The Pirate's Duchess: A Regent's Revenge Novella (3 page)

Markwick stepped closer. “Why
are
you still alive?”

“And who’s buried in your crypt?” Chloe asked.

Bloody hell, this
reunion
wasn’t going the way he’d planned at all. “You will know soon enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve business to attend.”

And be quick about it,
the devil on his shoulder urged him.
Before anyone gets the notion to put you back in the grave, or worse, decides to harm Prudence.

He exerted pressure on his wife’s arm. She stiffened and reached out for Chloe as he pulled her toward him. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I will explain everything as soon as I possibly can.”

A lone tear spilled down her cheek. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“If you want to live to see another day,” he said, desiring to wipe away her tears but not daring, “you will.”

She gasped, horrified. “What on earth do you mean?”

He redirected his next words to the vicar. “Forgive my ill-timed intrusion, vicar. You understand the necessity, of course.”

Mr. Leyes opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. His head bobbed up and down like a nervous turtle. “Of course,” he said, closing the two books in his hands with a resounding
thwack
. “I admit to seeing many surprising things in my life, but nothing compares to this.” His face softened as he made a sign of the cross over Prudence’s forehead. “Your prayers have been answered, child. Go in peace.”

“What are you doing, Leyes?” Underwood shouted. “You cannot allow this
ghost
to simply walk off with my son’s bride-to-be?”

The stodgy clergyman clucked his tongue and lowered his chin. “The church is very clear on this matter, my lord.”

“The church?
I
decide what is right or wrong on
my
land. Here,
I
am the law!”

Markwick left Mr. Leyes’s side and stepped down to stand before his sire. “It’s over, Father. We cannot be wed. The duchess
belongs
with her husband.”

“You’re supposed to be her husband!” Underwood seethed, his face reddening. “And by God—” the crowd gasped in outrage at the marquess’s blaspheme “—I shall see it done!”

Markwick turned away from his father. “Treat her well.” He reached his hand out to Prudence but backed away when he caught sight of Tobias’s narrowing eyes.

“Of course,” Tobias said, casting Underwood a sideways glance. He dipped his head, mocking the old man. “You’ll forgive me for taking back what is rightfully mine, won’t you?”

A tic worked in Underwood’s jaw as he scowled at the wedding guests. “What are you looking at? Be gone. All of you.”

No one moved.

“Basil.” The sickening pitch of Prudence’s whimper tore Tobias to pieces.
He
wasn’t God. Who was he to play with people’s emotions? Certainly not those of the ones he’d sworn to love and protect. “Tell me this is a bad dream.”

“No,” the earl said, summoning tremendous strength and dignity. He reached out and stroked her face. “We lived a dream. You are awake at last.”

Tobias’s jaw clenched, and his gut twisted cruelly. Markwick loved Prudence. And like Tobias had, the man would have to love her enough to let her go.

“Don’t just stand there, Markwick,” Underwood barked, shuffling toward them. “You will never achieve greatness by being idle. Do something! Reach out and take what you want.”

Markwick’s feet appeared rooted to the floor. By the pained expression distorting his features as he scanned the crowded room, he mulled over his father’s words. Underwood’s ultimate goal would be to demean his son into obedience, but Tobias knew the earl. He’d grown up with him. A man didn’t change his spots easily, especially a man in love. How he understood the affliction well. He’d spent the past two years fighting for the future of his duchy. Never once had he forgotten his duchess. Dreams of her had made his fight worthwhile. Love, at least on his part, bonded them. Unrequited love, however, was an emotion that hardened a man’s soul.

No. Markwick wasn’t a threat. Tobias knew that now.

He turned his attention on the marquess. Underwood would use every scheme known to man to keep Prudence from leaving the building. She was the only thing the elderly noble had to bargain with. If Markwick was persuaded to act against Tobias, he would be forced to do something he’d rather not do—strike down a friend. He couldn’t allow the situation to get that far. But how could he persuade the earl to believe his own father was the enemy?

Prudence jerked against Tobias’s firm grip on her arm. “This is
your
fault.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he said, yanking her back. He grabbed her by the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dove, but this is the only way I can think of to get you out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

He carried her through the sea of gasping wedding guests toward the chapel doors. No one prevented his escape. Who would dare stop a duke? After all, the duchess was
his
wife.

