Duke of Treason Read online

  Several deep breaths afterwards, she calmed down just enough to a semblance of clear thoughts. She had that letter to see to today. She had to wait for the castle to get busy, so that nobody would think strange a footman roaming it free. She straightened her back as she steered up to her room. A sense of something odd, the hairs on her nape standing. She turned around and spotted someone in the shadows. Oh, fantastic! That man put a lackey to watch her even if he would kiss her until she could breathe no more. She should take this in consideration in her next moves.

  Annabel summoned her footman and gave him strict instructions. She sent him on his way and left her chambers to wander the castle and lead the watchdog on, so he would not sniff on Peter.

  She wandered the gardens and climbed down to the dungeons, which she found fascinating the day before, when she came across them, her shadow faithful after her. That lackey did not look very smart if she could detect him so easily.

  Now that her correspondence with London had been sorted out, she could turn to more pressing matters. It was imperative she left. Since His Serene Grace denied her the right to, she would have to snatch it. For that, she would have to plan carefully.

  First, she would have to send Benson to pay and pick the carriage and leave it in the inn. They would have to mount the horses that were the team for the carriage and ride there. Those horses were not good for riding, for they had been trained mostly for harnessing, but she would have to make do. She needed time for all this and a good head start, since a carriage did not have the same speed as a rider, in case the Duke came chasing. Which she thought he would. She would use the next days to prepare and put her plan into action.

  * * *

  His aunt travelled in style, Romulus would give her that, even if beloved Charlotte did not prove to be good at communication. She came without sending him word. Entitled to that, no doubt, being her father’s sister and the widow of a Marquis.

  The time was not right, with all the goings on here. He would not complain, surely. She helped bring him up after his own mother, Amandine, passed away when he had turned fourteen. He had strong gratefulness for her for having taken care of him and his brothers.

  Aunt Charlotte came down from her carriage and six dressed in an extravagant dress of the yellowest of shades and a bonnet as large as a parasol. The woman herself was petite, contrary to her brother, the old Duke. Snowy hair coiffed under the bonnet and sharp blue eyes, she held the hauteur and beauty of the family.

  “My dear boy.” She greeted him in cheerful disposition, touching his cheek.

  “Aunt Charlotte.” He said in his usual, grave tone. “It is a pleasure to see you.” He did not smile, he seldom did, but his aunt never minded that.

  “London is becoming boring these days, so I decided to come and visit you instead.”

  “Good you did.”

  “I cannot stay long, though. I am visiting my friend Lady Carlyle in Plymouth.”

  “Indeed.” He offered her his arm, and they entered the great hall.

  “I have not seen Lydia in a long while. It will do me good to visit with her.” She took out her hat.

  At that exact moment, Annabel emerged from the stairs leading to the dungeons dressed in a simple and very feminine violet walking dress.

  The sight of her made his body go on alert and re-live their morning… activities. She never met his eyes, but his took all of her.

  By his side, Charlotte looked at her with intense curiosity. “Well, well, looks like my nephew is hiding someone in his eerie fortress.” She smiled. “Do introduce this lovely creature, Romulus.”

  “Lady Winchester, allow me to introduce my aunt the Marchioness of Darby.”

  “My lady.” She curtsied and opened the most dazzling smile, one too dangerous for his poor self-control. “I have heard a lot about you in London.”

  The marchioness smiled back, taking an immediate liking to the hellion. “You did? How lovely.” He was in danger of having a female front to fight off here.

  The Duke felt proud of his aunt, as she led a group of intellectuals dedicated to science, arts and philosophy.

  “Lady Winchester was travelling by when her carriage broke down in the vicinity.” He squinted at the impossible woman to convey he very much suspected of the artifice.

  “That was unfortunate, my dear.” The older woman’s brows pleated for the barest moment, before she smiled again. “But fortunate for me to have a companion to talk to while this rogue of a nephew is busy.”

  “I shall like that exceedingly, my lady.”

  “Aunt, come. Your chambers are ready.” Romulus put her in the capable hands of his butler and the two of them headed for the upper floor.

  The presence of his aunt would make her more careful with her plans for an escape, Annabel mused.

  Romulus turned to her, a glacial expression on his fierce face. “You will not play your little schemes while my aunt is here. Understood?”

  She surveyed the hall. Few servants remained here at that time of day, all busy with their tasks. Even the incompetent who followed her seemed to have vanished.

  Anger surfaced on her stance. “Schemes?” She pointed a vehement finger to him. “You are keeping me prisoner here!” She said through her teeth. “With a lackey for a shadow on top of it.”

  “You deny the schemes.” The grave tone a balm her ears, even if accusatory.

  She confronted him head on and proud. She came here on a mission and he betrayed her country. “With conviction.”

  His murky irises acquired a mixture of suspicion and scorn. “Not a word that comes from that delicious mouth of yours is true.”

  Flushing with his mention of that part of her anatomy, she struggled to keep this morning… steam from her memory. She raised her head to fulminate him fully. “How dare you accuse me when you are in the wrong?”

