The Other Duke

by Jess Michaels

  “Because at the time we made the bargain, we hardly knew each other,” he said. “Why would you want to pledge a life with someone you were marrying three days after meeting?”

  She shook her head. “Of course that was part of it, and that I wanted some freedom after a life of prison was also a portion of my reasoning. But it was also that I did not want to risk a life with someone else. When a woman feels things, it makes her vulnerable. I saw that, I felt that, I learned that. It defines me more than any other thing about me.”

  He shook his head. “It does not have to.”

  She pursed her lips. “I wish that were true, but these things, these fears, they already guide my actions with you.”

  He stared at her. “Are you saying you care for me?”

  He held his breath as she struggled for the answer, struggled to say things that he knew terrified her to the very core. Struggled to overcome her past and give them both a future he so desperately desired.

  “Rafe,” she whispered, turning slightly so that she faced him full-on. “I—”

  She didn’t get to finish the words. Suddenly there was the loud bang of a rifle from somewhere in the distance. Everything seemed to slow to half time as Serafina screamed.

  Rafe caught her hand and dragged her off the bench and around behind it, hoping the stone surface would protect them from whatever was happening in the park.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered as he held her against him in the dust behind the bench.

  She shook her head. “No. But Rafe, you’re bleeding.”

  00

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Serafina could hardly breathe as she watched a small circle of blood begin to rapidly spread across Rafe’s right shoulder.

  “Let me help you,” she said as she moved to lean over him.

  He jerked her back down. “No,” he whispered. “The bench is all that’s giving us shelter. If you get up, you could very well be a target.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You don’t think that shot was an accident?”

  He shook his head. “If we were in the wooded area, perhaps it might have been someone hunting for his supper where he ought not be. But out in the middle of the park? I would wager that is not an accident.”

  Their eyes met, and she could see they were both thinking about their conversation not so very long ago about all the accidents that had befallen them. Now they were being shot at…and suddenly her fears were much more founded in truth.

  Her lips parted. “If we are the targets, whoever did this is likely coming for more.”

  He nodded. “I would guess that is true. Reach into my boot, if you will. I carry a pistol there.”

  She stared at him, but didn’t hesitate to do as he had suggested. Indeed, there was a slender, single barreled pocket pistol hidden next to his muscular calf. She removed it and held it out to him, but he lifted a hand in refusal.

  “You hold it for your protection. I assume you have shot a pistol before.”

  She shook her head. “My father told me that if Cyril wanted to take me on hunts, he could teach me to shoot himself. And he didn’t.”

  “Well, you are clever, so you can do it,” he said.

  Her heart swelled, but she wasn’t so certain. “Tell me how.”

  “The gun is loaded. Now fully pull back the hammer.”

  She nodded and did as she was told.

  “It’s ready now, but you will only get one shot, so don’t waste it,” he said as he eased up. She saw him flinch in pain with the movement, and her heart caught.

  “Rafe.”

  “Shhh. Let me look.” He peeked up over the bench and immediately ducked back down. “I don’t see anything, but whoever shot at us is likely reloading their weapon. They’ll have only one shot, just as you do.”

  “You should take the gun,” she whispered, her hands and voice trembling at the importance of what he was asking her to do. “You’re more likely to hit whoever is stalking us.”

  He shook his head. “I’m hit on my right.” He made an attempt to rotate his arm and grunted with pain. “No, I shoot with my right, Sera. I don’t know that I could do it. I must depend on you.”

  Her lips parted at that statement. Depend on her.

  “Then I won’t let you down,” she murmured.

  He cupped her face with his left hand and smiled at her. “You never could.”

  “Rafe—” she began.

  “Not that I don’t want to hear whatever it is you have to say, but I want you to tell me once we’re safe.” He flashed a grin at her despite the anxiety in his gaze. He was trying to be strong for her. “So we have to move.”

  “Where?” She looked around the park. “We’ll be exposed until we get off the path and into that copse of trees.”

  She motioned toward the trees in the distance, and Rafe shook his head.

  “That is going to be a problem. I’m fairly certain our little friend is hiding there. And we are running out of time if he is reloading, so we’re going to stand up and we’re going to run.” He rose up slightly to look toward the exit of the park. “Run toward the gate. Toward the street.”

  “But—”

  He got up and dragged her to her feet. “Run!”

  She did as he asked, lifting the edge of her skirt and running as fast and as hard as her legs would allow. The pistol was heavy in her hands and she could hardly catch her breath to do as he had asked.

  “Help! Someone help us!” she screamed.

  As she said those words, she peeked over her shoulder as they left the center of the park. Rafe was behind her a few paces, his hand inside his coat to staunch his wound. He was pale and sweaty.

  She slowed her stride. “Rafe,” she panted.

  He pulled his hand free. It was covered in dark blood and she gasped in horror. He didn’t allow her to say anything. He just pressed his hand to her back and pushed her.

  “Go!”

