The Duke's Revenge (14 page)

Max found both
the
Devonshire’s and
Melbourne’s invitations rather uninteresting and threw it with the
other slush on his desk. He turned his indifferent attention to the
next letter. He unsealed the wax and unfolded the sheet of paper.
He scanned through the content.

Merrick and Christine wrote to confirm of
their visitation during the Easter Holiday.

Bad timing, he thought, frowning. He had
completely forgotten that he had invited them to his estate for the
Easter Holiday.

What the hell was he
supposed to do with Ivy?
He couldn’t very
well keep her in his castle while his best friend and his family
were visiting.

He stretched out his long legs and shut his
eyes.

The moment he closed his
eyes he saw her. But this time it was not a picture of her wearing
her ugly grey dress nor was it of her wearing the beautiful dress
he had forced on her person. It was a picture of her
alright—
naked
—with her petal white skin dripping with water. Her blue eyes
were gazing at him—
begging
him hotly to take her.

He went hard.

He shifted in the chair to get more
comfortable.

She was moving toward him, offering herself
to him. She was standing in front of him now. In his mind’s eyes,
he saw her lowering her face toward him, her long hair brushing
against him, and then she kissed him on his lips. Once she was
done, she moved her head back and smiled at him.

She climbed onto his lap and spread her legs
at his waist. She wrapped her small arms around his neck and rubbed
herself against his hardened member, her bare breasts against his
chest.

‘
Take me, my love,’ she
whispered hot, loving words softly near his ear, hardening his
member into slick toughness.

He flashed his eyes opened.

Damnation!

He growled and got up from the chair to pour
himself more whisky.

Damn woman!
She still haunted him even when he was this far
away from her.

He didn’t know how much he had drunk nor did
he know when he had climbed up to his room and drifted off into a
drunkard slumber. When he woke up the next morning, it was already
eleven thirty. No one had bothered to wake him up, he thought
sourly. Not even his highly competent valet. He was supposed to
have an appointment with his personal secretary at eleven o’clock
that morning. His head, too, was aching so much that he wanted to
bang it against the wall and see if it could actually lessen the
pain. He was sorely tempted to try.

Ignoring his pounding head, he called for
Charles.

The valet rushed into the room and almost
collapsed at the sight of his master before him. The Duke of
Lynwood looked as though he had just returned from visiting his
friend—Hyde in Hell.

Once he regained his regal composure,
however, he started his duties by shaving His Grace’s lightly
whiskered chin, prepared his disheveled flaxen hair into the
fashionable order, and helped him dress in the famous dressing code
of sober black and starch white cravat.

Charles had to admire his own handy work
once he had finished because the duke looked so damn handsome that
any woman in London would surely faint after stealing one glance at
him. Whether from fear or admiration he didn’t know, however, since
the duke had the look of a ruthless blonde devil.

After having a very late breakfast, Max was
in his study with his secretary. He instructed the man on his many
business affairs and that he expect a full report in a month times
when he next come to London. By the time he had finished, his head
was pounding even more, and this time, he felt as though a hammer
was continuously banging on his head every two seconds.

Still ignoring his headache, thinking that
he deserved such a fate for drinking too much, he prepared to leave
for Westwood Castle.

“
Your grace, a letter for
you,” the butler said at the door.

Max took the letter from the silver tray in
the butler’s hand, wondering who it could be from.

He unsealed the letter and read the
content.

I will destroy everything you have!

I will destroy your life!

He crushed the paper into a ball and turned
to look at the butler.

“
This just
arrived?”

“
Aye, your
grace.”

“
Did you see who delivered
it?”

Evergreen frowned for a moment and answered,
“It was a boy, your grace, a street boy.”

“
Burn it,” he said,
throwing the ball of paper onto the tray and walked out the
door.

It was dark when he was halfway to his
intended destination. By then he had dismissed the mystery of the
threatening letter he had received that morning. It was not the
very first and he was sure it would not be the last.

Still very determined to arrive home the
next day, he ordered the coachman to change the four horses at an
inn and be quickly on their way again without stopping. However,
that didn’t work out for the weather was too disastrous for such
hasty journey. They stayed in an inn for the night and the next
morning they were on their way again.

It was one o’clock in the morning two days
later when Mrs. Woods was rudely awakened by the butler to prepare
some food for the duke, who on arrival, immediately went up the
stairs and across the corridor to Ivy’s door. He reached out to
touch the handle. He was about to turned it when he hesitated.

Tomorrow, he told himself with a sardonic
smile and turned toward his own room. There he stripped off his
clothing, and a second later, his valet announced that his bath was
ready. He quickly washed himself, dressed in his Banyan, and then
afterward, ate the cold meat and pudding Mrs. Woods had prepared
for him. After finishing the warm negus which he found rather
refreshing from his usual strong brandy, he went to bed.

Sleep, however, did not come without a fair
fight. It took him a long time to finally slumber off, and when did
it come, it was for a short while of bliss content.

When he woke up, his head stopped its aching
completely. Feeling as though he need to do some exercise, he
washed up, dressed himself in his ridding habit, and went down to
the stables.

He rode his stallion hard across the meadow
for twenty minutes and then turned north toward the woods. He was
just coming out on the other side when he saw an elderly man riding
a beautiful grey mare toward him.

“
Good morning, your
grace,” the plumped man shouted.

“
Lord Mornington,” he
greeted with a curt nod of his head.

“
Nice day to be exercising
this beauty,” the earl commented, patting his horse.

“
Indeed.” Max brought his
stallion to ride beside the earl.

