A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  His father hardly heard him. He continued to gaze out of the window, across the moors, as though he could see the ghosts of his previous lives romping through the gardens, eating luxurious meals, falling in love and building a family. All of it was past.

  Owen saddled his horse and struck out across the hills. The late June wind was warm, simmering with the smell of forest and green, dry soil. Theo’s estate greeted him on the horizon, a familiar light in the darkness. His horse kicked his legs wider and darted through the last of it, a mighty, muscular beast, with little sweat beads that cut between the individual muscles.

  Owen found Theo in the back garden, playing croquet with Zelda and a chaperone, a cousin of hers from London called Cynthia.

  “Come! You must play with us!” Theo said, his arms spread wide so that his croquet mallet nearly sliced across Cynthia’s neck. His eyes glittered, almost evilly, and Owen sensed precisely what was on his mind. In the wake of his ended engagement, why couldn’t Owen join in with the likes of Cynthia?

  Assuredly, if Owen had been a different sort of man, he might have done precisely this. Cynthia was certainly of good, powerful London stock. Her clothes were beautiful, well-made, and she laughed appropriately, inserted intelligent conversation when needed. After their introduction, she even said, “You’re the famous Owen Crauford!”

  “Does my reputation precede me?” Owen asked, casting his eyes to Theo.

  Cynthia gave a light shrug. “Word about the county is you’ve just fallen out of an engagement with the area’s prettiest young maiden.”

  Owen’s heart thudded dangerously. “Is that what the gossip is?”

  Zelda blinked wide eyes towards him, frightened as a little bird. “Rebecca and Owen are simply individualistic. It would have been difficult for either of them to be pinned down for long. And what was it in the end, Owen? The engagement lasted only a month or so.”

  “And was never formally announced,” Theo said, just as he cut his croquet mallet against the ball and cast it through the little hoop in the grass.

  Zelda smacked her hands together and then wrapped her arms around him. “You did it, darling!” She turned to Owen, her smile wide. “He’s absolutely destroyed the two of us this evening, despite having drank two scotches throughout.”

  “A master at the old croquet,” Owen said, trying to find some sort of pep in his voice, something to match the mood of the small affair. He accepted the mallet from Theo and prepared to whack the ball, although his mind was foggy. When he smacked it, he hit the far end, so that the ball reared off course and missed the hoop by nearly six inches.

  Cynthia clicked her tongue. “I didn’t realise you’d be such a poor partner.”

  “We can’t all be Theo,” Owen returned.

  “No. I suppose that’s quite true,” Theo said, flashing a ridiculous smile. He placed his hand at the base of Zelda’s back, and she cooed at him, the sound of a bird rather than a woman.

  Owen’s stomach flipped over.

  It was Zelda’s turn after that. She tenderly hit the ball, so that it limped along in the direction of the hoop and then halted. “Oh, dear me,” she whispered to herself, clearly embarrassed.

  “Don’t think about it for a moment,” Theo affirmed. “You’re far too pretty to be good at anything else.”

  Cynthia, perhaps unsurprisingly, was quite good at croquet. Owen watched with passive interest as she cut the ball through the hoop again and again, each time casting him a glance that seemed to mean, “I have to carry our team, don’t I?”

  When it was over, Theo invited them inside for a final drink. Zelda pushed out her bottom lip, protesting, “I cannot believe how swiftly the day came to a close.”

  How blissful it seemed to Owen, this existence, long days of drinking and games, of flirting without any expectation (at least, no expectation on Theo’s side). Not Cynthia, not Zelda, not Theo – none could comprehend the dreadful nature of Owen’s current life. He hadn’t even told Theo about the many things his father had had to sell, nor of James and the others’ departure. It was a seemingly endless embarrassment.

  But beyond that, the fact that gossip surrounding him and Rebecca swirled around the county struck him as particularly dreadful. Although no, he hadn't wanted to marry against his initial wishes – he had lost a wonderful creature, the most beautiful woman in the county. He was a laughing stock.

  Zelda and Cynthia remained at Theo’s for no more than an additional half hour. Cynthia dragged Zelda out of there, a forlorn puppy who dotted a final kiss on Theo’s cheek just before Theo closed the door behind her. “I’ll see you again soon, my darling,” he said.

  But the moment the foyer cleared, he whipped around and let his face fall. He shot back to his study and poured himself and Owen another stiff scotch. Wordlessly, he clicked the glass into Owen’s and drank, then coughed, then collapsed in his desk chair. Owen did the same opposite him.

  “I really believe she doesn’t know how to stop talking,” Theo said. “And that wretched cousin of hers. She’s only been in town a week and already I detest the sight of her face.”

  “You really put on quite a show, though, don’t you?” Owen said.

