The Duke Who Knew Too Much (38 page)

Alaric held his wife back. “Let her finish.”

“It was my husband’s fault,” the dowager said, her lips trembling. “I loved my Henry—gave him everything—yet he betrayed me. With your whore of a mother.”

Shock jolted Alaric. He heard Will’s chuff of surprise.

“It was at a house party at Strathmore. We’d invited our poor relations to see the castle. And how did they repay us?” Rage lit Patrice’s eyes. “The slut seduced my duke—her own husband’s cousin—and got herself with a bastard.”

Pieces began to fall in place. Created a picture with sickening clarity.

“That’s why Da hated me.” The words left Alaric numbly. “Because I was not his.”

“To avoid scandal, we all agreed to keep it a secret. The truth would have accompanied us to our graves if my son hadn’t died. After that, everything changed.” Tears leaked down Patrice’s cheeks, her voice bloated with grief and self-pity. “Henry and I tried, yet we couldn’t have another child, and that made him turn from me. Made him remember that he while he had no legitimate issue, he had a bastard with his blood. Without my consent, he made up his mind to take you—the spawn of a harlot—into
our
home.”

Alaric felt Emma’s arms squeezing around his waist, lending him strength.

“Under the guise of guardianship, Henry was going to raise his by-blow in
my
house. I couldn’t allow it.” Cunning curled Patrice’s lips. “So I hit upon the perfect solution. For I knew my duke well, knew how he despised weakness above all else. I gave him what he deserved: a frail, useless bastard, one that could never take my own son’s place.”

“You took your jealousy out on an innocent lad!” Will snarled. “Alaric had naught to do with any of it, you underhanded bitch!”

“I know. That is why I spent countless nights tending to him.” Malice melted to anxiety, the maniacal shift terrifying to behold. Alaric felt nauseated as his aunt looked upon him with glowing fondness. “The more my husband despised you, the more I loved you. I’d lost his affection, but I could have yours—and I could remain mistress of Strathmore ... if certain obstacles were removed,” she said dreamily. “You were fourth in line to inherit, after all. And since your father obligingly died in that carriage accident, there were only two hurdles to surmount. Two childless, weak cousins who had never amounted to much. Their deaths were hardly noticed.”

Holy hell.

He said in disbelief, “You poisoned them ... your husband’s kin?”

“I did what needed to be done to secure your legacy.” She smiled with horrible pride. “So we could be together, my dearest boy.”

A hideous thought seized him. “Laura,
Charlie
 ...”

“I had no hand in that. At first, I’ll admit I was concerned after your whirlwind marriage to that Jezebel,” Patrice said airily, “but when I met her, I knew that she posed no threat. It was clear the passion between the two of you would quickly sour. Laura didn’t need my help to destroy your marriage—she did it all by herself. But Emma here,”—the dowager shook her head morosely—“she was different, her hold on you too strong. She left me no choice but to take action.”

Alaric’s arms tightened around Emma. “You’ll never get near my wife again. We’re handing you over to the magistrates, and you are going to pay for your crimes.”

“She belongs in Bedlam,” Emma said.

“
No.
” Patrice stumbled backward. “I’m not going anywhere. I belong
here
.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Kent said. “You cannot escape justice.”

A mad, sly smile crossed Patrice’s features. “There’s always an escape.”

She twisted her ring; the carnelian flipped open. In a blink, she brought the hidden compartment to her lips, downing the contents. Her eyes bulged, and she fell to the sand.

“Bluidy hell,” Will exclaimed.

Kent crossed over and, crouching, placed a hand on the dowager’s neck. He shook his head.

Alaric didn’t know how to respond. Cold numbness spread over him as the revelations swirled in his head. Death, pain, and suffering. His aunt—a crazed murderess, perpetrator of countless ills ... who lay dead before him. So many betrayals. It was too much to take in. He could sense the dark walls curving over his head, the past trapping him ...

“Alaric?”

Emma’s steady voice reached him through the darkness. Her face came into focus, became his only focus when he saw the fierce love in her eyes. Her flame vanquished the prison walls, turned them into smoke.

