The Duke's Revenge Read online

  The Duke’s Revenge

  Alexia Praks

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Alexia Praks Media on Smashwords

  Copyright © Alexia Praks, 2012

  All rights reserved

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  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER 1

  England

  Lady Ivy Michaels stood stiffly at the door, gazing out at the blanket of snow stretching far into the darkness. From behind she could almost blend into obscurity if not for the candlelight that illuminated the silhouette of her slender figure.

  She hesitantly stepped outside and then forced her way through the slippery, treacherous pathway. A flurry of wind wafted around her—its cry humming loud in her ears. She clutched the satchel against her chest and scurried across the courtyard. By the time she arrived at the stables her boots and stockings were soaking wet. Ignoring her messy state, she left the satchel by the door and rushed up the stairs toward one of the bedrooms. She jerked the door open and went to the man sleeping there. She kneeled beside the bed and tucked his arm.

  “Uncle John, wake up!” she whispered. “Uncle John!”

  John stirred and turned to look at her, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

  “Uncle John, please wake up.”

  He widened his eyes in surprise when he saw her and bolted up.

  “I need your help,” she whispered.

  He stared at her and then shook his head frantically, waving his hands in the air as if to shoo her away, for her to get out of his sanctuary.

  Ivy knew her uncle wanted her to leave because he was afraid her mother might find out that she had come into his place in the middle of the night. She had never done anything so reckless before, but this was important. She knew she could trust him. She needed his help, for he was the only person in the manor who knew how to drive a carriage.

  “Uncle John, please get dress and get the carriage ready, I’m running away.”

  He widened his eyes and opened his mouth as though to speak but no sound came out. He turned to look at the window, pointing his finger in the direction of the manor, indicating that her mother would be displeased.

  “I have to run away, Uncle John,” she began. “I’m not going to become Lord McNeil’s wife. Please, will you not help me?”

  He turned to look deep into her eyes. He hesitated for some moment, in a dilemma. Then he nodded and scrambled off the bed.

  Ivy sighed with relief. “Thank you, Uncle John, I will wait downstairs. Please hurry.” Then she ran out the room.

  There was a change in the air as she rushed down the stairs. Lightning flashed, the clouds rumbled, and rain started to fall. Anxiously, she turned to look at the window of a room her mother was occupying. She hoped the noise would not wake her. Her nerve was at its peak as she stood there waiting for her uncle. When he finally came round with the landau, she picked up the satchel and rushed to him.

  John jumped down from his high seat and looked worriedly at the sky.

  “I know you’re worried, but I would rather brave the weather than Mama.” She handed him the oil lamp and turned to open the carriage door. “Please take me to Westwood Castle,” she said as she climbed into the vehicle.

  He widened his eyes and opened his mouth to protest.

  “Lisa is working there as a parlourmaid now, and Donald and Mrs. Price will take me in. I will stay there for a few days and then—” She paused, staring at the thick droplets of rain slashing against the window. “We better make haste,” she said.

  He reluctantly nodded and closed the door.

  As the carriage moved toward the front gate, the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves and the splashing of rain were loud in her ears. Ivy turned to look at the manor. All the windows were dark. Thank God, she thought, no one had awakened because of the noise.

  It was ten minutes later, when they were far away from the mansion that she was able to relax. The rocking motion of the carriage and the sound of rain caused her eyes to drop. She moved, lied across the seat, and rested her head on her arm. She closed her eyes--just for a little while, she told herself. Instantly, she fell asleep.

  She felt that it was only a few minutes later when somebody woke her up. She fluttered her eyes open to see her uncle’s shadowy face looming over her. She sat up and looked around in confusion.

  “We are here?”

  He nodded.

  She grabbed for her bag and moved out of the carriage.

  The moment she stepped outside, droplets of rain pounded down on her, and her clothing started to get wet in an instant. She shivered.

  John touched her arm as he looked at her. She touched his arm, too. His coat was cold and damp against her palm. She knew she was a bit self-centered tonight, waking him up and dragging him into her trouble. She only hoped that her mother would not suspect that he had helped her escape.

  “Tell Mrs. Johnson that I will be all right,” she said.

  He patted her head a few times like he always did when she had accomplished an important feat, to show her that he was proud of her.

  “Thank you, Uncle John,” she said and turned away.

  A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky as she made her way across the courtyard toward the back entrance. Halfway, she turned and saw the hazy shadow of the landau moving away.

  What was she doing? For a moment she felt paralyzed. For a moment she wanted to shout for her uncle to stop the landau. She hardened herself against the urge.

  She turned and continued her way toward the castle. She ran to the door and started pounding. When no one answered her after numerous attempts, she clamped her lips in frustration and continued pounding until she was exhausted. And still no one answered her.

  Hopelessness engulfed her. She dropped her bag and sat down by the door. She hugged herself into a ball and started whimpering.

