The Duke's Revenge Read online

  “You are awake.” She heard a deep voice near her ear.

  She must be dreaming, she thought.

  She looked up at the man before her in confusion. Suddenly, she widened her eyes and gasped. “No, please let go!”

  “Let go?” He imprisoned her with his body.

  “Please,” she cried, pushing her hands against his massive chest.

  He only held onto her tighter. He laughed, his voice echoing near her ear. When he stopped laughing, he moved his face toward her and kissed her hard on her lips, his tongue urging her mouth to open.

  She shook her head from side to side, thrashed her feet, and hit his chest.

  When he lifted his head back, he stared down at her in the moonlight. His breath was snatched away when he saw how beautiful she was as she stared up at him. He lowered his face toward her and whispered, “You wish me to let you go?”

  She nodded her head furiously.

  “And yet you come into my house? Isn’t that an invitation, Ivy?” he asked softly.

  “Please,” she cried, “I did not mean to sneak into your house, your grace. I...I just need a place to stay for a while before I leave.”

  “Leave? Where to, may I ask?” He moved his fingers to caress her cheek.

  “I will leave, is that not what you want?” she said, staring up at him.

  “Aye, I wish you out of my house, and I do intent to know what will become of you.” His fingers moved lower to her throat.

  “I believe that is none of your business.”

  “Ah, that is where you are wrong, Ivy. It is my business. Now tell me, where do you intent to go?”

  “To Bath.”

  “Bath, is it?” he said, smiling down at her, and his fingers were still caressing her skin.

  Ivy’s body shook, and she tried to push him away. He wouldn’t let her go, however, and his fingers were now stroking her cleavage.

  “Why did you run away from home?”

  “A family matter.”

  “I am a duke, Ivy, why not tell me your problem? I know I can help you.”

  “Nay, you cannot help me, and I will not return home,” she said and caught his large wrist that her small fingers and thumb could hardly wrap around. She forced his hand away from her.

  He was stronger, and with a flick of his hand, she lost her gripping.

  “Why the hell not?” he snapped and caught her wrist.

  “You are not me, you would not understand,” she cried, tears threatening to come out of her eyes.

  “You may tell me, Ivy, why are you running away from home?”

  “How would you feel if somebody is forcing you to do things you do not want to do?” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Who, may I ask, is forcing you to do things you do not want to do?”

  “A family matter.”

  “If you do not tell me that is fine with me. I am the master of this house, Ivy, and I will make sure that you return home safe and sound. I do not intent your guardian to think that I have kidnapped you now, do I?”

  “No, I will not return home!”

  “You will return home in the morning, Ivy, or if you so chose to go to Bath, then I be oblige to aid you.”

  “You will aid me? In what way?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Ah, I will, of course, find you a house and escort you there myself. What do you think? I will provide for you.” He smiled at her though she could not see it in the dim moonlight.

  She stared up at him and thought—trusting this man to offer her his help when he had taken advantage of her already? She was not that stupid.

  “I do not believe you.”

  He laughed aloud. “Very clever, Ivy,” he said and caught her small chin between his fingers and thumb. “I do mean every word I said. You must have known me, Ivy, I am a man of my word, a business bargain is a business bargain.”

  “A business bargain?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Aye, this is a business bargain.”

  “What will you ask in return?”

  “What do I want in return?” He lowered his face toward hers. “I want you, Ivy, right now.”

  “What? Nay!” she shrieked, struggling in his arms.

  “Nay?” He raised his brows at her mockingly.

  “Aye, I will return home. You won’t touch me, will you?”

  “Ah, then I will ensure that you shall get home safe and sound,” he said and lowered to kiss her forehead. He lingered his lips there for a moment, taking in her scent. He didn’t want to leave her. She was warm and very soft, and he wanted to take her there and then. But, he told himself, he must wait. He’d have her soon enough. He’d have her every night.

  He smiled at that thought.