“
Spring is getting near.
Caroline couldn’t stop talking about going up to London,” the earl
grumbled. “Ah, your grace, how was parliament?”

“
Prince George has finally
become the Regent.”

“
So the bill has
passed?”

“
Aye,” Max said, patting
his stallion’s long neck.

“
Poor old George, we all
knew he was mad. It was just a matter of time. I supposed the death
of his youngest daughter, Princess Amelia, and
this
war has added to his malady.”
The earl looked over at the vast green land covered with the
occasional patches of snow with narrowed eyes.

Max nodded and pulled his stallion to a
halt.

“
Stupid thing this war—”
The earl did the same to his horse. He shifted in his saddle and
sighed. “Napoleon is never going to give up on wanting more land,
does he?”

“
I believe so.”

“
Greedy bastard, that’s
what he is. We all know he wanted England and what are we to do
against such madness when our king is mad himself? And the Regent?
What could he do apart from spending his time in bed with his
mistresses, drinking, and partying all day and night? We have no
defense against Napoleon, I tell you,” the old lord muttered.
“Pardon my speech, your grace. But ‘tis true that the Prince of
Wale—” He stopped and frowned darkly. “Oh right,” he muttered, “The
Regent could do nothing but partying and spending money on his
endless extravagance, I tell you.”

“
That’s true.” Max
wondered why he hated politic so much. He tried to avoid it at all
cost. But then he was a peer, after all, and he must perform his
duty to the crown.

He turned to the earl and said, “Remember
England do have great soldiers out there, Lord Mornington. I’ve
heard only great words about the Lieutenant-General Arthur
Wellesley.”

“
Ah, the Viscount of
Wellington,” the earl nodded.

“
Aye, he seems a very
capable man indeed,” Max commented.

“
Aye, a very capable man
indeed to bring napoleon down, even by a mere notch or two,” the
earl said and chuckled. He gathered his reins. “I’ve been out long
enough. This beauty is getting tired I’d rather say.” He patted his
mare and smile.

He was about to ride away when he turned and
said, “Ah yes, forgot to ask you if it’s all right. We’ll be
calling at Westwood Castle tomorrow for tea. Caroline couldn’t
contain herself from meeting your cousin. Should have seen her face
when Lady Hart described how her children nearly kill your
cousin.”

Max frowned. “Cousin?”

“
Aye, your cousin staying
at Westwood Castle,” the earl said. “Now when was it? Ah yes, about
a week ago in Staffordshire town. Lady Hart’s daughter was playing
catch with Dan, her foster son. They ran straight toward your
cousin’s mare. She fell from the horse. Lucky Mr. Oliver, the
surgeon, was at the scene. He examined her and said she was okay,
sprained her ankle she did, your cousin. Lady Hart gave her a ride
in the carriage. Mr. Oliver said it would only worsen her injury if
she were to ride home on horseback.”

Max narrowed his eyes as he listened to the
tale. “I apologize, Lord Mornington, my cousin?”

“
Aye, your cousin, now
what was her name? A beauty Lady Hart said, black hair and violet
eyes. There was a maid too.”

“
Ivy!” Max said, his hands
gripping onto the reins.

“
Aye, Ivy, that’s her
name. Lovely, can’t wait to meet her though. Ah yes, I will see you
tomorrow then, your grace, for tea.” The earl nodded and turned his
mare.

Max sat there, staring darkly into
nothingness as the earl rode away.

Ivy!
So she had sneaked off into the town, did she? And his damn
servants had hidden that fact from him. He turned his stallion and
rode hard toward Westwood Castle.

CHAPTER 13

Ivy gazed out the window,
a book—
Sense and Sensibility: A
Novel
written by A Lady—laid on her lap,
forgotten. She was lost in thought for a moment when she realized
that she had not heard any news of the duke. She took that as a
good sign, for the absence of his news meant that he had not yet
planned to return. She sighed in relief with that realization and
smiled.

She turned her attention back to her
book.

She was so engrossed in the novel that she
did not know time had past by. She did not know that a man was
standing at the doorway watching her.

Max had forgotten the purpose of his
presence in the library as he watched her. When he got his wit
about him, he walked toward her and halted only a few feet away
from her.

Ivy looked up and jumped in surprise,
dropping the book.

So many questions jumbled
up in her head then.
Why was he back? Why
did the servant not tell her anything? Why did he have to come back
so soon?

“
Your grace,” she
whispered.

He stared at her, and his gaze, she thought,
would probably slice through her like a knife through apple if it
had the power to. So sharp it was.

He reached his hand out to her. “Come, we go
riding together.”

“
Riding?”

“
Aye, do you not want to
get some fresh air?”

“
Fresh air?” she repeated
stupidly.

“
Aye, come. You can ride,
can you not?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“
Aye, but not very
well.”

“
Very good then.” He
dragged her from the seat.

As he was pulling her, the pain shot from
her ankle and pierced through her heart. She bit her lower lip to
suppress the pain.

“
Mayhap not to day, your
grace,” she said and pulled her hand free.

“
The day is nice, Ivy, I
do not want to imprison you in here now, do I?” he said mockingly
and grabbed her arm again.

“
Nay, your grace,” she
said breathlessly, the pain was unbearable. She took three steps
and fell to the floor on her knees. She sobbed quietly as the pain
intensified.

He came down beside her, took hold of her
right leg, and thrust the hem of her skirt up.

“
Your grace!” she
sobbed.

He stared at her bound up ankle. “How did
you get this?” He looked at her as if he was digging deep into her
guilty soul.

“
I...I...”

He raised his brows. “Surely, Madam, it does
not appear by itself?”