  “Wrong?” That irresistible disdainful smile of his came to those terribly sensuous lips. “Between us there is no right or wrong.” He towered over her, the soap on his skin affecting her nostrils. He must have bathed after the wrestling as she did. “Only this muddy thing that holds no definition.”

  “For me everything is very clear.” She devolved hotly. “I discern the difference between the two, contrary to some.”

  “You, a woman who cheated a man to marry another with a title?” He chuckled humourless. “This is rich!” He rumbled in his deep voice.

  That hurt. Like a poison that went down burning and destroying every feeling in its way. With a gigantic effort, she tamped it down with forceful will. “If this is what you think of me, Your Grace, then I have nothing else to say.” With luck, she delivered it as a ball of snow, cold and smashing.

  Turning, she walked away, chin up, straight back and tears burning in the back of her eyes.

  * * *

  Evident that Annabel would not be able to skip dinner with His Grace’s aunt visiting. So, she dressed a demure dress of a dark green shade and breathed deeply to brace herself for the evening.

  As soon as she reached the great hall, his aunt turned to her. “Oh, my dear. There you are.” She stood alone in the immense room.

  “My lady.” The curtsy respectful, she approached the older woman.

  “I remember you now.” A pleasant smile on her face. “You are the widow of the Count of Winchester.”

  “Indeed, I am, my lady.” She tilted her head. Not for a moment did she doubt of the cunningness of the woman before her. “You have a good memory.”

  “And one of my nephew’s estates is neighbours to yours, if I remember well.”

  The remark made Annabel wonder how much the marchioness learned of Romulus and her past interactions. Possibly nothing, as there was not anything public about them. “You are quite correct.”

  “Had you and my nephew met before, I reckon?” Aunt Charlotte had her full attention on Annabel.

  “You are going to scare the lady with your prying questions, aunt.” Came the unnerving man’s deep voice from b
ehind her. The sound caused her whole body to prime up, her heart racing with his presence.

  “Romulus Fabien, don’t you dare chide your elders!” His aunt said in a teasing manner.

  In an effort to recuperate from the impact he always caused her, she did not turn to him. Instead, maintaining a bland smile to the older woman, her hands serenely joined in front of her.

  “I would not think of that, beloved aunty.” He delivered in the same tone.

  And Annabel wished he treated her with this lightness, his rugged features going a tad softer, making him even more hypnotic, when she at last readied herself to face him.

  “You just did, you rapscallion!” Fondness in her voice and eyes.

  “We do not want to appal the delicate lady, do we?” Disdain all over him, he neared her and took her gloved hand to bow over it. “Lady Winchester.” His voice went an octave graver.

  A sweltering reaction ran through her, as if she had drunk a cup of hot tea in one gulp. “Your Grace.” She replied weakened, her eyes lowering to his hand on hers.

  Aunt Charlotte’s sharp scrutiny did not miss any detail of the exchange.

  Offering one arm to each lady, Romulus took them to the tastefully set table. After the women had sat, he sat at the head, having them to each of his sides.

  Footmen served the wine and the first course, which made Anabel realise she was hungry. She concentrated on the food, leaving the conversation to aunt and nephew.

  The night outside was fresh, and it told of rain. In the hall, the fireplace exhibited a cosy fire added by the light of the candelabra.

  “What brought you to this part of England, Lady Winchester?” Lady Derby asked after a sip of wine.

  “I came to visit Tintagel, my lady.” Though the food tasted delicious, tension underlay in her with the proximity of the Duke. “But I have not travelled there yet, for my carriage is still to be fixed.” She slipped a meaningful glance at the blasted man, who simply acted as if he had nothing to do with it.

  “I did not imagine there were so lousy craftsmen here.” Lady Derby took a delicate bite of fish.

  “Not lousy, aunt.” Romulus explained with cynical, calm detachment. “You see, the wheel broke down so seriously.”

  “You don’t say.” The marchioness showed genuine concern.

  “One wonders how it got so wrecked.”

  Nervousness dominated Annabel. He inspected that, too. The man left nothing to chance, did he?

  She drew a saccharine smile. “I do hope it is mended soon, so that I can realize my dream of seeing where the Arthurian tales begun.”

  “Oh, they will mend it in due time, I am sure.” His solicitous response hid an undertone of command, conveying she would leave when he saw fit.

  Over my dead body! She mentally retorted. She would not give him the power to decide for her.

  At that moment, their stares collided, his unmoving, hers headstrong, without noticing the amusement in his aunt’s stance.

  Not willing to give away even more of their conflict, she diverted hers to the plate.

  A long silence ensued, peppered only by the crack of the fire and the clink of silverware on porcelain plates.

  “You should take the lady to ride, Romulus.” Aunt Charlotte suggested innocent. Too innocent for anyone to give it any credit.

  Now, this was something Annabel did not need: a matchmaker aunt for her and a man she must despise. She did not need that at all!

  “I do not think- “ She started.

  “It will be my pleasure.” He interrupted her shameless, with a smug half-smile. “If you will meet me in the inner bailey tomorrow morning, my lady.”

  She fulminated him with her furious eyes as her lips designed a genteel smile. “Thank you for inviting, my lord.”