  The gate was just ahead of them, and she scuttled through it onto the quiet street. She spun around and recoiled. There, standing behind the entryway pillar, was Cyril’s mother. She was dressed in full mourning black, with a formal veil draped over her as if she were a death bride. In her hand was a hunting rifle, which she was holding by the barrel.

  As Rafe passed through the gate, she swung the gun like a cricket mallet and connected the butt of the weapon squarely with his head. His flesh on his forehead split with the force of the blow, and blood from the gash began to trickle down his face, his neck and merge with the blood from the gunshot wound to his shoulder.

  He staggered, his eyes wide as he looked first at his aunt and then at Serafina.

  “I’m sorry, Serafina. Run,” he groaned, and then collapsed in a heap in the entryway to the park, sickeningly still and quiet.

  “Rafe!” Serafina screamed and took a step forward.

  “Stop,” Hesper said, spinning her rifle around in order to aim it at Rafe properly.

  Serafina froze in her spot. What choice did she have? Hesper could fire her rifle, and with the barrel almost pressed to Rafe’s skull, he would be dead before Serafina could catch a breath to scream.

  The weight of her pistol was heavy in her hand, down amongst the folds of her gown, and she glanced at Hesper. Had Cyril’s mother seen the weapon? It was possible she hadn’t, for she was clearly more focused on murdering Rafe than Serafina at present. And when she ran past, the gun had been at her left side, away from the woman now standing over her husband.

  If she could distract Hesper from pointing her weapon at Rafe, she might have a chance to save him.

  “Your Grace,” she began, easing the gun deeper into her skirt to hide it. “Please, stop this madness.”

  “Madness?” Hesper sent her a glare from the corner of her eye. “This is not madness, little girl.”

  She hadn’t budged her gun from Rafe’s prone form, despite Serafina’s distraction. And until Hesper did, she had no leverage that her own gun would grant her.

  So
how would she get her to stop aiming at Rafe?

  The only way was to make Cyril’s mother point the gun at her instead. Serafina swallowed and eased not forward but to the side, so that she was within Hesper’s line of sight. She glanced around as she did so. No one was on the street at present, no one around to help her.

  So she would have to do what Rafe had said earlier and depend on herself. It was the only way to save them both.

  “This will gain you nothing, Hesper,” Serafina said softly. “Nothing will change what has already come to pass.”

  “No, but this boy, this awful stain on my family name, will not hold my son’s title.”

  Serafina caught her breath, trying to maintain the façade of calm she had to present to counteract Hesper’s insanity.

  “That is true,” she said. “If you kill Rafe today, then he will not be the duke anymore. But he will be buried as a duke, likely in the Hartholm plot, with full respects due to that station.”

  Hesper’s face twisted. Clearly this plan of hers might be well planned, but not well thought through. Which gave Serafina hope that she could inject enough reason into the situation that it would end without murder and further destruction.

  “I don’t care where they bury him,” Hesper said, shaking her head. “Just as long as he is dead and gone.”

  Serafina flinched as she glanced at Rafe briefly. He was still enough that she feared Hesper already had her wish. He was losing so much blood and she had no idea how bad his injuries were.

  She wanted to throw herself against him, to render aid and bring him back to life. But that would not help either one of them now.

  All she could do was be strong. Strong like she had been during the years of torment with Cyril. Strong as Rafe said she was, said that he admired.

  She owed him that.

  “Very well, so my husband will be dead. But his brother will inherit the title from him, so the Flynn line will continue to carry Cyril’s dukedom into the future.”

  Hesper’s lips pursed. “Yes, a troubling thought. The younger brother is as bad as the older. Perhaps I will have to see him dead as well.”

  “But they are the last to inherit.” Serafina shook her head. “If they are gone without heirs between them, then the title will revert to the crown. It will die with them.”

  “Thank God,” Hesper said with a smile.

  It was an almost angelic expression, as if the thought gave her enormous pleasure that could not be fully expressed with words. It was a terrifying look, for it revealed how far gone Cyril’s mother was. How she could not be brought back from this plan she had formulated possibly from the moment her son had died and it was clear Rafe would inherit.

  “You did those things,” she whispered.

  Hesper tilted her head. “Things? I assume you mean all the ‘accidents’ you’ve experienced since you met your husband?”

  Serafina nodded. The dowager’s smile broadened, and Serafina knew the answer.

  Hesper had insured Rafe’s horses went wild on their first ride together. She had arranged for the carriage that had nearly mowed him down. She had planned the fire in his kitchen. This madwoman’s need to destroy what she couldn’t have, like a petulant child, had nearly killed them both.

  It now left Rafe in a heap on the sidewalk.

  Serafina had always been good at controlling her emotions. It was something she had forced herself to do over the years. And yet now a set of feelings washed over her that she could not control. She was enraged as she stared at Hesper.

  And if she could get that damned woman to put the gun on her instead of Rafe, then she would have a chance to end this. And also a chance to say everything she’d ever wanted to say to Hesper, to Cyril, to her father…

  “Thank God?” She forced a smile. “Perhaps so. Except that if Rafe dies with an heir on the way, then your plan is far more complicated. After all, you would have to kill Rafe, kill Crispin, kill me and my child.”