  He stood up and stared down at her from his great height.

  Ivy bolted up and clutched the blanket in front of her. “No, there is no need.”

  “Oh, but I insist,” he said and walked out the room smiling to himself.

  Did she think him stupid to let her leave his house without a backward glance?

  CHAPTER 3

  Lady Grace Westwood sat on the sofa with her back arched straight and her head held high as she looked down her autocratic nose at the parlourmaid.

  “Clean that vase thoroughly and don’t forget to add more coals,” she snapped.

  Rena placed the damped cloth down, rushed toward the hearth, and threw more coals into the bright fire.

  No matter how much more coals she threw into the flame; the huge empty parlour would always feel cold in this old, crumbling manor. There was also the fact that, and this was absolutely hard for Rena to restrain herself from blurting out, Her Ladyship always wore flimsy day dress cut in the latest style with skimpy muslin fabrics not fit enough to ward off the nasty English weather; which was of course the reason why she was always feeling cold.

  Rena poked the fire a few times with the iron poker and then rushed back to her work, dusting and cleaning away the many damp moulds that seem to be growing forever more furiously in these winter months.

  Gusts of warm drafts whooshed toward where Grace was sitting. She sighed with some temporary relief until such time when the fire started to die down again.

  Although she was staring fixedly at the vase, her thought was elsewhere. She was thinking about her daughter, Ivy, who had run away. She suspected that her Uncle John had helped her but trying to get information out of the muted man was impossible. He refused to give in even though she had ordered Gale, her lady’s maid, to whip him three times.

  Fortunately, the kind Duke of Lynwood, the man who had bought Westwood Castle and saved her from her creditors, had dispatched a footman to inform her that her daughter was at Westwood Castle and that the girl would be returning home in the morning, escorted by the housekeeper.

  She snapped up the Morning Post and started reading the front page to keep her mind occupy as she waited for the return of her daughter. News of the Prince of Wale was everywhere concerning his eligibility as Regent during his father, King George’s delicate illness. She was just reading through about the progress of the English troop in the Peninsula when she heard horses’ hooves and carriage wheels thrusting on the gravel down at the courtyard. She threw the newspaper down on the seat beside her and walked to the window.

  Outside, she saw an elegant coach parked in front of the mansion. She saw Ivy leaving the carriage and walking toward the door.

  A bout of anger consumed her. She stalked into the hallway with her hands fisted into balls. Just as she came out she saw Gray, the butler, disappearing into the kitchen after allowing her daughter in.

  “Why did you run away?” she shouted.

  Ivy halted at the stairs. She wanted to run as fast as she could and hide, but she could not. If she did that she would be a coward, and she did not want to be a coward. Reluctantly, she turned to face her angry mother.

  “Why did you run away?” Grace grabbed her wrist and squeezed it so tight that her skin turned red. />
  It hurt, and Ivy wanted to cry out so badly. She did not reply and tried to twist her hand away, but her mother only held on tighter.

  “I could not comprehend why you have run away, Ivy. If you do it again, I will do something you will regret.”

  Ivy bit her lip. She did not dare look up at her angry mother. She scared her. Since she was a little girl, her own mother scared her.

  Grace grabbed Ivy’s arms, dragged her up the stairs to the bedroom, and slammed the door shut. There she shoved her daughter onto the bed.

  Ivy sat there watching her mother pacing back and forward.

  Grace stopped and turned to look at her daughter. She saw the sunray shinning on her daughter’s dark hair. It illuminated her feature, giving the girl a soft look that was so beautiful, she felt the jealousy inside her consuming her.

  She paced forward, grabbed a bunch of the girl’s hair, and jerked her head up.

  Ivy gasped. She held onto the long strands so that the yanking would not hurt her head as much.

  Grace released the hair then. She stared unsympathetically at the dismal girl half lying on the bed. “Your hair, Ivy, I thought I’ve told you many times to hide it. It’s sinful, it’s disgusting.”

