Dark Duke (12 page)

Acid rose in his throat. He
had
known. Known it
wouldn’t last forever. Fully expected as much. Expected to tire of her by now.
He had not.

But the thought of Kaitlin in any other man’s bed, especially
Ewan McCloud’s, made that tight ball in his belly churn and howl. The thought
of losing her, of never holding her again, sent panic skittering through his
soul.

He glanced at Ned, who was watching this exchange with a
dark glower, then took her arm and turned her to the side so they could speak
with the illusion of privacy.

“Kaitlin, darling. Let me handle this. I promise you, it
will all work out.”

She crossed her arms. “How can you promise that?”

“I will get Violet back and I swear, upon all that is holy,
you will never have to marry a man against your will. Certainly not because of
something as inconsequential as money.”

“It is hardly an inconsequential amount of money.”

Edward snorted. How could he make her understand that to
him, money was the least consequential thing in his life? He would give
anything to keep her.

The realization slammed into him like a carriage gone amok.
Everything crystallized, became achingly clear.

Now
he understood.

Now he
understood
.

This
was how James had felt about Helena. How Helena
had felt about James.

As though they would wither away to ash without each other.
As though they could not breathe when apart.

He loved her.

He loved her and he would love her until death should they
part.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Ah, God. He adored her. She’d waltzed into his life and
slapped him out of his insidious rut and excited him and invigorated him. She’d
given his life back. Retrieved his soul.

“Edward?”

“Darling.” He kissed her, investing every shred of feeling
into the embrace. When he returned, when he had reclaimed Violet and all was
well with the world, he would ask—demand—that she become his duchess. A thrill
skated through him at the thought, and with it, an odd tinge of bone-melting relief.
Yes. She would be his wife. And his illustrator and, God willing, the mother of
his own brood of hellions.

They were in Scotland, for God’s sake. They could be married
tomorrow.

But first he needed to finish this. Besides, this was hardly
the moment to propose a lifelong partnership.

Transom cleared his throat. At the same moment, Ned said,
“Ahem,” and Edward realized he was still kissing Kaitlin.

He could kiss her forever.

He would.

“Trust me, darling,” he said, bussing her once more on her
beautiful brow. “Everything will be all right.”

Kaitlin watched Edward go, sorrow and regret weighing on her
heart. “
Trust me, darling
,” he’d said. “
I’ll handle this
,” he’d
said.

Dear, sweet man.

He had no clue with whom he was dealing. The McCloud would
never let Violet go—not without Kaitlin in hand. As desperate as Callum was to
pay off his debt, that was how desperate the McCloud was for a well-born wife.
He needed the entrée to the
haute ton
and would do whatever it took to
get it.

She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if the McCloud
couldn’t have Kaitlin, he would force Violet to marry him.

And she couldn’t bear the thought.

The guilt was staggering. If only Violet had not helped her
escape, her friend would be safe, right now, in the arms of her family.

Kaitlin did trust Edward. She trusted him to do his best.

But he would fail.

She was the only one who could resolve this mess.

The only way to do it was to give herself to the McCloud.

And never see Edward again.

She didn’t go upstairs to bed as he had bade her. She
re-donned her gloves and coat and slipped out the door. Callum would know where
to find the McCloud. Callum would take her to him.

And she would marry the brigand. Just like Fiona had.

But there would be no happily ever after for Kaitlin.

Colonel Sterling, in his retirement, was apparently not
retiring. He answered his door at Edward’s second knock, still dressed and
smelling of perfume.

He gaped at the three men standing on his stoop. Or two of
them at least. Ned had been in short pants when the three had been interned
together in
Le Trou
. “Charles Transom, as I live and breathe. And Edward
Weston! You sons of whores! Come in. Come in.”

Ned shot a quizzical glance at Edward, but he was loath to
explain the spurious moniker. None of his fellow prisoners had known his real
identity—only that the Duke of Moncrieff had been responsible for arranging
their escape from that miserable hole.

That was the card he would play when he met with McCloud.
The man owed him an enormous favor.

And this would be it.

Sterling waved them into his parlor and shooed out his
companion, bidding her to wait for him above stairs. He pulled out a decanter
of whiskey and poured them each a drink. “So what brings you to Perth?” he
bellowed. Sterling had always been something of a bellower.

“We’re looking for Ewan McCloud.”

