Wicked Temptations For The Seduced Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  “I am here now, Aunt. I will see that he is found.” He was distracted by a creak of a floorboard; he turned toward the noise. James lingered in the doorway, with a strained expression. Adrian could only imagine the pressure he was under to find his brother.

  Adrian knew it could not be easy for James, being the younger son. He and Edward had been lucky—even if Edward did not think so—they had been the eldest sons with properties to inherit. James had been left to follow his brother around like a guard dog, trying to keep him on the straight and narrow. And now, his ability was being brought into question. Clearly, his mother lacked faith in him.

  We will find him, James. Together.

  Indeed, James already knew where they should look first. A man’s belongings were like a signature, and he hoped they would discover a trail amongst Edward’s things that might somehow lead them to his whereabouts. If Edward could not be found, it would throw Summerhill Hall into disarray.

  A murder amongst the upper echelons of society would certainly set tongues wagging. And the Summerhills could not afford another scandal.

  * * *

  Eyes watched the stable closely, a smile twisting up the face of the onlooker. He had watched Lady Lydia Bradford hurry towards the stable like a shameless hussy and seen their bold moment by the horse.

  How dangerously you flaunt yourself, Duke.

  Once more, his fingers itched to pull the trigger of his pistol, but he knew he had to wait. The moment would soon be upon him. He would finally get his chance to look into the eyes of the Duke and see the light go out.

  I will be satisfied, and your blood will pay the price.

  Chapter 12

  Edward did not think sleep would come easily. He had spent two days in anxious turmoil over the unexpected arrival of Danson, whilst he had been speaking with Lady Lydia. Danson had not remarked upon anything improper, nor had he given much allusion to having heard or seen anything, but Edward was wary. He did not want to risk Lydia’s reputation on his own desires.

  Moreover, he was filled with a deep sadness that he had not been able to see Lady Lydia since that day. She had not come to the stable, and she had not given a note to suggest she wished to ride. He had been entirely bereft without her, and he suspected Danson was at fault.

  Did you see, Danson? Did you see us? Did you hear us?

  He had been too bold with her; he was enraptured by her presence, and unable to help himself. He would have kissed her again and risked the hangman’s noose, had he had the nerve.

  You are a fantasist, Edward.

  He stared up at the rickety roof of the hayloft and watched the clouds drift across the pregnant moon. He wondered what it would be like to embrace Lady Lydia, as his wife. He envisioned her, slender and beautiful in the glow of firelight, standing naked before him. His teeth grazed his lower lip as he imagined kissing her bare skin, his hands smoothing across the contours of her youthful figure.

  He had noticed the curve of her breasts within her gowns, and though he usually fought to look elsewhere, now he let his mind wander. He pictured her taut nipples and the way she might gasp when he took one in his mouth. He imagined her arching against him, his member hardening at the very idea. There were so many things he longed to do to her, but how could he ever hope for such a thing? She was forbidden fruit of the most delicious kind.

  His mind drifted towards what she might look like with her stomach swollen with child. His child. His seed planted within her, borne of sensual desire and longing. She would look no less beautiful, if he were to look upon her naked, expectant form. If anything, she would look all the more remarkable. The thought brought him a fleeting sense of happiness, for he would have given anything to know how she felt and how she looked. But she was not destined for him.

  And is she to be miserable, married to this Earl’s son? The idea burned inside him with a vengeful fire. Even if he could not love her as he longed to, he did not want her to be some unworthy man’s possession. No gentleman would care for her as he would. No gentleman would cover her in kisses and affection as he would.

  He flipped over in his makeshift bed and closed his eyes, letting the dark wave of oblivion capture him in its grasp. He did not remember falling asleep, but he dearly wished he could awaken to find himself once more on the back of a silver horse, charging away from an unseen attacker.

  His heart gripped in his chest as he pressed the horse onwards, the hoofbeats pounding out the same rhythm as his heartbeat. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the mysterious rider. Only, they wore a hood low over their face. As their cloak flapped in the icy wind, he noticed the flash of two pistols.

  He means to kill you, Edward.

  But who was this man, and why did he wish to kill him? He could not understand it, for he lacked the memories. With so much time having passed, he now began to wonder if he would ever regain his memories. The physician had said it would take time, but how much time? What if this man was still after him? Would he remember in time to save himself from an unknown fate? He had no answers.

  The horse charged towards the now-familiar sight of the riverbank, and when he looked back again, the rider was gone. As the horse slowed to a stop, he saw the same young girl floating in the water, her dress spread out around her.

  Are you the answer? If I remember you, will I remember everything?

  He got down off his horse as he had done the last time. His boots trudged heavily in the mud, which had been churned to a quagmire by recent rain. Another horse whinnied on the opposite bank, coming into view beneath a full, silvered moon.

