Dukes Are Forever

by Anna Harrington

  Drawing a deep breath, praying she had the strength to refuse him, she swiped at her eyes and turned. “Edward, please—”

  A hand clamped over her mouth as she screamed.

  * * *

  Edward stormed downstairs and back into his study, seeking out the quiet sanctuary the room usually afforded him but tonight finding no release from the frustration swirling inside him, the clenching of his gut, nor the pounding of his heart, which still beat furiously from his encounter with Kate in her room.

  His hand shook as he poured himself a whiskey. Even as he tossed back the drink in one gasping gulp and welcomed the burn down his throat, he couldn’t shake the raw emotion eating at him. So he poured a second and found just as little solace in it.

  Running a hand through his hair, he struggled to fight down the shaking that gripped him and the overwhelming sense of emptiness aching in his chest, which threatened to consume him. He’d lost her. She was gone forever now, with absolutely no help for it.

  He splashed more whiskey into his glass, determined to drink himself into oblivion.

  Thomas Matteson had already arrived to escort Augusta and Kate to the ball—he’d glimpsed the marquess’s carriage waiting in the drive through the stairwell window when he left Kate’s room. All three of them would soon be gathered in the drawing room down the hall, enjoying a bit of quiet conversation and a glass of Madeira before heading off. As duke and host, and as the damned woman’s guardian on the night she was being formally introduced, he should have been in there with them. Hell, at the very least he should have greeted Thomas.

  But he couldn’t make himself join them, couldn’t pretend in front of Thomas and Augusta that Kate’s rejection of him wasn’t tearing at him. Even now, the image burned into his mind of Kate standing there in her ball grown, looking every inch a duchess, with tears at her lashes as she admitted to loving him.

  “Damnation!” He threw the glass into the fireplace, shattering it in a rain of crystal and fire.

  He fisted his hands against the back of his chair. What the hell did she expect? That he’d declare his undying love like some untried green boy who didn’t know firsthand the pain and problems that love caused? That he would leave himself vulnerable to wounding by a woman again, and especially by her?

  He didn’t doubt her feelings. For God’s sake, she’d ridden halfway across the country to save his life. And the way she’d given herself to him, so sincerely and with so much vulnerability and passion, how tenderly she’d kissed him afterward…well, she couldn’t have faked that. That was the one thing about which he was certain.

  He’d wanted her desperately that night at the lockkeeper’s cottage, the night that started it all—he still wanted her, more than he’d wanted any woman in his life. Even more than Jane. But if he cared only about satisfying his lust, he would have become bored with her by now and moved on without a thought.

  Of course, it wasn’t just lust. It was everything about her, right down to the stubborn way she raised her chin whenever he aggravated her. He wanted the warmth that filled him whenever she smiled and the amusement he felt whenever she frowned in irritation, the way she teased him as if they were old friends and spoke her mind as if they were adversaries—and a thousand other things that had nothing to do with sex.

  He wanted a life with her.

  But he would never allow himself to love her. The cost was simply too great.

  A commotion went up from the entry hall at the bottom of the front stairs, followed by shouts and horse hooves on the gravel drive outside.

  Uneasiness flashing through him, Edward hurried from the study.

  “What’s the matter?” he called to Thomas and Augusta, who were already in the hallway and just as bewildered at the evening’s sudden disruption as he.

  “No idea,” Thomas informed him, falling into step beside him as the two men headed toward the stairs. “I just arrived and was pouring a drink for the countess—”

  “Your Grace!” The butler’s shout echoed through the front foyer and stairwell. “Come quickly, sir!”

  Edward ran down the stairs.

  A group of footmen gathered on the portico, their faces grim. The front door stood flung wide open, all the lamps blazing, and Kingsley, the butler, stood in the middle of the confusion, looking extremely put out in his own household.

  “Your Grace,” Kingsley called out as Edward reached the bottom of the stairs, his brows drawn tightly together. “Here, sir.”