“Och. Ewan.” Sterling stroked his beard. “He has a house
right here in Perth.” Relief walked through Edward—perhaps they could finish
this tonight—until Sterling continued. “Though I doubt he’s here. I heard he’d
moved his, um, operations to the Cloud.”

“The Cloud?” Transom refilled Sterling’s glass.

“Aye. He, shall we say,
acquired
an old keep. On an
island in the Firth of Tay, west of Dundee.”

“An island?” Ned’s Adam’s apple worked in his throat. He
shot a look at Edward that was difficult to work out. It seemed like horror.

“Aye. Named it the Cloud.” Sterling chortled. “Because it’s
usually shrouded with banks of fog.” He scratched his chin. “And because of his
name, I suppose.”

“And that’s where he’d be?”

“Most likely.”

Edward and Transom exchanged a glance. Dundee was less than
a day’s ride. This Cloud sounded like the perfect place to hold a prisoner.

They thanked their old friend and said their farewells,
though he clearly wanted to continue the visit.

“We should leave for the Cloud immediately,” Ned said as the
door closed behind them. “Violet won’t like being on an island.”

An odd thing to say. Edward had to ask. “Why?”

Ned shuddered. His face was terribly pale. “She has a deathly
fear of water. Almost drowned once.” His features tightened. “We have to get
her back. Now.”

It was agreed that they stop back at Agnes’ house, which was
on the way, to gather some food for the journey as well as her coachman, who
could drive through the night while they got some rest in the cab.

Though he was dead tired and would have liked to wait until
morning to set out, Edward couldn’t bear the thought of Violet somewhere,
frightened and alone. He’d come to care for her deeply and it galled him that
he didn’t know where she was, or in what condition. Anything could have
happened.

He had to believe Ewan would never harm her, but that was no
excuse to tarry.

They all bundled into the carriage, with Transom on the box.
It wasn’t until they were underway that Ned asked the question he’d been
dreading.

“Why didn’t Sterling call you ‘Your Grace’?”

And hell. Then he’d had to explain it all.

Though everyone else had gone to bed, Kaitlin with them,
thank God, Hortense was still awake when they arrived at the house.

Ned and Transom went to arrange for provisions and Edward
would have gone with them, but his aunt forestalled him.

“What’s your plan?” she asked.

He could tell it irritated her that she could not take a
more active role. She would happily have ridden the charge with them. She was a
warrior at heart. The McCloud could never hold safe against that cane.

“We’re heading for McCloud’s keep. We feel strongly that he
has Violet there.”

“The three of you? Against all his men?”

“I don’t anticipate I shall have to fight him for her.” He
plucked a speck from his coat. “Ewan McCloud was once a friend of mine.”

Hortense gaped at him. “He’s a criminal.”

“He was, once, a hero. We knew each other—in the war.”

“I see.” Hortense knew of his exploits, or at least some of
them. “You must bring her back, my boy. She means more than you can ever know.”

“I do know.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You do not. You don’t know
everything
.”

The way she said the word made him pause. That, and the fact
Hortense had proven herself to be a font of dark family secrets. “What are you
saying?”

She blew out a breath and hobbled to the fire, frowning at
it for a long while. When she spoke again, her words were puzzling.

“Brianne named Ned after his father, you know.”

Edward snorted. Perhaps the stress had made her dotty.
“Ned’s father was Horace.” This he explained to her gently. Because Horace
was
Ned’s father and this was something she
should
still remember.

She spun. Gored him with a gimlet gaze. “Was he?”

Something uncomfortable crawled into Edward’s chest. “What
are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

She blew out an impatient breath. “Your Uncle Horace was not
a Wyeth.”

Surprise and confusion wrinkled his brow. “I beg your
pardon?” And what on earth did that have to do with Ned’s parentage?

Hortense rolled her eyes. “Right. I had forgotten. People
don’t like to acknowledge infidelity.”

She was making no sense at all. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She leaned closer on her cane and
met his gaze. “But the fact of the matter is this—your grandmother was
something of a whore.”

Edward choked on his indrawn breath.

“Oh everyone knew it back then. Well, everyone but the old
duke. Your grandfather was only mildly puzzled when his second son didn’t have
the family mark.”

She allowed Edward a moment to reflect. No. Uncle Horace had
not had the family mark—the curious mole on the left cheek each and every Wyeth
had borne from time immemorial. He’d never really thought about it before. But
it was odd. All Wyeths had it. Every one.

Hortense whacked him in the shins with her cane. “Think
about it, boy. Horace did not have the mark. Yet all of his progeny wear the
family badge. Wherever could it have come from?”