  “Of course. But it’s all for one reason, and one only. I know one of these days I’ll get her to myself. The way you did with Rebecca… just before…”

  Owen turned his eyes towards his drink. He shuddered at the memory, the two of them making love beneath the moonlight. Would he ever have such passion again?

  “It’s only been a short while since I saw you, Owen. I didn’t expect you today,” Theo said suddenly. His eyes were like daggers. “I was grateful to see you walk through the garden gate, of course – as I always am. But I can’t help but imagine why you’ve kept your distance. I can’t imagine the deceased engagement between you and Rebecca could weigh on your mind so greatly. She was a beautiful thing, surely, but you talked endlessly about your desire to flee the trap, as you called it many times.”

  Owen clicked his tongue. “I regret to say that many things changed throughout our brief, never formal, engagement.”

  “Ah.” Theo leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “But as all other things, it will pass.”

  “Perhaps.” Owen sipped more scotch. As it burned over the back of his tongue, he felt a strange simmering sensation in his skull. He knew that if he kept drinking, pouring buckets more down his throat, he could forget about Rebecca – if only for the night.

  “But there must be something else. Have you considered my offer regarding your family’s finances?” Theo asked. He sounded casual, as though he had asked about the weather rather than an enormous sum of money.

  “I haven’t yet decided,” Owen said. “It’s such a generous thing.”

  Theo swatted his hand back and forward. “You’re my greatest friend, Owen. As I’ve said before. These women – they come and go from my life, but not you.”

  “My father has sold most of everything, now,” Owen said, his voice still softer. “When you walk into my home, there are nothing but shadows. Emptiness. It’s as though… as though we’ve been robbed. But in effect, we have been. My father’s sickness has taken everything. If only he wasn’t so weak.”

  Theo nodded, his lips in a thin, straight line. “I cannot imagine what this time must feel like for you.” He leaned forward, arching his brow. “Which is why we must find you a girl. Just someone to keep your mind off all of this. It’s always worked in the past, hasn’t it? A distraction. A little beauty, to keep you away from the darkness.”

  Owen shook his head, shocked at the flippant nature of Theo’s suggestion. “I cannot. It’s simply… No. I cannot consider another woman. Not now.”

  Theo smashed his fist against the desk, a sound that frightened both of them. He blinked down at his hand for a moment, seemingly coming to terms with the action, then said, “I will not sit here and listen to this, not unless you try a final time to get her back.”

  Owen arched his brow. “It’s
been decided. It’s off. The line has been drawn in the sand.”

  “Nothing is ever final until another man has slipped a ring over her finger. And even then…” Theo tilted his head a bit, a sly smile forming. “Well. I believe you know of my affair with Lady Welling.”

  “The rules were made to be broken,” Owen said. “At least, broken by you.”

  “She was irresistible,” Theo murmured, his head dropped back. “And the fact of her husband made it still more difficult to resist her. All that rushing around. Avoiding him. All the whispers and the secrets and the…”

  Owen rolled his eyes, a sign that Theo’d taken it too far, yet again. He cackled for a moment, then sipped his scotch once more. “I believe I’ve walked you through the many, many stories of Lady Welling and myself.”

  “More than once,” Owen said, joining him in laughter.

  “Regardless, I believe you understand me, don’t you? If you want to marry this girl, then why don’t you go out of your way and make it happen? It eliminates the original problem, doesn’t it? You didn’t wish to marry the woman your father had set up for you. Now, after a brief, strange foray into an arranged engagement, you’re a free man again – able to make his own choice.”

  Although Theo’s words stirred in Owen’s mind for a number of minutes, Owen allowed the conversation to flit away to other things. The subject of Rebecca ebbed back into Theo’s vocabulary at times, Theo flung himself through ideas of a marriage with Zelda, then an affair with another of Zelda’s friends, an escape to the Mediterranean and then, oddly, a mad dash to the West Indies.

  In Owen’s eyes, Theo was just as wild and free as he’d always been – apt to do precisely as he pleased, whenever that was. And Theo was willing to allow Owen that same trajectory, if only he accepted his money.

  But Owen felt the weight of his love for Rebecca. He yearned to guard it, to hone it. For the first time in his life, he felt he had something to live for, something to gain by making an enormous sacrifice.

  Owen had to wrap his arm over Theo’s shoulder and assist him up to bed, such was the state of his drunkenness. Theo hobbled out of his shoes and then shrank at the side of his mighty bed, his face still mischievous.

  “You know you’re my greatest friend, Owen.”

  “Enough of all this.”

  “No. I’m serious.” His eyes reflected such a state of mind, such sudden sorrow, that Owen halted in the doorway.

