The Duke (11 page)

The door was open, and as he drew near, he heard two women's raised, angry voices. One was Lady Adella's and the other, he realized after a moment, was the old servant Marta's.

“Ye're a cold and heartless old bitch.”

“An old bitch I may well be,” answered Lady Adella's drumming voice, “but at least I was never a plucked bag o' bones. Little ye did to warm the master's bed. He had to make do with ye and he didn't like it, I can tell ye that, kept coming back to me, and I finally had to lock my door.”

“It's not true, damn ye. The master came to my bed when ye berated him and made him feel less the man. He never left me, never.”

“Ye're a fool, Marta, make no mistake. I was always the master and mistress of Penderleigh. When he took to tossing up yer skirts, it was but another hold he gave me.”

“I loved him, do ye hear?” Marta's voice trembled.

Lady Adella laughed rudely. “Love. You're a stupid slut. Ye got naught from the earl save his ruddy cock. And that, Marta, as ye well know, I never minded in
the least. He was an animal, just wanted to rut until he was pleased, and then he snored and dreamed himself such a fine lover, the old fool. Don't ye lie to me and bleat about how he satisfied ye. He couldn't have satisfied a goat.”

“But ye're nay master and mistress of Penderleigh anymore, lady. The duke isn't a weak Robertson male. It's strong he is, lady, and much used to having everything as he orders it. He speaks politely, for he's a gentleman, he is, but he's got the pride and bearing of a king, and he'll not let ye do anything he doesna want ye to do. He'll not let ye play off yer tricks wi' him.”

The duke stood rooted to the spot, ethical considerations forgotten. He was rather pleased that he compared favorably to the weak Robertson males. Nor would he disagree with the kingly pride and bearing part, although George III was insane and few bothered to deny it now.

“What tricks, ye old trollop?” Lady Adella's voice grew cunning. “I do naught but make right all the wrongs of that rutting old goat. As for yer precious duke, he'll be gone from Penderleigh afore ye know it, back to where he belongs in London. And I'll thank ye to hold yer infernal tongue, ye gap-toothed hag, else I'll—”

“Else ye'll what? Set me to scouring the kitchen floors?”

Lady Adella's voice grew quiet, and the duke had to strain to hear her next words. “Ye know, I've been thinking that an heiress is not what our Percy needs. Indeed, when old MacPherson brings him to the right side o' the blanket, methinks he'll be quite suitable for our Brandy.”

“So that's yer game. Ye're a witch. The girl hates him, the rutting bounder. He'd give her the French pox, he would. If ye've eyes in yer shrunken head, ye
know that Percy doesna want to stay at Penderleigh. As for Brandy, he loves her not. It's her virginity that intrigues him, and aye, her aversion to him.”

“Ye're a romantic fool,” Lady Adella said, her voice deep with scorn. “Percy doesn't have the pox, I asked him. He said he's careful. He wouldn't lie to me. Mayhap I'll encourage Percy, mayhap let him force Brandy and plant a bairn in her belly. Then I would see that he weds her. Aye, he'll dance to my tune, ye'll see, believing all the while that he is the player.”

“It isna right, lady. Brandy hates him. Do ye want to see the child miserable just as ye were?”

“Shut yer mouth, damn ye. The child is too young to know her own mind, and she'll do what I tell her. And don't ye dare rant to me about love. Ye old slut, yer notion of love is a grunting, sweating male between yer legs.”

“Ye're wicked, lady, more wicked than poor Angus could ever dream of being.”

The duke heard the clip-clop of heavy wooden shoes and ducked back into the corridor. Damn, but the old woman was daft. If he had to drag Brandy, kicking and yelling, he wouldn't let her remain under Lady Adella's perverse thumb.

He waited a few minutes, then retraced his steps to Lady Adella's sitting room. It was time that he let her know quite clearly who was the master of Penderleigh. He found her seated, her back ramrod straight, in a high-backed chair close to the fireplace, Brandy's cushion at its place at her feet. He looked about her sitting room, hard put to imagine a more chill and forbidding place.

He seated himself opposite her and began smoothly, “I find myself faced with somewhat of a problem, Aunt, and I seek your advice.”