  As she scolded, Grace knew that Ivy’s hair was not disgusting. It was so beautiful and glorious that she didn’t want any one to see it—especially men for that matter. Men with big appetite for the flesh of a beautiful woman.

  However, it also annoyed her that no matter how much she had forced the girl to hide her hair or dressed her in old garments, not to mention very hideous ones indeed, the girl still managed to look pleasing to the eye, and she didn’t really know what more she could do to make the girl look as ugly as possible.

  Ivy looked up to her mother as the woman stood there with her back arched straight and her head held high. She was wearing one of her very expensive muslin day dresses. This one was Pomona green with low neckline which showed her white cleavage generously to onlookers. She was a picture of beauty, but her beauty was only skin deep.

  “Lord McNeill was not very impressed with your behavior?”

  Ivy turned away, trying to shut out what her mother was implying. The mere mentioning of Lord McNeill caused her stomach to churn in sickness. “Mama, do we have to go through this?”

  “Of course we have to go through with this. That man is rich, Ivy, he wants you. I can see it in his eyes.”

  Ivy could not understand how Lord McNeill would want her when she was so poor and the fact that she had no dowry. She knew that he wanted to marry her after that stupid incident. It had happened after dinner a few weeks ago when her mother had left her unchaperoned with him in the parlour.

  She could still remember his smells. They were a mixture of mothball, burnt oil, and musty air. He had sat extremely close to her on the sofa and he had even taken hold of both her hands in his large, wrinkly ones. He had begged her to marry him then. She had felt sick at that moment.

  After the news had sunk in, she had shaken her head and begun to mumble some excuses. He would have none of it, however. He had told her that she would change her mind after he had taught her the way of love. Then he had actually took hold of her face and kissed her on her lips. She had tried to push him away, but he was quite strong for an old man. It was at that moment that Lisa had encountered upon them. Lisa had literally taken hold of him by the collar and shoved him down to the floor, and it was at that moment that Lady Westwood had entered the room. Her mother had been in a rage when she saw Lord McNeill on the floor, swearing and staring unkindly at Lisa.

  Ivy could not understand why when an old man such as Lord McNeill had forced himself upon her daughter; her mother did not seemed to mind in the least and was instead very angry with Lisa for intervening.

  Her mother had banished Lisa on the spot. It had broke Ivy’s heart and caused Lord McNeill to smile with satisfaction.

  “I have a letter from him today. He said that he didn’t mind you being so stupid the other night. He will come in two weeks time for dinner. This time, Ivy, I will have none of you spoiling this arrangement. If you must know, daughter, we are in debts. If you agree to marry him, we do not have to worry about the creditors.”

  “I do not want to marry him, Mama, can you not see that?”

  Grace frowned, and in a flash, she slapped Ivy’s cheek. “You will not disobey me again--do you understand?”

  “I will not marry him.” Ivy did not even bother to touch the fingers mark on her cheek. She felt no hurt now—just disgust.

  “You won’t? We’ll see about that,” Grace said and stalked toward the door. She opened it and turned around. “You will have no dinner today, my dear, and no food for two days, not until you agree, do you understand?”

  Ivy sat there, staring at her mother as the woman shut the door. She heard a click from the other side and knew she was locked in again. She turned, and with her face resting against the pillow, she cried. She was now, as always, a prisoner in her own room.

  CHAPTER 4

  Murphy McDonald, the renowned, highly resourceful solicitor of McDonald and Son Inc. grumbled under his breath as he looked at the old three stories Elizabethan manor. He sighed, wondering how he was going to approach the tender subject.

  He told the coachman to drive through the rusty gate into the snow-covered courtyard. When the landau drew to a stop, he got down and his boots sunk into the snow. He grumbled in annoyance, stumped his feet a few times to shake the snow off, and walked up the pathway to the door.