  The footmen stepped back to reveal a badly beaten Hedley lying on the marble portico, his clothes torn and muddied, his hand pressed against his forehead to stanch the blood dripping from a deep gash on his head.

  “Colonel.” He tried to pull himself to his feet, but Edward put a hand to his shoulder and kept him down.

  “Stay still,” he ordered. “What happened?”

  “After I left you an’ the major, I went out through the back, an’ I saw Benton there i’ th’ alley behind th’ stables. I watched ’im, to see what he would do…”

  Edward tore off his cravat to press it against the man’s head and stanch the bleeding. “He attacked you?”

  Hedley winced. “He had help. Two men.”

  Edward glanced at Kingsley. “Send for a doctor.”

  “Go! Fetch Dr. Brandon,” the butler ordered one of the footmen who hurried from the house.

  “What was he doing, Hedley?”

  “Breaking into th’ house, sir.”

  “The house…” He felt the blood drain from his face as fear gripped his chest and dread pulsed through him, inexplicably knowing the worst. “Kate—where is she?”

  “They took the lass, sir.” Hedley tried to sit up. “They brought ’er down the back stairs and through the garden.” Regret tightened his blood-smeared face. “I tried to stop ’em, but they were too many, too big…”

  Edward grabbed his shoulders, his heart pounding frantically. “Did they hurt her?”

  “No—I don’t know.”

  “Did you see them leave?” A deep voice cut in calmly behind Edward.

  Hedley’s eyes flicked over Edward’s shoulder at Thomas Matteson, and he nodded. “Aye, sir. To the north. Put her into a black carriage with crimson upholstery an’ brass trim. Broken right lamp.”

  “And the horses?” Thomas asked, his face grim.

  “Mismatched. A bay with white socks on its front legs and a blaze, the other a gray.”

  Edward demanded, “And the men?”

  Hedley shook his head. “Didn’t get a good look, Colonel, ’fore they bashed m’ skull.”

  “You did well, Hedley.” Edward clamped the man on the shoulder. “Stay here, wait for the doctor.” He glanced at Augusta as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “They’ve taken Katherine. We’re going after her. Send for Grey at his town house.”

  She nodded calmly despite the ashen paleness of her face.

  “Tell him to bring his men. And to head north.”

  He rushed out the door toward the stables, with Thomas close on his heels.

  Not taking the time to rouse the grooms, they quickly saddled their own horses and sprang up onto their backs. With each second that passed, Edward felt the panic grow inside him that he had lost Kate. The same metallic taste of fear that he remembered from the war formed on his tongue when he thought that he might never have the chance to see her again, never have the chance to hold her in his arms and tell her…that he loved her. And just when he’d found her again.

  Thomas pulled his prancing gelding into a circle around Edward’s big colt. “Don’t worry, Colonel, we’ll find her.”

  Edward nodded, his face expressionless, his back and shoulders straight. Unconsciously, he’d assumed the same posture in the saddle that had become second nature in his army years, right before he rode into battle. But that was exactly what he was doing—riding into battle once more, this time to fight for Kate.

  He took the pistol Thomas pulled from beneath his formal evening jacket and
handed over to him, not blinking an eye that the marquess came armed to a society ball.

  “If that bastard hurts her,” Edward growled, “I’ll kill him.”

  Then he dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and the colt sprang forward.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  So, lifted your skirts for Strathmore, did you, poppet?” Rough fingers jerked the blindfold from her eyes.

  Kate blinked, slowly clearing away the blurriness and bringing her father’s face into focus.

  He sat back on his haunches in front of her. Early morning sunlight slanted into the abandoned cottage through half-covered windows where she sat on the dirt floor. The two men who helped kidnap her played cards at a small table on the other side of the room and ignored her plight, even as a length of cloth torn from the bottom of her gown bound her hands so tightly at her wrists that her fingertips were numb.