  Aye, she was a pathetic creature all right, trying to escape her mother’s plan for her future. But she did not want to become an old man’s wife—a man she despised with all her being--a man who had dried to force himself on her.

  A hand touched her arm. She jerked and cried, “No!”

  She looked up to see a woman holding an oil lamp looking down at her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Relief swept through her, calming her turmoil emotions. She threw herself into the woman’s arms.

  “M’ lady!”

  “I have to run away, Mrs. Price, I have to.”

  “Aye, m’ lady,” the woman said and helped her up. “Come with me.”

  The housekeeper led her into the castle and then through the maze of corridors and up to one of the guest rooms on the third floor. “You will be comfortable here tonight.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Price,” Ivy said.

  “Now, now, m’ lady, ‘tis all right. Why don’t you change into a nightshirt? I’m sure those wet clothing will give you the chill if you do not take them off soon.”

  Ivy nodded and Mrs. Price went away. When she came back, she was carrying bed sheets and blankets, and behind her was a maid, carrying a jug of water, a towel, and a nightshirt.

  “Lisa!” Ivy cried, her voice shaking once sh
e had seen the maid.

  The maid rushed into the room, placed the items on the table, and hugged Ivy. Lisa had been Ivy’s maid and was her only friend and companion, and they had not seen each other since the day of the incident when Lisa had saved Ivy from Lord McNeil’s attempt at seduction.

  After their hug, Lisa picked up the nightshirt and held it up. “Oh dear, this is rather big for you, is it not?”

  “I will manage,” Ivy said and grabbed the nightshirt from the maid’s hands. She went to stand behind the screen and started stripping herself naked from her wet, dirty dress, chemise, and stockings. She quickly dried herself with the towel and dressed into the dry nightshirt.

  “Are you hungry, m’ lady? I could wake Mrs. Woods to make something for you,” Mrs. Price suggested.

  “No, thank you,” Ivy said, shivering and hugging herself as she came out from behind the screen. She looked at the little flame of fire that had just born under Lisa’s capable hands longingly.

  Lisa looked at the young woman wearing a nightshirt that was too large for her small frame. The neckline was loose that it barely covered her breasts and was shagging over one of her shoulders. The sleeves dropped over both her hands and the hem dragged down to the floor.

  “Perhaps I should find you another nightshirt, m’ lady.”

  “Nay, Lisa, I will be fine.”

  “We will not bother you until you wake up in the morning,” Mrs. Price said.

  “Mrs. Price,” Ivy said hesitantly, “you won’t tell your master that I’m here, will you?”

  “Nay, the duke is not here. He is in London, m’ lady.”

  “That’s good. I won’t bother you more than a few nights,” she promised.

  “M’ lady, you may stay here as long as you like.”

  “Nay, I will leave as soon as I can. I do not want to bother you. Besides, Mama might find out, and I do not want you all to get involve with my troubles.”

  “M’ lady, ‘tis no troubles at all,” Mrs. Price said gently.

  Ivy touched the woman’s plump hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Price, you are an angel.”

  “Oh,” the housekeeper mused.

  “Good night,” Ivy said softly.

  “Aye, good night, m’ lady,” Mrs. Price said. Then she and Lisa left.

  Ivy climbed into the cold bed. The moment her head touched the soft pillow, she shut her eyes and drifted off into a trouble sleep. Now and again her body shivered against the coldness, and she hugged herself into a ball to keep warm.

  ***

  London, England

  Maximilian Devilyn—the powerful, infamous Duke of Lynwood, rested his weight on his elbow as he looked at the woman beside him. He shifted his gaze to her lips. They were glistening red from the demand of his kisses. On impulse, he kissed them again. They were soft and warm against his. When he moved his head back, he saw that her eyes were bright with expectation as she moved herself toward him, causing the silk bed sheet to slide from her shoulders down to her waist.

  “Hmm, did I tell you just how handsome you are?” she asked, caressing his firm, masculine jaw.

  “Many times, my dear,” he replied indifferently and caught her wrist to stop her stroking him.

  “You do not believe me?”

  “Aye, I believe you,” he said, releasing her hand.

  “I know you don’t,” she said.

  He sat up, swung his legs over, and moved off the bed. He felt the cold air against his skin and shivered. He strolled toward his clothes lying in disarray on the sofa.

  “What do you think I should wear if I were to be invited to the Count and Countess of Huntingdon’s ball?”

  “Are they planning one?”

  “Well, I have no idea. But just supposing that they are?”

  “Sharon,” he said over his shoulder, “the season will not be starting until April.”

  “I know, but just supposing that they are planning a ball?” She sat up. “What do you think I should wear? I will have to impress them and...” She stopped her nattering and watched him picking up his trousers. “You’re leaving?”

  “Westwood Castle requires my attention,” he said as he slipped it on.

  “Oh!” was all she could think of as a reply. She did not know that he was leaving for Westwood Castle, and she knew that he would not tell her either if he had not happened to misinterpret her question.