Her faded blue eyes sharpened. “Aye, lad?”

“It concerns the girls, Brandy in particular, since she is the eldest. As I am now their legal guardian, I would like to provide them with proper dowries and, indeed, a season in London.”

“That makes not a whit of sense. Why?”

“I would think,” he said coolly, “that you would be delighted to have the girls so well provided for.”

“I can't disagree that the dowries will help the Penderleigh coffers, but as for sending the girls to London for a season, no sense in that. It's not what I have planned for them. Worry not about any of the girls, lad. I've got their futures all ticked out.”

“I beg your pardon, Aunt, but I have no intention of any dowry money making its way into the Penderleigh coffers. Indeed, the money will only be released when I have formally approved the future bridegrooms.”

“I told ye, lad, the girls' futures are my concern, and I'll thank ye not to meddle in what doesn't concern ye. Ye may with my blessing dower the girls, but it is I who will choose their husbands, not ye, not an Englishman who's too young to know what he's about.”

“I will say this just once, Lady Adella. I will never give you that kind of control, particularly since I have remarked how you abuse it. Contrive to remember that it is I who am master of Penderleigh, and you can hold claim no longer to being its mistress. You are, in short, nothing but what I allow you to be.”

She sucked in her breath, realizing that she had pushed him too far. She wasn't stupid. She quickly retrenched. “And what do ye mean by that, my lad?”

“I mean that Percy, no matter what side of the blanket he finds himself at the end of your machinations, will not wed Brandy. Indeed, as her guardian, I will no longer allow him to make a nuisance of himself where she is concerned.”

“What, do ye fear that he'll overturn yer claims to
Penderleigh or to Brandy?” He didn't say anything. Indeed, she knew he was angry, and keeping silent until he could gain control. She added in her best wheedling tone, “Ye've not given the lad a chance to prove himself. Percy's not bad, just ungoverned. He just needs a good wife to improve upon the raw material that's deep inside him, somewhere. Think ye, yer grace, if ye dower Brandy and she weds with Percy, then the money rests at Penderleigh. The girl doesn't know her own mind and she's just teasing him. I'll see that Percy does right by her when she's his wife.”

The duke sat forward. He spoke slowly, calmly, his anger well under control. “Heed me well, lady. Percy will never touch Brandy, or Constance, for that matter. If you continue to encourage him and badger Brandy to receive his attentions, here is what I shall do. I shall have you removed from Penderleigh land, provide you with a small widow's jointure, and never again let you meddle with the lives of your family. Do I make myself quite clear, lady?”

She drew back, pressing herself as hard as she could against the back of her chair. “Ye wouldn't dare.”

“You know that I would. Don't push me.” He stared steadily into her rheumy old eyes. He added, “No matter your crooked intentions toward Percy and Claude, just remember that it is I who hold the power. If I allow you to carry out your legitimization plans for Percy—indeed, if you choose to reinherit Claude and thus Bertrand—it is because I permit it.”

Lady Adella sucked in her breath. She wished she could hit him. Aye, she wished she could stick a knife in his ribs. “Ye dare to threaten me, Duke. I much dislike threats, particularly from Englishmen.”

“I don't make threats, lady. Believe me that if you go against my wishes with Brandy, I will do exactly what I have said. As to where I would move you—perhaps to Glasgow, clear across Scotland. I'd let you
take Morag with you. Think well on this. I am known as a man of my word.”

Although she quickly lowered her eyes to her gnarled hands, he saw that she believed him now. Good. She was showing a bit of wisdom. He said after a moment, “As you know, Bertrand and I leave this afternoon and plan to be away from Penderleigh for some days. I expect you to take immediate steps to ensure that Percy doesn't go near Brandy. After you have seen to that, Lady Adella, I want you to use your boundless influence with her and convince her that she must come to London once I am married.”

Lady Adella couldn't help herself and asked in an incredulous voice, “Ye mean to tell me that Brandy already knows of yer plans and has refused ye?”

“Yes, but I expect upon my return that you will have changed her mind. Now, lady,” he said, rising, “do I have your agreement to do as I ask?”

She shot him a look of loathing from beneath half-closed eyes and waved her veiny hand at him. “Aye, for the moment.”

