The Duchess and the Dragon (31 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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Richard Weston. Very little had been told to her about him other than the fact that he was the youngest of the three brothers and now lived in Bristol. She picked up the delicate parchment and opened it, scanning the lines:
As to the child, he should remain of that household and become the next Duke of Northumberland. We must be brave and strong for him, for his future inheritance. Nothing can be proven and my brother will have little choice but to accept him. Dearest, we must endure for his sake as together we could give him nothing.
Was Drake the son they spoke of? Her head swam with the implications. Did he know? And then another question gripped her: Should she show him the letter? Were there others in the desk that may be less cryptic? She had found this one while searching for paper to write a letter home. The top drawer had stuck, and after giving a mighty pull, she had jerked the entire drawer out into her lap. As she lifted it to put it back in place, she discovered a secret compartment in the back of the drawer. After a little prying, it opened. Inside lay this lone letter.
The desk was a treasure of hidden drawers, false backs, and lovely workmanship, but though she rummaged through it with frantic thoroughness, looking for anything that might shed more light on Drake’s family, she found nothing. If there had been other letters, they were hidden in another place or destroyed long ago. She would simply have to question Drake about his family.
Perhaps, together, they could discover the truth.
A LOW SHRIEK jolted Drake awake and into a sudden sitting position. The foggy haze of the intense nightmare surrounded him, leaving him unsure for the moment what was real. His heart was pounding as if he had run the length of London and his body shook in a cold sweat. What had made that sound? He realized it must have been him.
Serena sat up and touched his arm. “What was that sound? Was it thee, Drake? Art thou all right?”
He wasn’t sure if he could answer. He had to get some air. Pulling back the coverlet and then the bed curtain, he climbed out of bed, his legs weak as a baby’s. The chill of the night air hit his naked body like a bucket of cold water, helping to pull him back into reality. Hurriedly, he pulled on his dressing gown and finally attempted to answer her.
“Just a dream. I’ll go down to walk it off. Go back to sleep, Serena.”
The moonlight fell into the room through the tall windows and into their cocoon, revealing the worry on her shadowed face. “Art thou sure? I could get something for thee.”
He shook his head, putting on slippers. “I’m all right. I will be back shortly.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had to be alone.
His steps led him into the library, his sanctuary and place to think. The window hangings were drawn and the fire almost dead, lending an eerie darkness to the room that normally wouldn’t have bothered him. Setting down the candle he carried, he stirred up the embers and added a log, trying to dissipate the chill in the room—and the chill clinging to his mind.
He poured a glass of amber liquor, then sat in the armchair behind his desk and let his breath out in a rush. As his eyes closed, the memory of the dream rushed back over him.
His father, again, trying to pull him down into the flames. It was so real, always so real, but this time there had been more. Other souls were there, in the distant blackness, screaming for him to help them. Their cries were like nothing he had heard on earth—guttural sounds more animal than human. Gone was any trace of dignity or self-possession. He could just make out their arms reaching, their hands clawing, wanting either to pull him in or secure his help in getting out. He didn’t know which. He knew only that it terrified him.
He inhaled sharply as he remembered being able to smell them. Even now, the stench of brimstone and burning flesh clung to the insides of his nostrils. He’d seen his father in that darkness—a darkness so dense and alive that it seemed to crawl over him. Ivor had watched Drake, eyes glittering, hate and pain twisting his face. He clawed into the air, trying to reach Drake, trying to drag him into the torment of that dark nothingness.
Shivering, Drake opened his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. The liquor was a long, slow burn down his throat, making his stomach warm and bringing a small measure of comfort. But the dream remained, so vivid that he felt his heart thudding loudly in his chest.
This was Serena’s fault. His fingers gripped his glass as he felt the first real anger at her since their marriage. All those questions at dinner . . . about his parents and their relationship. And then she had brought up his Uncle Richard, as if she knew something and was trying to validate it. He didn’t like it. Why couldn’t she let the past stay where it belonged?
Buried.
His head dropped back onto the high back of the chair, his eyes closed. The notion that the dream meant something, that his father was telling him something from the grave, wouldn’t leave. Was his father in hell? Was he truly trying to pull him down into some ghoulish, eternal nightmare with him? All he knew for certain was that the old man was still haunting him, still trying to ruin his life. “Why?” Drake gritted out into the dark room. “What do you want?”
A log fell, sending a shower of sparks and a sudden spurt of flame shooting up the chimney. Drake swung around, staring at the dancing blaze. “Go ahead. Tell me! What do you
want?
” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care. He wanted answers. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Empty silence was his only answer. The abyss mocked him, for he had no control over it. It could haunt him at will, especially in the vulnerability of sleep.
Drake’s face twisted. “Whatever it is, you won’t get it. We shall see who has the last laugh when my son inherits everything. Then we shall see who wins.” His words sounded powerless compared with the horror of the nightmare—a little boy’s bravado in the face of a monster.
Impotent fury filled him. Drake stood, ready to fling the glass in his hand at the fireplace, but he stopped. Carefully, quietly, he set it down on the desk. He could not let a cold body in a grave have such control over his emotions ever again. But as he stared down at his shaking hands, he suddenly felt helpless to fight it. He was cold and hot at the same time. Terror and stark panic sent him to his knees on the thick rug.
“If there is a hell, there
must
be a heaven!”
