The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  The trembling in her voice gave a false impression of outrage. “Do you think I’d let a nobleman touch me? He’d leave after one night. After all, the great ‘Marble Duke’ would never marry someone of my station.” Cara forced her body to relax back into his, but her soul cried out at the truth in her words.

  “That’s it. I always knew you had passion in you, even though you spent all that time with those mewling brats.” He dropped the rope, took her upper arms, and dug his thumbs into her tender flesh. Before he could turn her around, she kicked back with all her strength, and connected with his shin.

  He howled and reached for his leg. She grabbed the rope and yanked the noose over her head, then lunged forward. Her legs gave out and she lost her balance. Hands out flat, she braced herself for impact, but Russell’s arms encircled her with an iron grip seconds before she hit the floor.

  “You bitch. Did you think you’d—”

  A reedy, dignified voice pierced through the sound of labored breathing. “Mr. Russell, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Cara raised her head. Her grandmother stood on the edge of the lamplight between two coffins, dressed in a white nightgown, her thinning hair loose and flowing. Her black-gloved hands clutched at her chest. “Unhand my granddaughter.”

  “Don’t interfere, old woman. Go back to the house.”

  “How dare you.” Her grandmother came closer.

  “Grandmother, no. He’ll hurt you.” Her grandmother was responsible for everything, but it wasn’t her fault. She was sick.

  “Nonsense, Mr. Russell wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Her grandmother took Russell’s arm and tried to pry it away from Cara. “Now, let her go.”

  “No.” It was a roar that echoed off the stone walls. He shoved Cara to the floor.

  She fell atop some broken pieces of a crumbling coffin. Unexpected pain took her breath away as a sharp fragment knifed into her chest.

  A moment later she heard a high-pitched shriek, followed by a sickening thud. She rolled onto her right side in time to see her grandmother slide down the wall.

  Blood smeared the surface, only slightly darker than the moisture dampened stones. Her grandmother’s face seemed frozen in surprise. Had Russell killed her? Then Cara heard a moan.

  She began to crawl toward the frail woman, but an arm tightened around her waist and yanked. As she was wrenched to her feet, a whimper escaped her lips. Pain shot through her chest, forcing her to take shallow breaths.

  “Oh, no, you aren’t getting away from me. The old woman should have done as she was told.” Russell’s voice was filled with disgust. “Now, I’ll have to come up with an excuse for two bodies.” He nuzzled through her hair and licked the side of her neck.

  “Where were we?”

  Dampness clung to Garret’s very soul. He surveyed the landscape of greys and black, trying to get his bearings. The mist reflected the meager moonlight as it crept along the ground and curled amongst the headstones. The ancient reminders of Pembertons long dead lurched at various angles from the pearly grey blanket like inebriated sentinels.

  What if her grandmother had taken her somewhere else? Rachel might have misunderstood. Doubts crowded into his brain, but his gut told him otherwise. Cara was here. He could feel it.

  The family crypt had to be close by. Damn the prolific generations of Pembertons. The graveyard stretched as far as he could see. Precious minutes passed as he and his horse picked their way through the stones.

  For an instant, the cloud-cover broke, allowing silvery light to bath the area. The Pemberton estate stood in forbidden splendor at the top of the nearest hill.

  There. He urged his horse to the right. The family crypt stood at the base of the hill. The stone building’s elaborate spires jutted out like jagged teeth above the treetops.

  He rode the short distance, tethered his horse to the nearest branches, then took a satchel containing a torch and flint from the saddle.

  They may have left Cara in the dark. The thought quickened his steps.

  The door to the tomb gaped open, revealing a staircase that led down into blackness worse than the dungeons at Belcraven. Two life-sized stone angels flanked the entrance. When he lit the tar-soaked rags of the torch, the statues’ chiseled features flickered with a parody of life. Their hollow eyes appeared to mock him as he approached the entrance.

  A shriek split the silence. He clutched the wooden handle and plunged down the winding steps. The crumbled stairs slowed his initial decent, causing him to half-slide down the first few. He steadied himself and proceeded with more caution into the maw of the tomb.