“You mean until you think of something else to try? Try anything I don't like, and you'll be breathing the air of Glasgow.” He gave her a slight bow, turned on his heel, and left her staring after her, murder in her heart.

Shortly after luncheon, the weather cleared. Ian and Bertrand decided to take their leave before it could turn nasty again. Mabley, looking somewhat bewildered, handed his master his portmanteau. “You'll be careful, your grace.”

“Yes, I'll be careful. I'll not be gone long, Mabley. My only advice to you is that you avoid a woman called Morag. That's it. Just stay clear of her and you'll go along just fine.” He grinned at his valet, patted his shoulder, and took his leave.

“D
on't get wet, poppet,” Brandy called after Fiona, knowing her words just floated over her sister's bright red head. She shook her head, smiling, as she watched Fiona scramble down the path to the beach below.

She sighed and turned away, very much aware of the cause of her sudden sadness. Ian had left with Bertrand only an hour ago, and she had looked after him until she could no longer hear the clop-clop of his horse's hooves. The sun grew hot and she pulled off her shawl and rolled up her muslin sleeves to her elbows. For want of anything better to do, she sank down in the field of anemones and began absently to pull up the yellow flowers and weave them into a garland.

She felt someone near and turned to see Percy standing but a few feet away from her, legs spread, hands on his hips. He reached down and picked up her shawl, wadded it into a plaid ball, and threw it some distance from her.

She stared at him coldly. “So, the worthless sot comes out into the sunshine. Wouldn't ye rather be in a dark room drinking? Or wenching? Or braying with other sots how wonderful ye are? Ye're not at all
funny, ye know. Now, throw me back my shawl and leave me be.”

“Ye insult me, Brandy. Girls shouldn't toss out insults like ye just did. Ye never know how a man will react. And why do ye want yer shawl? The sun is really quite warm.” His hooded green eyes wandered from her face to her breasts, to her waist. “Ye really shouldn't hide yer woman's charms, Brandy. Ye're surprised, aren't ye? Ye didn't believe anyone would see through yer disguise. I'm a man who knows women. Ye've got breasts beneath that gown that I want to see and touch and caress. Ye'll like it, I promise ye.”

Her chin went higher. She was afraid, but never would she show it. “Ye are the insulting one. I don't like ye. Ye're rude and ugly. I'll tell ye just once more, leave me alone. I dislike being in the company of pigs and bastards.”

She saw a dangerous glint in his eyes and instinctively drew back. She'd gone too far.

“Ye are becoming all high and mighty, lassie, what with the illustrious duke insisting that ye travel to London. Aye, don't look so surprised, Lady Adella just told me of what she called ‘yer good fortune.”'

He didn't tell her that Lady Adella had also been explicit in her orders to him, the old bitch.

“Tell me, little cousin, just what did ye have to do for the duke to earn yerself a trip and a dowry?”

“Why, the duke is just like ye, Percy. He demanded that I take off my clothes and dance naked for him. Of course, I was willing to do that for a bit of coin and a trip to that barbaric London. Ye're nothing but a fool. Go away.”

She rose slowly to her feet. She slowly put one foot behind the other. He was still standing there, legs spread, staring at her—no, at her breasts. He looked like a predator and she knew she couldn't win if he
attacked her. She realized in that moment that Ian had gone behind her back to Lady Adella. Damn him. She would make him pay for that when he returned.

She said in what she hoped was the calm voice of a nun, “Ye aren't thinking things through, Percy. I'm yer cousin. Ye're supposed to protect me, not attack me.” She didn't think that would work, but she had to try. Was there any honor in him at all? He remained silent.

“Listen to me, Percy. I have no intention of going to London. Ye must know that Grandmama is always meddling and plotting. As for the duke's providing all of us with dowries, well, I don't know about that.” She shrugged her shoulders and took another step away from him.

“Ye're a strange lass, Brandy,” Percy said finally. “Just what do ye want?”

“What do I want?” she repeated slowly, her brow furrowed, knowing what she wanted, knowing it was impossible. She looked out to sea and saw some crofters in a barely seaworthy little boat, heaving their tattered nets over the side into the water.