  He had to knock the huge putrefied wooden door three times with the rusty lever before a middle age man, presumably the butler, opened the door.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  Murphy took of his black hat, revealing his shinny baldhead with white hair around the lower half. He bowed at the butler and said, “I presume this is the great house of Lady Grace Westwood?”

  “Aye, this is the house of Her Ladyship.”

  “Excellent, my good friend, I shall be oblige to introduce myself. My name is Murphy McDonald, solicitor from the McDonald & Son Inc., and it would be a pleasure if I could meet Her Ladyship. You see, I have a business proposal for Her Ladyship upon my employer’s request.”

  “Solicitor?” the butler repeated and nodded. “Please wait here a moment. I will inform her ladyship.”

  Murphy nodded, and the butler went into the drawing room.

  Gray stopped at the door when he saw that Her Ladyship’s full attention was on the Gazette. He cleared his throat with a cough. She looked up at him.

  “There is a man here to see you, my lady.”

  “Who is it, Gray? Lord McNeill?”

  “Nay, my lady, I have never seen this gentleman before.”

  “What does he want? Have I not told you that if it is one of those young bucks the Reverend send to collect donation, even in this heathen snow, God permit, then just make some excuses. Now do not bother me again.” She turned her attention back to her newspaper.

  “But, my lady, he said he has business with you.”

  “Just send him away, Gray, do you not hear me?” she snapped and slashed the newspaper down on the table.

  The butler jerked at the intensity. He swallowed and forced himself to proceed. “My lady, perhaps it is better for you to see him. He said he’s a solicitor.”

  Grace frowned, got up, and walked past the butler into the hallway. At the door she saw a gentleman. As she came toward him she asked, “You want to see me, sir?”

  “Ah, Lady Grace Westwood?” Murphy bowed. “My name is Murphy McDonald. I am a solicitor, and I have a business proposal for you, my lady.”

  “A proposal?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “What is it?”

  “I cannot say as yet, my lady, perhaps inside the house?”

  She studied him for a moment in silent, and her eyes were sharp. “Very well, sir, I will hear this proposal of yours.” She turned and led him into the house.

  M
urphy gave the butler his hat and followed Grace toward one of the rooms along the hallway.

  “You may sit down, Mr. McDonald.” Grace gestured to one of the chair in front of the study desk. Murphy sat and placed his satchel down beside him. Grace eyed the bag as she sat opposite him.

  “Well, Mr. McDonald, do not delay much longer.”

  “Let see...” Murphy started.

  The housekeeper entered the room at that moment with tea and muffins. She placed the tray on the table and left the room again quietly.

  Murphy continued, “I have this proposal from my employer, who does not want to present himself until further notice.”

  Grace nodded and began to pour the tea.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the cup she handed him. “My employer is a very good friend of mine, and he wanted me to present this proposal to you. Lady Grace Westwood, you have a daughter, is that correct?”

  “Indeed, sir,” she said, looking at him sipping his tea.

  Secondhand tea, Murphy thought, as he placed the cup down on the table and said, “My employer is very interested in her, you see. He also knows of your trouble with money. He propose that if she were to agree with him, my lady, he wants her--”

  He stopped there for a moment.

  “He wants her?” Grace asked in surprise. “But surely, Mr. McDonald, your employer has never seen my daughter.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. The very thought that someone distinguish and rich has an interest in Ivy caused a jolt of jealousy within her.

  “Do you mean to say, Mr. McDonald, that your employer has requested you to ask me for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  Murphy paled and his hands shook just a bit uneasily. He cleared his throat and said, “Err, actually my employer has asked me to propose upon you and your daughter, err, I mean he wants her all right but not for marriage, my lady.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Murphy shifted in his seat again. “My employer wants your daughter as his mistress, my lady.”

  Grace just sat there, looking at him in shock. Then she bolted up. “Mr. McDonald, my daughter is not a mere commoner to become a man’s mistress. She is of noble blood, and she will marry well,” she said in a low heated voice.