Edward tried to think this through. His mind was not
cooperating. He was so damn tired—

And then realization flooded him. “Are you telling me my
father…?” No. It couldn’t be.

“Was in love with his brother’s wife? Think about it, lad.
Your father visited Perth exactly six times, nine months prior to each happy
event.”

Edward dropped into a convenient wingchair as the truth of
this revelation hit home. “Do you…think my mother knew?” Yes. Judging from the
constant snapping and snarling between them, his mother very probably knew.

“Ah poor Clarice. They were married in some ridiculous
dynasty match. My father was obsessed with strengthening the family fortune and
standing in London. Back then we were considered the lowly Scots skulking about
in town. So he forced his firstborn son into a marriage with the highest lady
in the land. Well, the highest lady he could blackmail into marriage with a
Wyeth. But in truth, your father had always loved Brianne. He never forgave his
brother for marrying her.”

“So he cuckolded him?”

“No. He cuckolded his brother because he desired his
brother’s wife. Don’t read more into this than there is. The bottom line is
this—all Horace’s children are actually
your
father’s issue.”

Edward swallowed. Images of Ned and Malcolm, Dennis and
Sean, Hamish and Tay…and Violet danced through his head. “My brothers and
sisters?”

Hortense patted his hand. “Indeed. Every one. So you see.
You must bring her back. Safe and sound and whole.” She dabbed at a tear. “I
couldn’t bear it if you did not.”

“I-I couldn’t bear it either.”

It was so much. A weight on his soul.

No one had ever needed him before and now so many depended
upon him. He couldn’t let them down.

Ned appeared in the doorway and Edward’s heart hitched as he
saw the boy—his
brother
—with new eyes. A brave, valiant, frightened
soul. A man who had taken on the responsibility of his family and was now faced
with the loss of one of his dearest.

God help him. He would not let them down.

* * * * *

Kaitlin stared up at MacAllister House, the home in which
she’d been raised. It was not nearly as grand as Edward’s home, but it was
grand enough. Resentment coiled in her belly. It was grand enough to sell and
pay Callum’s debts. There would be some left over, but not much.

He had never even considered that.

She sighed and headed up the stairs. She found her brother
deep in his cups in their father’s study. He sat in the one remaining chair
with a near empty decanter at his elbow. The room felt hollow with all the
books gone.

He saw her and started. Narrowed his eyes against the gloom.
“Kaitlin, is that you?”

“Yes, Callum.”

“Ach! Saints be praised. You’ve come back.”

“You knew I would.”

He staggered to his feet and folded her into an unwelcome
hug. He was sweaty and damp and reeked of whiskey and desperation. “Thank God.
Thank God. Thank God.”

She pushed him away. “I can’t believe what you did. Have you
no shame?”

He blinked at her, surprised by her fury. Why he was
surprised, she had no clue. His actions had been unconscionable. “I had to,
Kait. You gave me no choice.”

“You have always had a choice. I was the one not given a
choice, and don’t you forget it.”

“He’s not such a bad man, Kait. He’ll take good care of you.
You could ask for worse in a husband.” He put out a lip. “Besides, it’s not as
though you had other options.”

She ignored the flash of pain stabbing her heart. She knew
it was true. No man would ever marry her, especially now. But she wished it
could have been different.

She was a sensible girl, but couldn’t deny that hopes and
dreams of Edward offering for her had skirted the edges of her mind. She’d
banished them, each and every one. Each and every time. It was insanity.

He was a duke.

He couldn’t marry a fallen woman.

What they’d had had been wonderful. Beyond wonderful. But it
was over now. She had to let that chapter of her life close and open the next.
As lamentable as that prospect was. She would always have the memories of
Edward, though. She would hold them tight in her fist until her dying day. “You
must take me to the McCloud at once.”

“Of course.” He hiccupped, teetered. “First thing in the
morning.”

“Now.”

“It’s a long drive,” he whined. “It’s cold outside. And
I’m…I’m woozy.” He leaned toward her, and then, with a soulful groan, toppled
to the bare floor. It was a pity he’d had to sell the carpet. It would have
softened his fall.

Kaitlin nudged her brother with a toe and blew out a
disgusted breath. They would have to wait until morning to leave because only
Callum knew where the McCloud had taken Violet.

She trudged up the stairs to search for a bed. Naturally,
the only one left in the whole of the house was in Callum’s chamber.
Fortunately, he would not be needing it tonight.