Taken by the Duke (3 page)

“Liam,” she breathed.

His gaze darted away from hers. “You saw Rothcastle?”

She swallowed back her reaction to his appearance and nodded. “Yes. I saw him.”

“Did he approach you?” her brother snapped, tone suddenly tense and angry. “Speak to you?”

She wrinkled her brow. “No. Of course not.”

Liam’s face relaxed, but only a little. “Good.” The relief was short-lived. “Stay away from him,” he barked.

Her lips parted in surprise at the strength of her sibling’s response. He looked almost wild with anger. Not at all like her sweet brother of days that seemed an eternity ago.

“Liam—” she began.

“I said stay away from him,” he repeated, then slammed the door in her face without a second look.

She stared, blinking at the barrier between them. Never had he spoken to her in such a fashion. Never had he dismissed her like she was no better than a scullery maid who had stolen from the family coffers. Never had he looked at her as if she were nothing to him.

She knocked again, louder. “Liam, I have your supper. Please just open the door and talk to me, or at least take your food.”

He did not respond, nor did she hear his pacing anymore. She stood there for a while, then set the tray down beside the door and walked away. Later the maids would fetch it, probably still in its current untouched state.

She moved toward her own chambers on the other side of the hallway. Without really seeing what was before her, she stepped into her bedroom and crossed over to sit in her favorite chair beside the fire. She was silent as the darkness in her room grew, the only light her lazy fire. But she was not alone.

No, her thoughts were her companions. And not particularly pleasant ones at that. Mostly they were thoughts of the man Liam had become. Of the reasons he had changed. Of the man who had changed him on a cold, icy night not so very long ago.

She supposed some people might abandon a brother who so obviously did not want them around. Some sisters might even turn away and take advantage of their increased freedom. But she couldn’t. Not without making herself utterly alone in the world.

“He is all I have,” she murmured into the darkness. “If he was taken from me—”

There was a knock at her door, and she started before she got to her feet and turned to face the intruder. Her lady’s maid, Helen, entered the room and her face lit with surprise when she found Ava in the darkness.

“I-I’m sorry, my lady,” the maid stammered. “I came to help you ready for the Marchioness Millforte’s gathering. Unless you are not going?”

Ava hesitated. A very great part of her wished to avoid the gathering. After all, she had only been invited out of habit. Now that Rothcastle was back in Society, she would be bothered incessantly with questions and seemingly well-meaning intrusions.

But she had promised Portia. And her great-aunt, the one who served as her chaperone for these events, seemed to like going out and would bluster endlessly if she were denied that small pleasure.

“There is no avoiding it,” she sighed. “Come in and light the lanterns. I have no choice but to go and be gay as I can.”

The girl did as she was told, but as Ava took her place at her dressing table, there was no joy to be found in the exercise. Only an ever-increasing dread that seemed to permeate her very soul.

There were times when Ava felt like her life was on an endless loop of sorts. Rise up, make ready, take care of the household and estate duties her brother would not, meet with friends (both real and false) and then go to a party. Over and over, she repeated this series of events, but they had long ago lost their charm. The fact was that after five seasons, her chances at finding a match of any consequence was minimal, even if her family hadn’t made such an infamous name for itself. Now that the accident had occurred…

Well, she could hardly expect a marriage at all. Men, even ones who thought her interesting or attractive, wouldn’t align themselves with her name. Ones who might dare to do so and risk the wrath of Rothcastle didn’t like her intelligence. They were all rather stupid creatures anyway. Perhaps when she was very old, there might be some man with fifteen children who would consider her, but by then she would scarcely care anymore.

And yet she continued her loop, repeating herself over and again until she thought she might go mad with it.

“Why do you scowl so?” her Great-Aunt Clarinda asked, rapping Ava’s knuckles with her fan hard enough that it stung.

Great-Aunt Clarinda came from her mother’s side and was removed from the scandals of the Windbury name. She was also seemingly a hundred years old and had outlived two husbands. She begrudgingly served as Ava’s chaperone, though she groaned about it endlessly, throwing up every humiliation brought by the association with Windbury. And yet Aunt Clarinda lapped up the attention and invitations.

It was wholly unpleasant.

“I did not mean to scowl, Aunt,” Ava managed after a moment’s breath to calm herself. “I was only seeking out Portia in the crowd. She told me she would be in attendance tonight.”

“That little spinster does nothing for your reputation.” Aunt Clarinda elbowed her and nearly knocked the breath from Ava’s lungs. “Why do you not attach yourself to some of the Diamonds of the season? At least you might have a chance with their leavings.”

“Their leavings?” Ava repeated.

Her aunt glared at her. “The men they do not want, silly girl.”

“Ah.” Ava sighed. “How…
charming
a thought.”

She looked toward the young women who were the most popular of the current debutante class. They all seemed rather young and foolish to her, giggling at inopportune times, mooning about, generally making asses of themselves. And some of them were very…
unkind
.

“I think not,” she said. “Besides, I believe most of their ‘leavings’, as you put it, have already seen and dismissed me long ago.”

Aunt Clarinda shook her head slowly. “Lord, girl, you do not make this job an easy one. Between your stubborn, bluestocking ways and your brother’s scandalous continuation of the feud with Rothcastle, I doubt I shall ever match you. Eventually you will receive no invitations.”

Ava pursed her lips. “A happy day for both of us, no doubt. Is that not Lady Grestle?”

Aunt Clarinda’s tirade stopped momentarily and she lifted up to look across the crowd. “Where?”

“There, by the punch bowl.”

Clarinda’s eyes lit up. “Indeed! I shall go speak to her.”