  Theo continued. “I know you probably won’t run off with me on these adventures. I know that I’ll be alone on the wild seas of the Mediterranean if I don’t give in to marriage, children – the life I’m meant to live. But I know I’ll always have family in you, Owen. You’ve been with me through the most frantic and open and beautiful times of my life. Even now, when you flung open that gate during my game with Zelda, I thought – of course. He’s here. He’s always here. But soon… soon, you’ll have your own life. Something separate from me. And know this, Owen. I will miss you. With every beat of my heart, I will miss you. My greatest friend.”

  ***

  The words remained with Owen. He wasn’t drunk, just a bit tipsy, and he mounted his horse and returned to his father’s estate. As he entered the empty foyer, he whistled, and the ghost-like sound echoed through the empty hallways, the parlour, the kitchen. He pressed his hands on either side of his waist, swaying from the speed of his ride.

  Theo wasn’t a romantic, not in the womanly sense. He wanted the very adventures he spoke about. But perhaps he knew Owen better than Owen knew himself. He sensed that they were about to deviate off, troop into the distance of time without one another.

  Owen had to trust it.

  Chapter 27

  Tabitha arrived at the Frampton estate on the first day of July with a freshly baked fruit tart, her stomach bulging just slightly – the first sign. Rebecca beamed at her from the door, shocked that she’d travelled this distance. Tabitha cleared up her question instantly, announcing, “The morning sickness seems to be dissipating. Perhaps I’m out of the woods.”

  “Perhaps you are, my beautiful mother-to-be,” Rebecca whispered. She dotted a kiss on her cheek, accepted the tart, and led her to the garden.

  Although the previous days had been rather dreadful, and she’d felt like a shadow of herself, she now felt a lightness with Tabitha’s arrival – one that would surely fade the moment she departed. How dreadful to have to say goodbye. How dreadful that the rest of their friendship seemed guarded in the barriers of nine-months of pregnancy.

  Once outside, Molly brought plates, forks, tea. She beamed at Tabitha and said, “You really do have such a pregnant glow about you, don’t you! Oh, I hope you don’t mind that Rebecca’s told me the news.”

  “I expect I’ll have to be forthright about it altogether, now,” Tabitha said, beaming, her hand pressed against her stomach. “After all, I have begun to show.”

  “But it’s a beautiful thing. You’ll return to your old clothes in time – enjoy this, now. And perhaps an extra slice of tart,” she added, winking.

  There was a pause. Tabitha sliced through the tart, separating it into equal pieces.

  “How is Anthony handling the changes?” Rebecca asked, surprised to notice that she actually did care about him, about his feelings.

  “He’s panicked more and more every day, it seems,” Tabitha said, her smile widening. “He suggested that we walk together to your estate today. I told him I felt absolutely fine – that a small carriage ride wouldn’t affect me. He seemed jittery. I imagine even now he might arrive on horseback, demanding to know if I’m all right.”

  Tabitha splayed two slices on two separate plates. Rebecca toyed with the tart with her fork for a long moment, and then said, with a heavy sigh, “I really have warmed to him, you know.”

  “I know,” Tabitha said. “And he’s warmed to you a great deal. We’ve all been through much in the past few weeks. It’s good that we can go forward together.”

  Rebecca’s eyes turned towards the grass. After another pause, Tabitha cleared her throat and said, “I imagine you haven’t heard anything from him.”

  “Who?” Rebecca asked, with a sad smile. “Augustus or Owen?”

  “My, my. So many to choose from,” Tabitha said. Her eyes twinkled.

  “Augustus didn’t return my letter,” Rebecca said. “I pray he doesn’t absolutely detest me. It’s all I can do. I just couldn’t face a marriage with him, knowing that it was dishonest to my very soul.”

  Tabitha considered this, rolling it about in her mind. “I know you did the right thing. But Owen – he’s the one who confuses me still more.”

  “I hardly know if I can speak of it,” Rebecca replied. She felt a sudden lurch in her stomach, knowledge that drawing up any image of Owen, of the life she might have lived with him, still created horrendous pain in her soul.

  “I think I understand,” Tabitha said. She shifted uneasily. “Perhaps – perhaps you’d like to attend another ball in a few weeks’ time? Suppose I could go with you, if only for a few hours, should anything fit me properly. You could meet someone else. Dance. Dream up a new possibility for your life. I don’t see how that’s…”

  “No,” Rebecca insisted. “This summer isn’t one in which I’ll meet anyone at all. I will not live recklessly, will not push towards any story.”

  Again, there was a strained silence. Rebecca attempted to speak of her sister, of the kindness Evelyn had crafted for her the previous time they’d seen one another. But her words sounded hollow, strange. Although she didn’t wish for Tabitha to leave – in fact, she hoped she’d remain there several hours more – she found herself dreadfully dull, her heart and mind elsewhere.