“I’m here, my darling.” She cupped his jaw, and her warm strength seeped into him. “Everything will be alright.”

“Because of you,” he said hoarsely. “My love.”

He pulled her into his arms and held on tight.

Chapter Forty

At week’s end, Emma stood next to her husband as they bade farewell to Ambrose and Mr. McLeod. With his dark hair gleaming and virile form dressed with effortless elegance, Alaric appeared much like his normal self. At least on the surface. She knew the wounds inflicted by the dowager would take longer to heal, and she was determined to accompany him on that journey, no matter how long it took.

To her relief, he wanted her there by his side.

Talking long into the nights, he’d spoken of memories, feelings so hotly poignant that all she could do was hold him tighter. They’d discussed his realization: there
was
nothing wrong with him. The rejection he’d suffered—from his mama, his da, even the cruel man who’d been his biological father—none of it had been his fault. The lack of love he’d received hadn’t been because he was unlovable or ugly, stupid or weak.

The truth was terrible yet liberating: he’d been the unlucky product of an illicit affair and the target of a deranged woman.

Alaric had shed tears; so had Emma.

When even that had been insufficient, they’d made love with a frantic rawness that forged them body and soul. The scorching intimacies of the previous night spangled warmth over Emma’s skin, and when she slid a look at Alaric, she saw the answering smolder in his beautiful eyes.

“Well, Kent and I had best be off,” Mr. McLeod said.

“Bring your families for a visit soon,” Alaric said. “We welcome their company.”

“Thank you, your grace.” A smile in his eyes, Ambrose pulled her aside. “Is there any message you’d like me to pass onto the family, Em?”

“Just this.” Emma rose on her tiptoes and hugged her brother fiercely. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, “for everything. I’ll miss you.”

“Be happy, Em,” he whispered back.

Next to them, the McLeod brothers eyed one another warily.

Mr. McLeod spoke first. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“For now,” Alaric said quietly. “If you change mind, if you want to take up what is rightfully yours—”

“Nay, you were the one who suffered for it. You’ve worked to make the dukedom what it is. I wouldn’t know how to be a duke and wouldn’t want to learn,” Mr. McLeod said. “In my eyes and that of the world, you
are
Strathaven.”

After a moment, Alaric gave a terse nod.

Extending his hand, Mr. McLeod said gruffly, “Seems a pity, though. Just when matters were settling between us, it turns out we’re not brothers after all.”

“You’re my brother, William,” Alaric said, “in every way that counts.”

Heat prickled Emma’s eyes as her husband took his sibling’s hand—and pulled the other into a fierce hug. The embrace between the two big Scotsmen lasted approximately half a second before they broke apart.

Mr. McLeod coughed into his fist. “I’ll, ahem, be seeing you then.”

“Aye,” Alaric said, equally red-faced.

“Give our love to everyone,” Emma said.

Alaric put his arm around her, and together they waved as their family departed.

When they were alone, she turned to look at her husband. Touched a hand to his jaw.

“How are you?” she said softly.

He nuzzled her palm. “Never better.”

“After everything with your aunt and now Mr. McLeod leaving—”

He placed a finger against her lips, stemming the flow of words. “Don’t fuss, love. I’m better. Better than I can recall ever being. You see, I came to several realizations this morning.”

Searching his brilliant gaze, she tipped her head to the side. “What were they?”

“The past is over. Patrice is dead, and her soul will be judged for her sins. I don’t want to be imprisoned by hatred—it’s not my cross to bear.”

“No, it isn’t.” Emma’s throat thickened at his courage. Despite all the suffering he’d known, he was choosing freedom, the higher path. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Aye. Even better, when I woke up this morning, you were there beside me.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You held me through the night, were so soft and wet and ready for me when I made love to you at dawn. And do you know what I realized then?”

The wonder in his voice made her eyes sting. “What, my darling?”

“Somehow all of this brought me to you. You’ve freed me, Emma,” he said tenderly. “Because of you, I know what it is to love and be loved.”

How could she resist this man?

“You’ve always known how to love—you just didn’t get enough in return. Never fear,” she said with a sniffle, “I shall make up for it. I’m going to be the duchess of your dreams.”