  The cold and dampness seeped into his clothing. God, he hated the clamminess and the smell of death that wafted up from the pit.

  Muffled voices came to him, faintly at first, and then with more clarity. One of them sounded like Cara and he knew a moment of pure joy, until he recognized the other—Russell.

  The fawning bastard was here. Fear and anger waged a battle within him. Had Cara’s grandmother left her with the little worm? If Russell had touched her, the man wouldn’t leave the crypt alive.

  Scuffling sounds urged him forward. A light shone ahead, just around a curve. He extinguished his torch, then risked peering around the corner.

  Russell held Cara around the waist, pinning her arms to her body. His face pressed into her neck, but she twisted her head away. Slavering sounds came from beneath her hair as the bastard did God knew what to her neck.

  Cara’s gown gaped open, exposing her breasts and rib cage. Even in the dim light, Garret could see the bruises circling her neck and another dark area under her breast.

  Red haze filled Garret’s vision. A cry erupted from his chest as he burst into the light and ran at Russell.

  The beast lifted his head from Cara’s neck in time to position her between himself and Garret. Her eyes went wide, but he managed to halt his attack, inches before he collided with them. Cara’s bottom lip quivered, but relief filled her eyes.

  Garret’s chest heaved. He had to get Cara away from Russell. “Hiding behind a woman? I should have suspected that would be your style.” His voice held such disdain, that even his grandfather would have been impressed.

  “You.” Russell’s grip tightened on Cara until she winced. “You caused all this. She’s mine, do you hear? I took her and I intend to have her.”

  Garret crossed his arms. “I think that might be difficult with me here.”

  “You’ll leave, or I’ll kill her.”

  “Then what? Do you really think I’d let you out of here alive?” Fear dried Garret’s mouth, but he kept his voice even. The mixture of hope and horror in Cara’s gaze clawed at him. He prayed the emotionless expression he’d practiced all these years would not betray him now. “I have a solution to your dilemma, however. If you can best me in a fight, I’ll have no choice but to concede she belongs to the better man.”

  “Garret, no.” Cara’s voice sounded weak and broken, like someone who tried to speak after a coughing fit.

  Russell hissed in Cara’s ear. “Afraid your duke will get hurt?” He glared at Garret. “I’d like to hurt him, but you might run off. We couldn’t have that, could we?”

  Garret’s gaze settled on Cara’s neck. “Do you really think she’s in any condition to run off?” If Russell realized he would do anything to save her, the bastard would use her to escape rather than fight. “I think that’s simply an excuse. You’re the one who’s afraid.”

  “I’ll show you afraid.” He threw Cara from him. Her head connected with a carving of the Pemberton Crest, which had been emblazoned on a stone alter. She dropped to the floor and didn’t move.

  Garret fought the urge to rush over and see if she lived. He trained his gaze on his enemy instead. Russell wanted him distracted, but he would be disappointed.

  Cara moaned softly. Garret took a deep breath and tried to stay focused. She was alive. He nodded toward Russell and locked his anger into a dark place in his mind.

  His tea
cher’s voice played in his head. In a desperate situation, never let emotion rule. You will only beat yourself.

  Russell smirked as he brushed off his clothing. “Now, I’ll not have to worry about my prize.”

  If the bastard thought to goad him, it wouldn’t work. Garret rolled his shoulders, wishing he could remove his coat, but at this moment even that simple act could be fatal. Instead, he squared his stance and let his adversary come to him.

  The smirk on Russell’s face faded. He moved just out of range, circling Garret.

  He was forced to turn in order to keep Russell in sight. No doubt that was his enemy’s intent.

  “I believe I have the advantage. I’ve seen you fight, while—” Russell’s fist connected with Garret’s jaw, sending him back a step.

  Pain radiated through Garret’s head. He rotated his mouth, making sure everything still worked, at the same time that he stepped closer and landed his punch just above his opponent’s kidneys.