  Dinner finished, Romulus retired to his solar, whilst the ladies took tea in the drawing room upstairs. Lady Derby entertained her with stories from her nephews’ childhood and she found she enjoyed the older woman’s company.

  “You do seem to have participated a lot in the boys’ life, Lady Derby.” Annabel commented, still laughing at the older woman’s last story.

  “Indeed, my dear.” His aunt took a sip of her tea. “They lost their mother too early, poor things.”

  Annabel’s shocked surprise showed all over her expression. “I did not hear of that.” Naturally, she knew he had lost his mother by the time they met that summer, but he never told her the details.

  “Sorrowful fact, I tell you.” Aunt Charlotte’s features acquired a sad hue. “Amandine was French you realise.”

  “What happened?” Annabel had always wondered.

  The cup rested on the side table, the lady continued. “The Revolution exploded in France and news of several deaths reached us. Amandine was worried sick with her relatives. After several years of hearing only rumours and receiving no letters, she decided to travel there.”

  Annabel had studied about the Revolution and the consequent ascent of Napoleon to power.

  “Pitiful decision.” Lady Derby sighed. “She came to Paris in the height of the riots. The story is very unclear, but accounts indicate someone of her acquaintance murdered her.”

  “Oh, goodness me!”

  “Romulus was fourteen, his elder brother, sixteen and his younger one, twelve.” Aunt Charlotte completed.

  “So young?” Annabel imagined Romulus losing his mother at so tender age and grieved for him.

  “Too early to see a mother go, I agree.” The old woman replied. “I did what I could for them though I had my own children to see to at the time.”

  Romulus and his brothers were lucky to have such a generous aunt. Most society ladies would not have given up their social appointments for their nephews.

  After chatting a little more with Lady Derby, Annabel reached her room at last, and her tiredness got her to a fitful sleep.

  * * *

  Romulus stood in the inner bailey, waiting for the woman he would not stop wanting in any time of the day. Or night.

  He deemed it better to accept his aunt’s suggestion and take her riding, lest the active hellion did it on her own and invested on another of her stunts. With all the dangers it entailed.

  The stable lad held the mare she ‘borrowed’ last time with a side saddle. Romulus had his Arab black stallion by the reins. The black beauty blew air through its nose when the woman in question appeared on the steps. Her grey ridding habit hinted at her well-shaped legs, her slim waist and her round bosom. A complete, unwelcome temptation so early in the day, the unbidden desire came to him, together with his usual response to her.

  “Good morning, my lady.” He bowed. “I trust you got a good night’s sleep.” Contrary to some other people.

  “I did.” She placed her hat over her ebony ringlets coiled in a bun, hiding it from his avid eyes. She had the most beautiful hair a woman might ever have. “Fitful, I would say, my lord.” The reserved smile did not mislead him. She did not want to be under his surveillance, he knew.

  Refusing the stable hand help, she mounted the horse with grace and agility. He followed her, and they headed northwest in a lazy trot.

  “Your estate is very well kept, my lord.” She started, looking ahead.

  The crisp morning held a wispy fog over the sky, promising sun for later. The fog cast a diffuse light over the green horizon, the scene of a fairy tale.

  “My name is Romulus, Annabel.” In the presence of others, they must keep the formality, but, apart from the birds, there was no one around them.

  “Yes…Romulus.” Why in hell he insisted she use his Christian name was a mystery because it made him want her to say it in the throes of passion. Uttered now with her melodious voice already bedevilled him.

  He tried to find something to talk about to distract him from the temptation she represented.

  “Lord Winchester did not have this same preference for mediaeval literature, I gather.” What he really wanted to know was if she had been happy or if she enjoyed
her married life. If she loved the fop. There must be a self-inflicted penance trait in him to be willing to know if she meted out the ultimate betrayal. That which happened in the very core of her heart.

  Her attention spun abrupt on him, with a surprised glint in it. “No, he did not.” Her tone unfathomable. “He collected wood-carved horses.”

  “Wood-carved horses?” Of all things! The goddamned man must have been the bore of bores.

  “Yes. Every time he saw one in a shop or country-fair, he bought it.” Her head gyrated back to the path they rode. “He displayed three hundred of them in his study.”

  For all the fop made a good suitor, the match was not made in heaven, that was for sure. Annabel so feisty, full of life, willing to experience the new and untried with a man like the count.

  He wondered if the man bored her in the bedchamber, too. She was so tactile and sensuous. The image of another man touching her acid enough; that the fop wasted her natural passion blasting angered Romulus.

  They rode in silence for long minutes, a cool breeze floating the horses’ manes and mussing Romulus’ sleek hair.

  “Oh dear me!” She exclaimed looking up a hill to the remnants of a Celtic Christian church.

  He had been absolutely certain she would marvel at this spot. Whilst he waited for them to ride to the top of the hill for her to see it in full, he kept his eyes on her.

  Not a very big building, the tower stood firm about fifteen feet, but without the roof. The ruined walls around it had uneven heights. Up the hill, a Celtic cross stood beside the ruin, against the sea in the background.

  In awe, she dismounted, taking off her hat and hanging it on the saddle horn, and walked to the ruin. “It is extraordinary.” Her delicate hand touched a stone on the wall.