.

  Edward left as swiftly as he had come in. There were no good excuses for lingering in a pharmacy. Edward took a deep breath of the air out on the street as if it would rid him of any lingering ill-spirits that the strange smells of the pharmacy might have brought into him.

  The first win over James had been anticlimactic for Edward. The victory had been too easy and left a bitter taste in Edward’s mouth. There was no sense in dwelling on such things, Edward decided. If James was liable to throw himself and his fortune at Edward’s feet, then so be it. Let the lamb come to the slaughter.

  Chapter 12

  Esteban Duarte plagued James’ existence. However, getting rid of the Spaniard was not as easy a feat as it had been to get rid of Edward. No, the man had fooled all of society into thinking he was some great thing to be admired, but James knew better.

  James’ hand hit the desk in front of him with a sound so loud that it brought a smile to his face. There was a knock on the door, and the doorman whose name James had long forgotten, said, “Magistrate Turlington is here to see you, Your Grace.”

  “Send him in,” James called as he straightened his desk.

  A few moments later, Oscar came through as he removed his hat from his head. “You sent word for me to come?”

  “Yes, I wanted to discuss how we would go about dealing with this Spaniard that is prancing about London as if he owned the place. Emily is out there somewhere right now discussing plans with her maids about throwing a party. I cannot dissuade her,” James said as his lip curled.

  Oscar chuckled. “James, have you given yourself a look as of late? You must let this go. The man is doing you no harm. And what if Emily does want to throw a party? It would do your status good if she did so. She is a Duchess, and ladies often throw parties, James.”

  “She will invite him. She holds some fascination for the man,” James growled.

  Oscar sat down heavily and eyed his old friend. “Perhaps you should drink less, James.”

  “Perhaps you should remember who you owe a great debt to,” James shot back.

  Oscar sighed and nodded slowly. “Or you could remember who knows things about you that you would rather not get out.”

  James stared at Oscar for a long moment before he asked, “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, James,” Oscar said as he clasped his hands together in his lap and looked at James with something in his gaze that James could not identify. “You are the one who likes to throw threats. I am merely reminding you that knowledge goes both ways between us.”

  James leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Emily is still on about Augustus. I swear that I expect to find him here any day as she takes him into her charity.”

  “Augustus will not leave his family home. The man is busily drinking himself to death,” Oscar said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’ve nothing to fear from Augustus.”

  James said, “I do not fear Augustus. I fear the drink will loosen his lips, and he will purge himself of whatever obscene guilt the man has wrapped close to his chest over the years.”

  “What would you have me do? Would you have me kill him?” Oscar asked with a shake of his head. “You treat Mr Duarte like he is the second coming of Edward, and you rail against him. You do not have to play against him, James. You could live your life happily here with Emily.”

  James would not admit to Oscar that his marriage to Emily was in name only these days. No, he could save a bit of face there for the time being. “I like a challenge,” James said with a lift of his shoulders. “I feel there must be some sort of trick to the man.”

  “Perhaps he really is a devil,” Oscar said challengingly.

  James laughed. “If he were, then he would celebrate us. We are devils among men, after all.”

  “Perhaps he is here to torment us,” Oscar said with a smile.

  James shook his finger at his old friend. “You sound like Augustus. Are you so ready to throw yourself under the whips and beg for repentance?”

  “I beg for nothing,” Oscar said as he eyed James. “You seem different, James. You are focused on Mr Duarte, and I do not think any good will come of it.”

  With a hit of his hand against the desk, James accused, “You are fascinated with him like Emily. You can be fooled by his airs, but there is something not right about that man, Oscar, and I intend to find out what it is.”

  ***

  To James’ dismay, Emily’s party went off without a murmur of discontent. It was a smashing success really. People came from all around, but they did not come to bask in James’ company. Instead, they all came to stand near the celestial glow of Esteban Duarte, the man who spoke so little but said so much.

  James glared at the Spaniard as Emily introduced the man to several ladies that she was acquainted with. It was one thing for Emily to be indulged with this fascination, but to flaunt it so was impossible for James to ignore. He would be a laughing stock.

  “Ho, James,” Oscar said with jubilant cheer as he came over to slap James on the back entirely too hard. “Sorry there,” Oscar said as he steadied James who had stumbled forward a bit from the strength of Oscar’s blow on his back.

  James shook the man’s hands off of him. “Get off me,” James hissed. “I am not some ailing grandmother for you to coddle.”

  “Never thought that,” Oscar said. “What are you holed up over here grumbling about?”

  James took a deep breath and looked at Oscar. “Look at how Emily fawns over him.”

  “She is a good hostess,” Oscar said with some confusion. “You always were a jealous type. You are jealous of anything that comes between you and your loyal subjects. Emily adores you from all you have said. Worry not over it.”

  James nodded slowly. Yes, all he had said probably did make Emily appear as the doting wife, but Oscar did not know all of it. James cleared his throat. “Yes, I am a fool, but such is love.”

  “And a wonderful thing love is,” Oscar said. “I am thinking of striking up a courtship with the widow Stalson. She’s a lovely woman, do you not think?”

  James looked over at the woman that Oscar indicated with a subtle jerk of his head. “Yes,” James agreed. “I thought she had pledged herself eternally to her dead husband?”