  Conker?

  It looked the same as Lady Lydia’s mare, but he did not know why it would be present in his dream. The only difference was the saddle. He did not recognize it as Lady Lydia’s. It was smaller and made for a much younger lady. An emblem could be seen on the side of the worn leather—a golden bird of some kind, rising from flames.

  He glanced down at the water to find that the young girl was standing in the current, letting it wash around her thin body. Her milky eyes stared right up at him; the tendrils of her sodden hair plastered to her face. She had once been pretty, he thought, but death had stolen away the roses from her cheeks and left her lips blue and lifeless.

  “You do not remember, Brother?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I do not.”

  “Come closer.” It was not a demand he could ignore. With his body shivering in the cold breeze that swept across the dreamscape, he slid down the muddy bank and crashed into the water. Finding his feet on the slippery riverbed, he waded towards the girl.

  “Who are you?” He was desperate to know.

  “Have you not figured it out yet?”

  He shook his head. “I have tried, I promise I have.”

  “I died because of you. I fell from that horse and died in the water. My back was broken. You took your eyes off me, to pick the blackberries that I liked so much. The horse bolted, and you were not quick enough. This is where I lost my life. I drowned. I could not fight to the surface.”

  Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I am sorry. I do not remember.”

  “How can you not?”

  “I do not know. I wish I could remember you.”

  The young girl moved towards him and reached out her arms. He shivered as he felt her icy touch, her arms looping around his neck. Impulsively, he put his arms around her in a touching embrace, wanting to feed some of his warmth back into her.

  I want to bring you back to life, but I think it is too late.

  “It is much too late,” the girl replied, as though reading his mind. “I died here in the water. You could not save me then. You cannot save me now. Nor can you save yourself.”

  He frowned. “Whatever do you mean? Am I under some threat?”

  “More than you know.” He tried to scream as her hands found his throat. They squeezed tight; her milky eyes turning black as she strangled the breath out of him. He pushed against her to try and get her to let go, but sh
e had become supernaturally strong. He could not fight her. He could not break free.

  “Release me,” he croaked.

  “It is much too late,” she replied, her voice a demonic echo.

  His eyes snapped open and he found himself back in the hayloft. Only, he was not alone. A figure loomed over him, with strong, masculine hands squeezing at his throat relentlessly. His lungs burned, and his eyeballs bulged, as he tried to push against his hooded assailant. In the darkness, he could not make out the face.

  “Release me,” he croaked again, wrestling with their arms. He dug in his nails and pierced the skin, feeling hot blood trickle over his fingertips.

  “You will not escape me this time,” the figure spat. He squeezed tighter at Edward’s throat, cutting off the air supply. In a few more minutes, Edward knew he would be dead.

  No! I will not die at his hand! He thought of Lady Lydia and found a renewed burst of energy within himself. Gripping the man’s hands, he tore them away, finger by finger, giving his throat enough space to take in a deep breath.

  The man lunged at him again, fastening his hands tighter around Edward’s throat. “You will not escape me! You will pay!”

  “For what?” Edward wheezed. “I have no quarrel with you.”

  “I have nothing because of you. My wife and children are gone because of you. And you will pay for my loss with your life,” the figure hissed, part of the hood falling away to reveal a grizzled face. Brown eyes stared into his, and they were filled with a fury that terrified him. However, he did not recognize the face. He did not know what he had done to affront this man.

  Battling for his life, he shimmied his hand across the length of the floor, seeking out the knife he always kept close. He used it to peel apples and cut knots from the horses’ manes, but it would do just as well to save him from certain death. His desperate fingers clasped the blade, with a sharp bite that made him grimace.

  “Take…your hands…off me!” Edward cried, as he brought the blade up and slashed down hard on the assailant’s shoulder. They reeled back, the entire hood falling down. The man who would see him dead had thinning, salt-and-pepper hair and a faint crosshatch of scars below his hairline.

  Who are you? He urged himself to remember, but he did not know this man. Indeed, he wondered if he ever had. He felt nothing within himself, which was odd. Even with the figures he had seen in his dreams, he had had some recollection of them—a feeling, a tie, a link to them. But, with this man, he felt no such remembrance. Only fear.

  “You…did you chase me?” Edward peered at his attacker and wielded the blade to protect himself from further assault.

  “I should have shot you then,” the man growled.

  “Who are you?”

  “Your executioner.” The man lunged at him again, but Edward was ready. He slashed the blade at the man’s cheek, opening up a scarlet wound that prompted the attacker to scurry backwards. The man clutched a hand to his cheek, checking the damage.

  “Who are you?” Edward repeated.

  The figure smirked. “You still have no memory? How fortunate for you. I wish I could be so lucky as to forget everything.”