“I won't chase dreams, Percy. I won't try to do something that wouldn't make me happy with myself. I want what I can have, and that is what I have now—Grandmama, Fiona, and Penderleigh.” She faced him again. “Do ye intend to remain here or return to Edinburgh?”

He recalled Lady Adella's cold, mocking voice: “Ye'll leave yer hands off the girl, my randy lad. Mayhap it will be better to remove yerself from temptation. Yer heiress awaits ye, does she not?”

“Edinburgh,” he said. “I believe that I will leave on the morrow. I'm off to woo my heiress. Without her father knowing just yet—until the courts have tied me up with a new ribbon.”

“Is that what
ye
want, Percy?” Brandy asked,
eyeing him with a bit more confidence now. There was a bitterness in his voice that made her, for the moment, feel just a bit sorry for him.

He looked at her, taking in the soft tendrils of hair that curled about her face and the full curve of her breasts he knew was beneath that gown of hers, beneath that band she probably bound herself with. “Nay, lass, it's not what I want, but I suppose it's what I must have. No, it's you I want, lassie.”

Before she knew what he was about, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her roughly against him. She cried out in surprise and fear, only to feel his mouth grinding against hers and his tongue probing wildly against her teeth. She hated his wet mouth, his violence. She began to struggle, shoving at him, trying to claw his face.

“Don't fight me, Brandy.” He was gasping his words into her mouth, stifling her cries. “Ye know how long I've desired ye.” Swiftly he grasped her hips, lifted her from the ground, and toppled her onto her back amid the bright yellow flowers.

She screamed once before he covered her mouth with his hand. She felt him moving on top of her, felt his weight crushing her down, and for a moment she couldn't get enough air into her lungs.

He tore at the buttons on her gown, his fingers wildly groping for her breast. My God, she thought, he was going to rape her. She twisted beneath him, pounding his shoulders with her fists, tearing his hair. His breath was hot against her mouth, and she felt his sex hard and pressing against her belly. She had seen animals mating, and knew that he would shove himself into her. She was terrified at her own helplessness.

“Brandy! Cousin Percy! Ye're playing and ye didn't invite me. Can I play the game with ye?”

Percy froze over her, his face ludicrous with shock.

“Fiona,” Brandy yelled even as she was pulling her
bodice together. “Get off me, ye miserable sod. Surely ye don't intend to rape me in front of Fiona, do ye? Nay, even ye couldn't be that great a villain.”

She shoved Percy off her and scrambled to her feet. Percy pulled himself to a sitting position. His face was flushed with anger. Brandy heard him cursing under his breath.

“Well, can't I play? Ye were pounding on Percy and he was pretending ye hurt him, moaning and gasping like ye'd shot him.” Fiona eyed first her sister, then Percy.

Oh, God, Brandy thought. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Poppet, the game's over. Percy lost. There's no more game to play, all right?” Seeing the child's confusion, she tried, she truly did try to turn this nightmare into nothing more exciting than a tea party. “Aye, it was a new kind of wrestling Cousin Percy was teaching me. As ye can see, I beat him handily.”

Brandy wanted to kick Percy, but she knew she couldn't, any more than he could attack her in front of Fiona. He looked fit to kill. She wanted to throw her arms around Fiona and thank her, for her little sister had indeed saved her. But she couldn't. She had to treat all of it lightly. A game, nothing but a silly game.

She wanted to kill him.

“There'll be another time, little cousin,” Percy said as he rose to his feet. “There'll be another time and no little sister to interrupt us. Ye wanted me, Brandy, admit it, to yerself and to me. Ye're just being coy, aye, and don't ye know, so many girls act just like ye have. But we'll see, won't we?”

She took another step back. It wasn't smart to shake yer fist in the devil's face. “There won't be another time, Percy,” she said, taking Fiona's small hand in hers. “Never.”

Brandy left Fiona in Marta's care, avoiding the old woman's curious eyes, and made her way to Lady Adella's sitting room.

Clutching together the torn buttons on her gown, she drew a deep breath and walked into Lady Adella's line of vision.