  A grunt escaped Russell, but he kept coming. He darted around Garret and attempted to land a blow to the side of his face.

  Garret ducked, bending his knees and driving his fist upward into the man’s chin. Crunch. His knuckle throbbed as he drew it back for the second punch that knocked Russell off his feet.

  A howl of pain filled the air, an eerie sound that seemed to bounce back upon itself in the underground tomb.

  Russell half crawled, half stumbled from the circle of light cast by the lantern. It was as if he had left the ring, only in this instance Garret couldn’t see more than a shadowy shape moving in the darkness.

  His enemy worked best in the shadows. Garret doubted he had given up and every nerve tingled in anticipation of . . . what?

  The flash of light on steel was the only warning Garret had that the battle was no longer equal. Russell sprang at him, his jaw hanging at an odd angle and a maniacal gleam in his eye.

  Only years of honing his reflexes kept the six-inch blade from slicing Garret across the middle. He leapt backward, then circled a coffin, placing it between them. The ploy worked, not only to draw Russell away from Cara, but to give Garret a moment to reassess the situation.

  Russell followed. “You can’t escape.” His words were spoken slowly, as if they pained him. “Let’s finish this.”

  As Garret’s eyes adjusted, he spotted a stone statue that had been placed into a niche of the wall. He grasped the figure and used it to block Russell’s attack as the man lunged around the coffin.

  A light-colored something lay a few feet behind Russell. If he could force his opponent back, whatever it was might prove a distraction.

  Garret doubled his attack. With each blow he forced Russell backward, though by now the weight of the statue felt more like lead than stone. Only another foot.

  All of a sudden, a black something snaked out from the pile of light-colored rags and wrapped around Russell’s ankle. Russell looked down. Garret hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and swung the statue upward connecting with Russell’s head.

  His opponent flew through the air, then slammed into the wall, an unused torch sconce protruding from his chest. His mouth opened in surprise and he stared down as blood pulsed from the wound. He hung there, twitching, as the last of the life drained from his body.

  The statue fell from Garret’s hands. Cara.

  He hurried to where she lay, so fragile and still before the altar. With gentle hands, he rolled her over to reveal the swelling on her forehead and the ugly bruises.

  Cara’s breasts rose and fell rapidly. He kept his gaze focused on her face as he removed his fine wool coat and covered her tattered clothing. He knelt by her side and brushed the hair back from her cheek, stroking the delicate skin. If his touch didn’t rouse her, what should he do?

  The bump worried him. One of his servant’s children had suffered a blow to the head and hadn’t recovered. What was the boy’s name? A slight smile tinged his lips. Cara would be incensed that he didn’t remember.

  He sighed. She’d been through so much because of him. He didn’t have the right to love her, but he did.

  A moan escaped from her lips. She stirred, then opened her eyes.

  Relief halted the rhythmic motion of his hand. For that moment, it was just the two of them. No past, no future, to worry about.

  She raised a hand to his face and traced the vertical crease in one cheek with her fingertip. “You came.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?” He twined his fingers with hers, wishing he didn’t have to remind her of their situation, but they couldn’t stay here forever. “How badly are you injured? Can you stand?”

  She nodded, but as he helped her sit up an expression of horror crossed her face. “Grandmother.” Clinging to him, she drew herself upright.

  He cupped her chin. “I know. She was responsible for all this.”

  “No.” Cara tried to turn away and motioned back toward Russell. “Grandmother came to help.”

  She tried to take a step, but her legs buckled and Garret swept her up in his arms. She buried her face against his shirt.

  “I think he might have killed her.” The muffled words were barely discernible and when she looked up, tears dampened her eyes.

  “What the devil?” It wouldn’t surprise him to hear her express concern for Russell next. He carried her to where she pointed and set her with care against the wall. The pile of light-colored rags turned out to be the crumpled figure of Cara’s grandmother.

  Garret left them briefly to retrieve the candle and by the time he’d returned, Cara had maneuvered the frail old woman into a sitting position.