Without another word, her aunt spun away and marched across the ballroom to find her friend. Ava had no doubt they would have a fine conversation about Ava’s hopelessness as a prospect. There were times she believed Clarinda was as much a source for the gossip about her family as anyone else in the room. She certainly thrived on the notice it brought her.

Ava’s head was beginning to ache as the room filled with more and more people. She looked around again, but Portia did not seem to have arrived yet. That or she was utterly lost in the crush of humanity all around Ava. She did want to see her friend, to confide in her about the troubling encounter she’d had with Liam earlier in the day, but the room seemed to be ever shrinking around her.

“Lady Ava!” A voice pierced through the din and Ava started.

A woman was practically shoving through the crowd to reach her, and Ava sighed. It was Lady Lidgate, one of the women who kept insisting she was Ava’s friend even though she ripped her to shreds with gossip behind her back every chance she got.

“Lady Lidgate, how nice to see you,” Ava managed weakly as she stared longingly at the door to the terrace and its relative peace. Why had she not left a moment earlier?

The other woman puffed, holding a hand against her straining corset. She had always been a little plump, but now she had stuffed herself into a gown that had to be a size or two too small. When she had regained her breath, she smiled.

“My dear, how kind of you to say, especially considering your dire circumstances.”

Ava nearly screamed, but just barely held back. “I am certain I know nothing about what you say. My circumstances are hardly dire—I am standing in the middle of Stavendish Court, at a lovely ball. I could hardly be safer in London unless I was in my own bed.”

Her soft, quiet bed that she so longed for.

Lady Lidgate tilted her head. “My dear, you are too flippant, for
everyone
knows what the return of the Duke of Rothcastle means to your family. After your brother murdered his sister, he shall surely destroy you once and for all!”

Ava flinched. Lady Lidgate must have already been in the spirits, to say something so brash as this. Most people danced around the subject. But now that someone was being direct, those around her were already leaning forward.

“I’m afraid your sources are very wrong, my lady,” Ava managed through tightly clenched teeth. “My brother murdered no one. As you well know, he was involved in a tragic accident that killed poor Lady Matilda and very badly hurt both the duke
and
my brother. There was no murder.”

Lady Lidgate swayed slightly, proving Ava’s point that she was in her cups. Wonderful. “Then you don’t fear Rothcastle will exact his revenge?”

Ava swallowed, and for a moment Lady Lidgate faded, the crowded ballroom and its eavesdropping inhabitants faded, everything faded except for terrifying images of Rothcastle coming toward her. Rothcastle’s bright eyes lit with rage as he ripped her brother from her in the most permanent way.

She shook her head and tried very hard not to respond with her truthful answer, which was:
Every day.

Instead, she drew a long breath and shrugged. “My dear Lady Lidgate, you must understand that our two families have been engaged in this foolish feud for so long now that no one even recalls how it started. I think no more of the consequences of it now than I did a week ago, a month ago or a year ago. It is Society that is so interested in how it resolves itself, not I.”

Lady Lidgate’s expression fell with disappointment and she parted her lips as if to say something more, but Ava raised her hand. “It has been a delight to see you, my friend, but I’m afraid I must step outside for a moment. I have promised Portia I would find her, and I believe I saw her exit the room a moment ago. Good evening.”

She did not wait for the other woman’s response but turned away and headed outside into the cool night. Once alone, she sucked in a breath of the chilled air and tried to calm herself.

“This habit of running out onto terraces is getting quite foolish,” she muttered to herself after a moment.

“I agree,” came a man’s voice behind her.

She began to turn toward the sound, but before she could manage it, strong arms clasped her, one covering her mouth and one pinning her as a hood was placed over her head to blind her.

“You could get hurt,” the voice said.

Then she was lifted up and dragged away down the length of the terrace toward an unknown fate.

Chapter Three

Christian tossed his squirming “guest” rather unceremoniously into his carriage. He took a moment to shake out his aching leg, which hadn’t been supported by his cane since he took Ava, then got in behind her. He slammed the door, locked it and pounded on the wall behind him for his driver to go.

He watched, arms folded as Ava swung her hands around her wildly, though he wasn’t certain if she was trying to hit him or simply get a sense of her surroundings. Then she grabbed the hood he’d used to cover her face and tore it away. Immediately her hands were up, as if to protect herself while her gaze darted around the now-moving carriage.

When those pretty, gray-blue eyes settled on him, they widened and she recoiled in fear and horror.

“You!” she breathed.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Yes, me.”

He awaited with great interest her next reaction. Perhaps she would swoon or scream or attack. He had been considering all those things since he made his plan to take her, and how he would react to them.

However, to his great surprise, she did none of them. Instead she drew a few breaths as if to calm herself, and then she nodded.

“I see. Yes, I see.” She repositioned herself from her splayed fighting stance into a more demure seated position across from him and smoothed her hair. “Lord Rothcastle, I should have known.”

He realized she spoke the words more to herself than to him, but he tilted his head nonetheless. “So you know my name.”

She stared at him as if he were daft. “Of course I know your name. I know it as well as my own—it has been pounded into me since nearly the day of my birth, just as I’m certain my family name has been seared into your mind and soul.”

He blinked. Truly this was a remarkable response. Instead of a sobbing, fainting miss who begged for her release, he was facing off with a very calm, very direct young woman whose chin was lifted not in defiance but in pride.

“Yes, of course I know you.” She shook her head. “But what I do not know is why you have taken me.”

“Don’t you?” he asked, and any part of him that had been impressed by her was supplanted by her foolish play of ignorance. “Surely that is a lie, for it doesn’t seem you are utterly stupid, my lady.”