  Hesper’s eyes bugged out. “Are you with child? His child?”

  Serafina swallowed. Although she and Rafe had made love so many times that she couldn’t count them, she’d had no indication that she had a child growing within her. But the idea of that child, formed in the passion and the love she felt for Rafe, had a power that was staggering.

  Love. In this moment, she knew that was true. She loved the man slumped by the gate. She loved him with everything in her.

  And she would do anything to save him and build the life with him that he had offered—and she had foolishly tried to push away.

  She slid the hand that didn’t contain her hidden pistol over her belly and smiled at Hesper. “You’ll have to wait and see, if you strike down Rafe. How long will it take you reload that gun? Long enough for me to escape.”

  Hesper’s hands shook, and Serafina could hardly breathe. If her finger twitched on the trigger, Rafe would be gone in an instant and none of this would have been for anything at all.

  “I’ll find you. Find his brother,” Hesper said, almost with a feral growl.

  Serafina shook her head. “But I know the truth. I know you’re after us all. The precautions our family will take to protect my husband’s son will be limitless. And you will likely be arrested and put in Bedlam after this.”

  “Then I’ll hire someone,” Cyril’s mother said, but her tone was becoming less certain.

  Serafina shook her head. “Certainly you wouldn’t be able to afford that. After all, the reason Cyril was marrying me was to get at my inheritance. Could you pay for the murders of us all?”

  Hesper shook her head. “You are trying to distract me, but it doesn’t matter. This one will be dead and you will be destroyed. The rest will follow.”

  She settled the gun harder into her shoulder and Serafina took a step forward.

  “Your son was a bastard!” she screamed. “An abusive idiot, and I celebrated his death. He was not half the man as Raphael Flynn.”

  The result of her accusation was exactly as she had hoped. Hesper let out a primal, guttural sound and swung her gun up and away from Rafe.

  “I’ll kill you!” she screamed.

  The next moment seemed to move in half time. As Hesper began to press the trigger of her rifle, Serafina pulled her pistol from the folds of her skirt and aimed it at the other woman’s chest.

  She heard the massive explosion of both guns firing in time and squeezed her eyes shut. She braced herself to be hit by the heat and pain of the round lead ball that would tear through her flesh and render her hoped-for future mercilessly short.

  But there was nothing. She heard the zing of a ricochet off the wall behind her. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  Hesper lay on her back, eyes open and glazed. Serafina’s bullet had hit her straight in the chest. The rifle was at her side, smoking from being fired. But the reason the projectile hadn’t hit her was that Rafe’s hand was wrapped firmly around the other woman’s ankle. He had yanked her off balance as she shot and made her fire wildly.

  He lifted his head. His face was a mess of blood, pale and drawn as he looked at her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone strained.

  “No,” she panted. “Rafe…”

  “Good,” he groaned, and then collapsed back against the paved walkway.

  “Rafe!” she repeated, this time on a scream. She dropped to her knees and fought to turn him over on his back. She cradled his bleeding head in her lap and tore at his shirt to make something to staunch the seeping shoulder wound.

  Behind her, across the street, she heard doors open, people rushing out now that the gunfire was over.

  “Someone ran for the Guard after the first shot,” one man said as he moved to look over Hesper and then to Rafe. “What were they fighting over?”

  Serafina ignored him as she smoothed her hand over Rafe’s cheek. “Rafe, I love you. I love you. Please hear me. Please don’t leave me. I love you. I can’t lose you. Please.”

  But he said nothing, he did nothi
ng, and he didn’t move even an inch.

  00

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The parlor at the bottom of the stairs was crowded to say the least, but it wasn’t noisy. In fact, the silence seemed eerie and unnatural to Serafina. She paced across the floor and felt five pairs of eyes upon her with every step.

  Annabelle and her mother sat on the settee, ignoring the tea and mounds of biscuits the servants had placed there as some kind of offering of solace and solidarity. Serafina’s father was at the fireplace, alternating between staring into the flames and watching her.

  And Crispin stood at the doorway with the inspector from the guard, a thin, direct man named Simpson who had questioned Serafina about the death of the dowager duchess of Hartholm.

  She could hardly recall what she had said to the man, but was grateful to her uncharacteristically pale brother-in-law for taking over the duty of dealing with the Guard and its representatives.

  They spoke too quietly for her to hear for a moment, and then the inspector crossed the room to her.

  “Your Grace, I will leave you now. There may be a few questions I’ll have later and I will be sure to call on you if they arise.”

  She stared at him, for it took too long for his words to sink in past the fog of her worry. “Will you arrest me, then?”

  At that moment, she didn’t care if she was to be taken into custody, but she wanted it to be done after she knew that Rafe, upstairs with the doctor, would survive his injuries.

  The young man shook his head and actually looked surprised at her question. “No, my lady. The statements from those across from the park who saw the altercation from their windows, along with your explanation makes it clear what happened was unavoidable self-defense. The matter will be closed once I file my report.”

  She might have felt relief in that statement, but there was no relief at present. There would be none until the doctor returned.