“Ye look the perfect dowd, all rattled and tangled, yer gown not even buttoned.” Lady Adella was irritated, and she was snorting after she'd given Brandy a thorough look up and down. “I swear, why can't ye take more pains with yerself, like yer sister?”

Brandy felt her cup fill to the brim, then overflow. “Listen to me, Grandmama, I would look like the queen of the May if Percy had not just tried to rape me.”

Lady Adella's thin eyebrows snapped together. “He tried to rape ye? Percy?”

“He tried to rape me,” Brandy repeated, the thought of his body pressing down on her making her so mad she wanted to strike out. She was breathing hard as she said, “Fiona saved me. She thought it was all a game. At least Percy didn't continue in front of her. God, I want to kill him.”

“Och, so Fiona saved ye, huh? Well, that's a relief.” Brandy watched as a smile deepened the lines about her grandmother's thin mouth. She thought it was funny? “What are ye going to do about him, Grandmama?”

“I might have known he wouldn't keep his hands off ye, my girl. Ye tease him something fierce, and as I've told ye many times, he's just a weak Robertson male. Ye want me to do something with Percy? Really, ye silly chit, there's aught for me to do since he didn't succeed in cooling his passion for ye. Such a prissy prude ye are, child. Surely ye know what men want of women. It's only natural, particularly for
Percy. He didn't succeed, so shut yer mouth. And don't ye dare kill him.”

Brandy stared at her, appalled. “Ye wouldn't have cared had he succeeded?”

“Of course I would have minded. It would have changed everything. But there's no harm done. Stop yer righteous anger, child. It bores me, makes me believe ye're a Methodist. I'll see that our randy Percy takes his leave on the morrow. He'll not bother ye again, child.”

“Before Percy attacked me, Grandmama, he said that ye had told him that I was going to London. Did Ian talk to ye?”

Lady Adella could nearly feel her granddaughter's anger come toward her in waves. Percy was out of her mind now. So there was passionate blood in her veins. She decided to choose her words carefully, even though she doubted the duke would ever have the gall to send her away as he'd threatened. Outrage had always worked well with Brandy, totally knocked her off her course. She said with all the hauteur of the long dead Queen Mary, “Certainly the duke spoke with me, stupid girl. If ye care not about yer future, he, as yer guardian, has every right to concern himself with yer affairs.”

“I'll not go, Grandmama, and I told him so. How dare he come to ye?”

She'd not distracted her. That was interesting. She smiled, splaying her gnarled hands in a display of defeat. “Very well, child, I'll not try to force ye to go to London, though I'll never ken yer mule's stubbornness. It's like old Angus ye've become, and the good Lord knows that's an abominable thing.”

Brandy breathed a wary sigh of relief. “Thank ye, Grandmama. I don't want to leave Penderleigh, no matter what the duke says.”

“As ye will, child. I had thought ye'd prefer having
a choice of husbands, for Ian assured me that he'd put many a proper gentleman in yer path. Since it isn't to yer liking, well, I'll ensure that ye'll have yer wish and stay at Penderleigh—”

“Oh, thank ye, Grandmama.”

“After what Percy tried to do to ye, I wouldn't think that ye'd want him, but—”

Brandy drew back as though she'd been struck. “Percy? What are ye talking about? What does this have to do with Percy? Oh, no, Grandmama, ye know that I loathe him. I'd never marry him, never.”

“So ye want yer cream and the bowl too, lass? Well, the world doesn't turn that way. I'll have no worthless spinster at Penderleigh. Ye'll marry Percy or ye'll go to London. The choice is yers.”

This couldn't be happening. Brandy tried to swallow down the lump of fear and revulsion that stuck in her throat. She paced back and forth in front of Lady Adella, then spun about. “Grandmama, do ye want to make me unhappy? Why do ye hate me? What have I done to make ye treat me thus?”

“I don't hate ye, ye silly chit. Damnation, child, I want to see ye well placed afore I join yer grandfather in Hades. He had a fondness for ye, the old rutting goat, and I'll not spend eternity with him badgering me about failing in my duty toward ye.”

Brandy forced calm into her voice. “If that is so, Grandmama, I can't believe that Grandfather would have wanted me to be so very unhappy. He disliked Percy, ye know.”