  Bruises and scrapes covered her body. They’d jammed a pistol into her side so hard that when she breathed she could still feel the bruise between her ribs. Then they forced her down the back stairs of Strathmore House and shoved her inside a carriage, placing a blindfold around her eyes and a gag in her mouth so she couldn’t cry out for help or see where they had taken her.

  Her father leered at her. “For your sake, you’d better hope he enjoyed rutting with you.”

  She knew better than to say anything to that. When her father was angry, there was no reasoning with him. And right now, he was enraged.

  Instead, she calmly held up her hands. “Would you untie me, please, Papa?”

  “And have you escape?” He shook his head with an amused smile. “You’re my treasure, poppet.” He pulled at her skirt as she sat in the dirt. “I wouldn’t dare risk losing you, now that you’re worth so much.”

  Struggling to keep the shock from registering on her face, knowing that seeing it would only please him and give him more power over her, she forced herself to keep her breathing slow and controlled, her hands from shaking. But cold fear churned inside her, and her heart raced so hard with rising panic that her chest burned.

  She still wore her thin gown from last night. No fire blazed inside the cottage, and with her arms and legs bared to the cold morning air, she shivered violently. Her beautiful dress was ruined now, the skirt torn from where he’d cut off a strip of the silk to bind her, the bodice dirt-smeared from the floor of the cottage where they’d tossed her. Her fine shoes and gloves were gone, her stockings ripped, her neck and ears bare.

  She fought to keep the shivering from her voice, afraid to let him see how suddenly frightened she was of him. “Where is my jewelry?”

  “Where do you think?” he snorted sarcastically.

  “But those don’t belong to me.” Augusta loaned her the beautiful sapphire-and-diamond necklace and earbobs because they matched her dress—Westover blue, the countess told her, so everyone would know she was now part of the family. “I have to return them. You can have anything else if you—”

  “Brambly, that’s what I want.” He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw so hard she winced. “Are you willing to give me the farm?”

  Never! She’d rather die than surrender Brambly.

  When she didn’t answer, he shoved her head away, and she gasped softly at the sharp pain. She willed herself not to let him see that he’d hurt her, because she knew he would do it again, that he would take pleasure in causing her pain and making her cry. Just as he had her mother.

  “Selfish bitch!” he snarled. “I deserve that property. I could have sold it and made enough money to be set for life. But you refused, and after all I did for you, the way I raised you and took care of you.” His voice lowered. “But you’ll make it even now. Every last pence.”

  Dread swelled inside her chest so heavy she could barely breathe. He wasn’t the father she knew. He’d changed and become so much worse than he’d ever shown her before. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re Strathmore’s favorite toy these days. I have a feeling he’ll pay dearly for your return.”

  She stared at him in wild disbelief, her stomach roiling. Could it be true? Had he really kidnapped her in order to ransom her? When her father needed money, he grew desperate, but this scheme was mad, even for him.

  Edward had been right about him. Her father cared nothing for her; worse, he truly was dangerous, just as Edward warned her. The truth tore through her chest in a sickening wave of grief and terror. And she knew now as she choked back her distress and looked into his hate-filled eyes that she meant nothing to him except as a way to hurt Edward.

  He tightened the binding around her wrists. “He thought he could make me his prisoner. I was innocent, but Strathmore took the law into his own hands.”

  “You killed his brother,” she whispered.

  “It was an accident!” The words bellowed from him so fiercely that the two men looked up from their cards to glance at him.

  Her voice trembling with fear and cold, she breathed, “You’d been drinking.”

  “It was dark, the streets were wet—the horses lost their footing and couldn’t stop. It was an accident! I was found innocent.”

  “But the guardianship,” she said carefully, trying not to upset him again. It was the last thread of hope she had left to cling to, that he’d given her to Edward in order to protect her. Because in giving her away he’d proved he cared about her, even just a little…“You requested that.”

  A self-pleased sneer pulled at his lips, “Becoming the duke’s ward increased your market value.”