His body quivered, sweat glistening on the skin beneath his dressing gown. Taking a deep, spasmodic breath he dropped his head, suddenly longing for peace—so thick he could almost touch it—the peace he had found in the Quaker meetinghouse.
Serena. She always brought him peace. Standing, he stumbled from the library and went in search of his wife, his safe harbor, his reason. He would bury himself in her serenity and there, as always, find his haven and his hope.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lady Chamberlain paced the marble floors of the entrance, her red heels clicking out her impatience. She would not leave until she got to the bottom of the mysterious Duchess of Northumberland. There was something disturbing in the way Drake looked at his stepmother. If she knew anything, she knew a man in love when she saw one! What she didn’t know was how far their little farce had gone, but she wasn’t leaving here today until she found out.
All these years, waiting for Drake to notice her. And now, just as the bloom was fading from her face and form, he chose someone else? A woman married to his father! Her gloved hands balled into fists at her side as she remembered when, years ago, she had been the most sought-after woman of the ton. Drake had insinuated a relationship then, but not the one she’d wanted, so she played hard to get.
When Drake’s interest cooled toward her, others had taken note and dropped back as well. Now at thirty, she was practically on the shelf. When she thought of the offers she had turned down . . . it made her want to stamp her feet and scream. Now those eligibles were married with babies, and the younger bloods coming behind them did not want her. She would be forced to marry an old widower with children not her own to raise.
Her eyes narrowed. Someone was going to pay for that.
She may not have any power over Drake, but she certainly could get her claws into a backwater provincial who didn’t know her way around a London puddle, much less the sea of Lady Maria Louisa Chamberlain’s world. Serena Weston was hiding something, and Maria Louisa was determined to find out what it was and use it to maximum advantage.
She would have Drake yet.
Finally the butler came back and intoned that her grace would see her in the blue drawing room. She had never been inside any of Drake’s homes. Her eyes devoured the elegance, and she felt her temper flare once more into her cheeks. Taking a calming breath, she stepped through the doorway, nodded dismissively at the butler, and studied the seating arrangements.
She entered the room and took a seat with her back to the wide windows. Facing the entrance, she sat on the edge of her chair, carefully arranging her skirts. The chit had better not keep her waiting! Maria Louisa doubted the duchess even understood the nuances of a well-timed entry or exit, so she couldn’t credit Serena with duplicity and yet, she knew better than to underestimate one’s opponent.
It wasn’t long before the duchess entered, a little breathless and very pretty with those pure eyes and rosy cheeks. Maria Louisa had to admit the child was attractive. Stifling a curled lip, she pasted on a gracious smile and purred, “Why, your grace, you look as if you have been running. I do hope you did not hurry on my account.”
Serena’s smile broadened. “Oh no,” she laughed. “Drake and I were riding early this morning and only just returned. We ride every morning, before the crowds begin.” Her sigh was positively dreamy. “’Tis one of the best parts of the day.” She pulled her hat off as she spoke and with it some of her pins. Long, golden-red curls cascaded around her shoulders. What man wouldn’t long to bury his face in that resplendent hair?
Maria Louisa dug the nails of one hand into the flesh of the palm of the other. How could anyone be so happy? It was preposterous. And it was time to wipe away the innocent’s grin. “Drake . . . hmmm . . . you
are
close, the two of you, yes?”
Serena blushed, that dreamy look on her tilted face. Aha! There it was. They were having an affair. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard of a man doing so with his stepmother, and it would not, she was sure, be the last.
“Shall I ring for tea?”
Clearly this young woman had never held court at a morning calling session. Another mystery. Why was it that no one ever called on the young and mysterious duchess? She should have been a delectable diversion to many of the ton.
“Of course, one should always provide refreshments for callers.” Maria Louisa stated it with upraised brows, as if reprimanding a child.
Serena only agreed with a smile, going to the door to nod at the waiting footman. She seated herself across from Maria Louisa and laughed. “I have callers so seldom, I suppose my manners are a bit rusty.” Then, looking Maria Louisa directly in the eyes, she asked with humble sincerity. “It was so nice of thee to come. Art thou well, Lady Chamberlain?”
She looked as if she really wanted to know, really cared and liked her. Maria Louisa scrambled for a moment, trying to gain a foothold. Hmmm, mayhap she
had
underestimated this woman.
Recovering, she smiled, cocking her bright-blond head to one side. “I am wonderful . . . but concerned, your grace.”
“Concerned?”
The duchess was all innocence, and Maria Louisa wondered if she was being played the fool. “Yes,” she plunged forward with her plan. “There have been . . . rumors.” She let the word fall heavy into the room.
Serena’s brow puckered. “I am sorry, Lady Chamberlain, but I do not understand. Rumors about what?”
Maria Louisa fidgeted with her gloves in her lap, feigning reluctance. Finally she looked up with sad knowing in her eyes. “About you and Drake, your grace.”
Serena laughed. “Please, Lady Chamberlain, let us dispense with this melodrama and be frank with one another. What, exactly, art thou trying to say?”
Maria Louisa ground her teeth. This woman’s head must be made of stone. Changing tactics, she glared at her. “Your grace, scandalous rumors are flying that—“ she fanned herself, showing the impact of such news on a true lady—“with the duke in the colonies, you and the earl are having an affair!”

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