  She sat there watching him bending and stretching his powerful body as he dressed himself. His actions were quick and precise. She loved the way the shade of his blonde hair change from spun gold to pale moonlight as he shifted his head from the morning sunray to the dimness of the bedroom and back again.

  “Surely, Max, you don’t have to be in such haste to return to Westwood Castle. I mean you’ve just returned from Huntingdon Hall and parliament--”

  “I’m sure parliament could run without me for a few weeks.” He turned and pulled on his shirt.

  “How long will you be away?”

  “Four weeks or so,” he replied, reaching for his coat.

  “You’re planning to stay away for so long? What about parliament? What if you don’t return on time for the season? I will have no one to escort me to dinner parties and balls.”

  Max put on his grey coat and looked at her. “Sharon,” he said, walking toward her.

  “Promise you’ll return on time. When ever you are away to one of your country estates you never return on time as you promised. There will always be something to keep you away. You know I do not like going to parties and balls alone.”

  “I’m sure your husband will escort you.”

  “Why are we talking about him?” she snapped, folding her arms across her bare breasts.

  “Sharon,” he said, digging his hand into the pocket of his coat. He took out a small velvet box.

  Like some magical forces, she turned her gaze from his face to the box.

  “I will not be escorting you anywhere again.” He reached for her wrist, turned her palm up, and placed the box there.

  “What do you mean?” She glanced at him.

  “Just that,” he said, cupping her chin. He kissed her lips, and with his lips still lingering near hers, he whispered— “Good bye, my dear.” He moved his head back, nodded at her once, turned on his heels, and walked to the door.

  Sharon was lost for words as she watched him depart. The room turned uncomfortably silent. She turned to look at the box. With hands that shook, she opened it. There, displaying so elegantly was a large ruby bracelet. She swallowed as she clutched it in her hands.

  As he closed the door, Max heard his mistress sobbing. It was not a gentle sob, for there was nothing gentle about Sharon March. He did not react to her emotion no matter that he had just made her cry, for he knew that in just a few days, the spoiled Sharon would be back to her normal self again. She would be happy, spending money without thoughts that her husband was up to his neck in debts, and of course, she would be admiring the ruby bracelet that he had given her and showing it off to her friends at Almack’s.

  Her cry faded away as he descended the stairs. He had known for sometime now that he needed to move on. He needed to find something else to occupy his restless mind. He needed a new woman--a woman that would not remind him so much of Lady Grace Westwood—the woman he had once secretly loved and now had turned into his enemy. And more importantly, he needed to plan his next move.

  Outside, he raised his face toward the sky. He narrowed his eyes with disgust at the yellow, smoky atmosphere that seem to have engulfed the whole of London City, made especially worse during these winter months.

  Noises of various kinds roared in his ears as he made his way down to the street. There were the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves on the road, the shouting of street peddlers selling various kinds of items, and the click of women’s pattens on the path as they took their morning walk.

  Standing on the side walk of Belgrave Square, he felt the sharp, crispy breeze touch his skin. Ironically, he welcomed this
intense chill that made him feel, for the moment, at peace. But this would never last. In a few hours he would feel restless again. And what would he do then?

  “Please, sir, a pen’y for the poor?”

  Max looked down to see a boy dressed in worn out clothing with one dirty hand out in the air and the other tugging his starched white sleeve for attention. He dug his hand into his pocket and tossed the boy two guinea.

  “Thank ye, sir,” the boy said gleefully, clutching the gold coins in his hand and rushed away.

  Max watched as the boy ran to an alleyway across the street and met up with another boy of a younger age. Their face indicated that they were brothers. He saw the older boy put his arm around his younger brother, telling him vigorously of his fortune. The younger one nodded, the radiant smile on his little face tucked deep in Max’s heart.

  As he stared at them jogging away and laughing joyously, in his mind’s eye he saw two brothers sitting in an alleyway sharing a loaf of stolen bread.

  “Your grace.”

  He blinked and turned to look at the footman.

  “Where to, your grace?” a footman asked.

  Max climbed into the carriage and said, “Edington Mansion.”

  The footman nodded and closed the door.

  Max rested his head back and closed his eyes as the carriage moved out of Belgrave Square. Before he knew it, his thought--with its own free will--had drifted back to that fateful day. It seemed that he could never stop thinking about what had happened that dawn. Even now he could still remember seeing blood oozing out from his brother’s chest and life fading away from his brother’s body—and the thirst for revenge erupted in his blood anew.

  It was not long when he realized that they were moving through the familiar sight of Park Lane toward Edington Mansion. Up at the mansion he instructed Evergreen, his butler, and Mrs. Clairwater, his housekeeper, on the running of the household during his absent. He informed them that they would be expecting his return within three to four weeks. By then, he hoped, parliament would have reached some form of agreement and stop arguing on the merit of Prince George’s suitability as Regent during the king’s illness.