“As God is my witness, I will not stand for this disgrace,” Underwood shouted. “Apprehend that imposter!”

“No, Father!” Markwick shouted behind him.

Prudence let out a gasp and arched her back. “Put me down, you oaf!”

Tobias wasn’t swayed. “Not until you are safe.”

People who knew him cheered as he passed. Several shouted angrily, accusing him of duping the village, of mistreating Prudence. Tobias paid them no heed as he continued toward the double oak doors where Lady Osgood guarded the chapel exit.

She didn’t meet his gaze but looked past him. Her face strangely contorted, her eyes focused on a target out of range. “Your Grace!” she shouted, pointing a finger over his shoulder.

Tobias reacted quickly. He lowered Prudence to her feet and relinquished her into Lady Osgood’s care, then spun around to face whatever had frightened the dowager.

It was Markwick. The earl thundered down the aisle toward him. Had Underwood succeeded in using Markwick against him?

“Signs of the cross!” Markwick shouted, their secret boyhood signal.

At once, Tobias knew Markwick wasn’t attacking him, but rather coming to his aid as Underwood’s men closed in from the sides of the chapel, shiftily pushing women aside. Tensions heated. People panicked, toppling over one another, upending pews. Wood collided against wood. Large pewter candlesticks tumbled to the ground, forcing people to stomp out flames.

Markwick took up a position at Tobias’s side. “This isn’t how I pictured my wedding day.”

“I was beginning to think you’d turned into a milksop during my absence.”

“Not on your life.” Markwick withdrew his sword.

“It may come to that.” Tobias maneuvered one hand on the hilt of his cane, gripping the slender sheath with the other, prepared to withdraw the needle he kept hidden there. “Unless you intend to help me stay alive long enough to make things right.”

“Make wha—”

“I cannot lose either of you,” Prudence cried, reaching between them.

Tobias pushed her behind them. “But you will if Markwick doesn’t help us.” He focused his attention back on his old friend. “Your father is responsible for Lord Eggleston’s death and countless others.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Underwood shook his fist. “Don’t listen to anything he says, son. Be a man!”

“Wake up,” Tobias snapped. “He’s using you to get to Davis’s survey and my copper ore.”

“Get my son out of the way! The fool is trying to protect the duchess,” Underwood ordered, snapping his fingers at his men.

A brawny man lunged at the earl. “How can I trust anything you say? You made everyone believe you were dead.” Markwick swung his fist, catching the charging henchman on the jaw. “Including your wife. And you’ve never liked my father.”

“With good reason,” Tobias said, sidestepping Markwick’s elbow as the lumbering man jabbed the earl’s chin, causing Markwick to lose his footing. Tobias pushed Markwick toward several guests, who buoyed the earl upward and back into action.

A sharp grating sound slit the air as Tobias pulled his needle from its cane-like sheath. He slanted his sword at a man to his right, who tried to skirt around them in order to get his hands on Prudence.

“Let’s handle this like gentlemen, shall we?” he asked, kneeing the man between the legs, then bringing the hilt of his sword down on the man’s head, knocking the man senseless.

“Gentlemen?” Markwick scoffed, brandishing the offering plate in front of him like a shield. He warded off a blow, sending the brass instrument sailing into an attacker’s stomach. “Gentlemen do not desert their wives. Nor do they accuse a man of fraud.”

“I have proof,” Tobias taunted, pricking a foe’s throat. The toad-like man scurried backward to escape his blade and tumbled between two upended pews. “Lord Eggleston’s letter.”

The last of Underwood’s henchmen—a balding man with rotten teeth—withdrew a knife and held it up before him. Tobias quickly jerked the man’s arm sideways, levering his wrist, and retrieved the dagger. He dropped his needle then spun Markwick around and came up behind him, placing the earl in a chokehold, positioning the tip of the dagger at his throat. “Your father betrayed Eggleston,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“No!” Underwood raged as
if
Markwick was in danger.

Markwick raised his hands in front of him, offering no resistance. “Barrett’s father? What do you plan to do?”

“Buy myself more time,” Tobias whispered. “You say you love my wife. Is that true?”

Markwick pulled at Tobias’s arm, struggling to get more breathing room. “Yes.”