“You already are. Although, now that you mention it, there do remain several variations to your position that we’ve yet to explore.” His slow, wicked smile sent love and desire tumbling through her. “Care for a demonstration, your grace?”

“Always, your grace,” she said.

He kissed her with a passion that left her breathless. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her upstairs. And while her duke proceeded to teach her thrilling new ways to love, she proved, as always, that she was a duchess up to the task.

Epilogue

Other men might fear finding their wives in compromising situations.

Alaric anticipated it—a good thing, given who he was married to.

Stalking through the winding hedges, he arrived at the edge of the moonlit garden, and his blood heated as he spotted the familiar figure of his duchess. She was in the gazebo; she had her back turned to him—and she was not alone.

Soundlessly, he approached. Cleared his throat.

Violet, who was standing on the gazebo
railing
, spun around with the ease of an acrobat. A telescope dangled from one of her hands. “Gadzooks, you startled me!”

“Your grace.” This came from Thea, who curtsied and hastily jammed a pair of opera glasses into her reticule. “We weren’t, um, expecting you.”

“Darling, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Smiling, Emma stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his jaw. “I thought you and Tremont planned to have a late night of cards.”

Recently, Alaric had been concerned about his friend, who didn’t quite seem himself. Emma had encouraged him to spend the night with Tremont at the club. Halfway through the evening, however, instinct had told him to seek his wife out. Or maybe he just missed her.

Either way, he should have known that she was up to something.

“If I may be so bold,” he said, “what is going on here?”

His cool, polite tones had their intended effect. Violet hopped down from the railing, landing with the grace of a cat on her slippered feet. Grabbing Thea by the arm, she pulled the other out of the gazebo, saying cheerfully, “Marianne will be looking for us, so we’ll leave the explaining to Emma. Good evening, your grace!”

He bowed to his wife’s departing sisters. Then he turned to face his errant duchess.

He quirked a brow. “Well?”

“Now, Alaric, it’s not as bad as it looks,” she began.

“Does it look bad?” he inquired. “To find one’s wife in a dark garden—spying and taking notes?” He dropped his gaze to the notebook jutting out of her pearl-encrusted evening bag.

“I was just doing a little observation,” she said brightly. “You see, at a soiree earlier this week, I came upon a lady weeping in the retiring room. She thought her husband might be having an affair with Lady De Burgh. Since I happened to have an invitation to the party next door to the De Burghs, I promised her I’d take a look.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

She peered up at him through her lashes. “I didn’t know if anything would come of it. I didn’t want to concern you over naught. If I saw anything tonight, however,” she said virtuously, “I was definitely going to tell you.”

“And did you, my love?” he said calmly. “See anything, I mean?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. Someone did enter the bedchamber, but Lady De Burgh took the precaution of drawing the curtains before we could ascertain his identity.”

“She and Lord Galveston didn’t want an audience, no doubt.”

“Galveston?” Emma exclaimed. “How do you know it was him?”

“Because he and I do business together. When we meet at the club and he gets into his cups, his tongue loosens. He’s been having an
affaire
with Lady De Burgh for several weeks.”

Emma’s face fell. “Oh dear. I shall hate breaking the news to my clien—I mean, Lady Galveston.”

“Indeed.” He curled a finger under his wife’s chin, searching her clear eyes. “Now tell me why you didn’t trust me enough to inform me of your new case.”

That was his true concern. He’d made it clear that, as long as Emma didn’t compromise her safety in any way and kept him apprised of her activities, he supported her investigative pursuits. Not too long ago, in fact, he’d assisted her and Kent with a case. His financial knowledge had helped them to track down their client’s dowry, which had been ferreted into secret funds by a villainous uncle.

“I do trust you,” Emma said instantly. “You’re the best of husbands.”

“I am, of course, relieved to hear it.”

Reaching up, she smoothed his lapels, fiddled with his cravat pin. “I planned to tell you about my newest case after I told you … my other news.”

He stilled.

“You’ve noticed that there hasn’t been any, um, interruption to our marital activities as of late?”

“
Emma.
” Heart thudding, he grabbed her hands. “Are you … are we …?”

Eyes sparkling, she nodded.