  “Market value?” she repeated numbly. He’d never cared about her, not even enough to give her away. Grief swept over her, pounding through her hollow chest so terribly it felt as if he’d died, so completely had she lost him.

  “I’ll get my highest payment from Strathmore, but if he doesn’t want you after all, then I sell you to the highest bidder.” At her look of horror, he shrugged callously. “They sell mares and bitches at auction all the time.”

  She couldn’t breathe as anguish clawed at her heart. When she first saw the guardianship agreement, she’d refused to believe it because she knew her father would never just sign her away like livestock to be bought and sold. But that was exactly how he thought of her. And nothing more.

  “Oh, you’ll fetch a dear price, even in rags.” With a laugh, he pulled at her skirt. “The man who wins you will have a connection to the duke he can use to gain position and a pretty wife in whom to spend himself. That ought to be worth quite a bit to me.”

  Fighting down the urge to scream, she clenched her hands into fists, digging her fingernails hard into her palms as an icy-cold terror shuddered through her. Because she knew what her father planned, and it was far worse than the forced marriage he openly admitted he would do to her if Edward didn’t free her. Looking at the stranger he had always been to her, seeing now the monster he had become and the blackness in his eyes that held no soul, she knew…

  If he didn’t get the money for her that he wanted, he would kill her.

  “So for your sake, poppet”—he reached out and tapped playfully at her nose, and she recoiled from his touch—“I certainly hope you left Strathmore panting for more.”

  He stood to join his cronies at the table. Choking back the bile rising in her throat as the fear and anguish sickened her, she closed her eyes tightly and tried to keep breathing, but not before a single tear fell onto the binding around her wrists. The only one she would let herself cry.

  “Deliver this to Meacham’s office.” He handed a folded note to one of the two men.

  “What’s that?” The man didn’t glance up from his cards.

  “The ransom note. Drop it off for the attorney, and don’t let anyone see you.”

  Taking the note, the man pushed back his chair and left the cottage without so much as a glance of remorse at her. Through the broken windows, she heard the sound of horse hooves as he mounted and rode away.

  Then all was quiet except for the steady
slap of cards as her father slid into the man’s empty chair, and he and his remaining crony played on.

  She huddled helplessly on the floor with her arms wrapped around herself for warmth and comfort that wouldn’t come. Oh God, how it hurt! Everything she’d believed in as a child was nothing more than a cruel joke, all the sacrifices she’d made just so her father would love her—it all meant nothing. He had lied, abused her mother, left them both to rot away uncared for except for the money they could give him, and she’d been so foolish, so stupidly foolish, to keep giving him money, to let him take Brambly from her one piece at a time. Because she thought she could buy his love. But he’d never wanted her; he’d wanted her money, and he couldn’t have cared less what suffering he caused to get it.

  Her eyes burned, her heart so broken she pressed her tied hands against her chest to physically ease the pain of each agonizing heartbeat. She had no idea where she was, no idea if Edward was coming after her or how he would be able to find her.

  But she knew she had to get away.

  Crawling to the wall, she pushed herself up to her feet and leaned unsteadily against it until she found her footing.

  “Going somewhere, poppet?” Her father didn’t bother to glance away from his cards.

  “My legs are stiff,” she lied. “I just need to stand for a bit.”

  “Then stand there.”

  For several minutes, she leaned against the wall, letting the blood come back into her limbs, feeling the pins and needles as her circulation returned. As the two men played their game, she watched silently and concentrated on pushing down the fear licking at her toes. Think! She had to think and find a way to flee.

  She had time, she told her frantically pounding heart, because the man delivering the note would be gone for at least two hours. Meacham’s office was in the City of London, and based on the lack of street noise outside the cottage, even at the closest they were out beyond the fringes of London. With three of them watching over her, she didn’t stand a chance. But perhaps, with only two, and if one of the remaining two was distracted—