  “There, there, child.” She brushed Cara’s hands away. “I’m fine. I told you Mr. Russell wouldn’t hurt us.”

  Garret knelt by the older woman and, to his surprise, she turned to stare straight at him. Her eyes reflected confusion rather than pain.

  She drew her brows together. “Stephen?” The old woman’s reedy voice held a mixture of hope and hatred that shook Garret. She thinks I’m Grandfather. Should he tell her the truth?

  A red stain spread along the collar of her nightgown and matted parts of her long white hair. She’d already lost so much blood. It was unlikely she’d last much longer.

  “You made me to do it, Stephen. You should never have left.”

  She extended her hand and Garret forced himself to take the black-gloved fingers.

  Her eyes clouded with anger and she clenched his hand. “I loved you. I never wanted to hurt them. It was your fault.”

  “Hurt who?” Garret felt guilty at what his grandfather had put this woman through. The old duke had considered it his right to play with other people’s lives.

  She shook her head. “Your grandsons, of course. Edward and Garret. I never meant for Edward to die.”

  Blackness enveloped Garret and when she released his hand it fell to his side. Emotions battered him, but disbelief surfaced, steadying him. She didn’t know what she was saying. It wasn’t true.

  She smiled at him. A sweet, gentle smile. “I couldn’t know the boys would take the boat. I frayed the rope so you’d die.” She sighed and her voice grew weaker. “But even in that, you disappointed me.”

  Cara’s startled gaze bored into him, but he didn’t know how to react. He’d spent so long blaming himself that realizing the truth felt like cutting off an arm or a leg. A question repeated like a litany in his brain.

  What have I done?

  Echoes of hurried footsteps and excited voices from above gave him something else to focus on. Morgan, Bradford, and Cara’s mother descended on them, forcing light and sound into the dreary hollow tomb.

  Garret glanced at Cara. A tear slid down her cheek, the moist path glistening in the firelight. He followed her gaze. The old woman had closed her eyes. A soft smile played around her lips, as her last breath rattled in her lungs.

  “Lady Pemberton?” Cara’s mother’s shocked voice echoed the astonishment on Bradford and Morgan’s face as they gazed at the dea
d woman on the floor and Russell’s body dangling only a few feet away on the sconce. Cara’s mother rushed to her daughter’s side and tucked the coat tighter about Cara, then helped her to stand.

  “I see you found your governess.” Bradford raised his eyebrows and turned to Morgan. “And I believe you can stop searching for Mr. Russell. Kendal appears to have located him for you.”

  “He did that.” Morgan gave Garret an assessing look. “I think perhaps Lady Cara and Kendal should be seeing a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.” Garret locked gazes with Cara. He couldn’t read her expression. Anger welled up in him. What did he expect her to feel? Pity? Hatred? “I think perhaps you should get Lady Caroline up to the house.” It took what reserve of energy he had left to say those words without emotion. Once Cara entered the Pemberton’s home, they would make sure that she never saw him again.

  He refused to acknowledge Cara as her mother and Morgan escorted her from the tomb and out of his life. It was for the best. How could she ever forgive what he’d done to her? He couldn’t bear to see the condemnation in her eyes.

  His quest for perfection had destroyed anything he’d ever cared for. With great effort he staggered up the stairs, each step punctuating the accusation in his head.

  He’d spend the rest of his life trying to find a way to live with what he’d done.

  Belle whipped her steed down the castle road, panic pounding with every beat of the horse’s hooves. She flung herself from the saddle and rushed up the stairs. Her voice echoed off the marble walls of the castle. No reply. Was she too late? She ran into the garden and found Beast, nearly lost to the world. But she hugged him tightly, refusing to let go until he returned to her.

  Beauty and the Beast

  Chapter 22

  Cara watched as yet another Pemberton maid hurried into the bedroom. An exasperated breath escaped her before she realized what she was about. She didn’t mean to be rude, but why wouldn’t anyone believe her when she told them she was perfectly fine, at least in body?