  “Tell me who you are and I will seek to remedy your discontent,” Edward said.

  “It is much too late for that.” The figure backed off. “This is not the last you will hear of me, you may be assured of that.” He turned tail with a swish of his cloak, the fabric flapping like the wing of a deadly bat, before he disappeared into the darkness.

  Edward scrabbled to the edge of the hayloft, in time to see the assailant vanish out of the stable doors and into the night. He still held the knife in his hand, wet with his blood and that of his attacker. He brought it up to his face and watched the viscous liquid glint in the moonlight.

  What did I do to you? He wracked his brain to recall, but it came up with nothing. He did not know this man, and he was fairly sure he had caused no injury to him. Aside from the physical ones he had just inflicted.

  Dragging breath back into his lungs, he clambered down the creaky ladder and sprinted for the stable door. Amongst the hay, he found droplets of blood that had fallen from his attacker, but the trail stopped as soon as it reached the grass. His eyes looked towards the forest beyond, and he felt his heart clench. So, I was being watched?

  The only thing he could not fathom was why. The entire attack felt like a dream—an extension of the one he had been having—and it had rendered him scared and confused. He was a mere stable boy in the employ of the Duke of Greenwick. Why would anyone go to such lengths to murder a commoner like him?

  Chapter 13

  Lydia sprinted through the stable to reach Edward and lifted her hand tentatively to his shoulder. He whirled around, wielding a sharp blade in his hand. His eyes were wide, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. As soon as he saw her, he lowered the knife, but his terrified expression remained.

  “Edward, my love, are you well?” she gasped.

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  “What happened? I heard a disturbance whilst I was on my way to meet with you, but I could not see much.” She dropped her gaze. “I hid. I am sorry that I was not brave enough to come to your aid.”

  “I would not have wished you to,” Edward replied. “There was a man, a dangerous man, and he tried to strangle me in my sleep. That is the disturbance you heard. I tried to fight him off, but he ran before I could apprehend him properly.”

  She gaped at him. “A man tried to kill you?”

  “He did, Lydia.” He swung the blade in front of him. “He would have done so, too, had I not had this by my side.”

  “Did you know him?” She did not noticed that he had referred to her casually. There were too many other things to think about.

  Edward shook his head. “I knew nothing of him, though he seemed to know me.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I did not get a particularly good look at him. From what I did see, he was of medium height, with thin, dark-and-gray hair, and a crosshatch of scars above his brow.” His lips were set in a grim line. “I did not know the man. I have no sense of knowing him, either.”

  Lydia paused. “There is no such man amongst the staff.”

  “I do not know what I have done to affront him.”

  “Do you believe he may be something to do with your forgotten past?” She rested her hand on his forearm and took the knife from his hand. She feared he might accidentally cause himself further harm, for it looked like he had already wounded himself. His palm bled profusely.

  His forehead furrowed. “I cannot say. You see, during my peculiar dreams, I have a sense of knowing the people within them. But I had no such sense with him. He is a stranger.”

  A troubling thought was beginning to form in Lydia’s mind, but she refrained from uttering anything out loud. Her mind fixed upon Danson, and what he may or may not have seen. If he had somehow spoken with her father, then Lydia knew there was every chance that this hooded stranger was sent to put an end to their friendship. The Duke was a quiet man, but he was not without his ire.

  But murder? She could not believe it of her father. Then again, maybe the hooded stranger had not intended to kill Edward, only to frighten him. Or, perhaps, the hooded stranger had misunderstood the instructions that had been given to him. For now, she would keep the thoughts to herself.

  “We must get you to Mrs. Benton,” Lydia said. “She will be able to fix your injured hand without need for the physician. Although, you will have to be careful in your work, until it is fully healed.”

  Edward did not reply.

  “Edward?”

  “Hmm?”

  “We must get you to Mrs. Benton, so she may take a look at your hand. You are bleeding, my love.”

  He frowned down at his hand, as if it did not belong to him. But the vacant expression in his eyes was what worried Lydia the most. She did not like it one bit.

  “So I am,” he murmured.

  “You must not b
e scared, Edward. Whoever this man was, I am certain he will not attempt to hurt you again. He has revealed himself and lost the element of surprise.” She clung to his arm. “You will be more wary and will not fall victim to such an attack again.”

  He glanced at her with sad eyes. “I am in danger here, Lydia. I sensed that I was, some days ago, but I thought it was merely paranoia due to my lost memories.”

  “Do not say it,” she protested.

  “Say what, sweeting?”

  “Do not say that you are leaving. It has been playing upon my mind ever since Danson mentioned it, and I do not know if I could bear it if you were to depart this house.” Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment and desperation. “You may call me selfish if you must, but that is how I feel. Now that I have met you, I cannot be without you.”