“Tobias, please,” Prudence pleaded, touching his shoulder. “You’re hurting him.”

“Would you die for her?” He locked his gaze on Underwood, who proved nimble for a man his age as he shuffled down the center aisle toward his son.

Markwick swallowed. “I would do . . . anything.”

He pulled Markwick closer, pricking his throat with the tip of his knife. “You stand to benefit from your father’s greed. Do you want Eggleston’s blood on your conscience?”

“No,” Markwick’s voice lowered almost imperceptibly.

“Then help me prove or disprove your father’s guilt,” he whispered.

Several of Underwood’s dispatched men began to rouse. What he and Markwick planned had to look genuine or Underwood would suspect a trap.

“Your promise,” Tobias insisted, nicking Markwick again with the blade.

“Yes,” Markwick agreed. “But there is only one way we can do it.”

“How?”

“Look at him. The only time he loses control is when he thinks of losing an heir.”

“Are you quite done ruining my chapel?” Underwood snapped, bending his time-ravaged body over his cane. “Let go of my son.”

“A duel,” Markwick offered. “It’s the only way. And as a matter of good faith, I’ll choose Walsingham as my second.”

“Done.” Relief filled Tobias. Captain Walsingham’s pious sense of honor would see justice done. He released his grip and pushed the earl away. “Call off your father’s hounds.”

“If it helps”—the conniving marquess sneered, his beady eyes boring into Tobias—“I concede that you are indeed the Duke of Blackmoor.”

“You are the interloper here, Blackmoor,” Markwick said, massaging his neck, acting out in his father’s defense. He lowered his hand and frowned at the crimson staining his fingers. “You’ve drawn blood! I
demand
satisfaction!”

Prudence pressed against Tobias’s back, reaching out to Markwick. “Don’t do this. I beg you,” she pleaded.

“No matter how much my lady objects, there is only one way to end this amicably,” Tobias stated, sending up more silent prayers.

“Only one?” Markwick asked. “I can think of several ways to dispatch you, but none of them would be as satisfying as a duel of honor.”

Tobias bent slowly to pick up his blade, then rose and slipped the needle back inside his cane. What if this didn’t work? “Name the time and place. I shall be happy to oblige.”

Underwood’s eyes gleamed wickedly. He shifted closer to Markwick. “Think of it. A duel to restore your honor, son. With Blackmoor out of the way, the duchess can be yours.”

Something raw and primitive boiled behind Markwick’s eyes. “The Downs. Swords at dawn.”

THREE

Intolerably IRKSOME, with industrious charms of ease, BREACHING every social obligation, the BLACK REGENT has undermined commerce within the quay. His invasive, peaceable pursuits have INFILTRATED Exeter’s Roman walls. Regretfully,
Sherborne Mercury
submits the
Fury
’s success will only SPAWN duplicate miracles of VALOR throughout Devon and Dorset.

~
Sherborne Mercury
, 28 July 1808

“You cannot mean to go through with this? Not after what you’ve done,” Prudence said, wincing as Tobias forced her through the chapel doors.

She tried without success to calm her rapidly beating heart. Tobias was alive? It was too much to take in. She’d prayed thousands of prayers that he’d been spared his horrific death but none had been answered . . . until now. Perspiration beaded on her brow. Her breath caught, tears streaming down her face. She felt as light as two stone, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms, more than anything.

But reality was sinking in. He’d intentionally left her behind. In all this time, she’d never forgotten the love they’d shared, the moments they’d spent together, or the promises they’d made, but . . . Oh, why had he waited two long years to come home? Why now? She’d finally moved on with her life. And now he planned to ruin everything by challenging his best friend and her former betrothed to a duel? How could she live knowing Basil died defending her honor? Or worse, how could she go on if she lost Tobias again?

She couldn’t let this go. “I demand an answer!” she commanded as they stepped out of the chapel into rays of sunlight so strong and oppressing they felt like the terrifying flames licking, splitting, and gutting the stables that fateful night. She closed her eyes, trying to fight the memory as the sun heated her skin.

Blackmoor’s stable master struggled to get the horses out of thick billowing smoke as flames engulfed the stable. Tobias was trapped inside. Fear. Desperation. Anxiety. The move to go after him, the sheer force of will to save him empowering her, only to be held back by eyewitnesses. Forced to watch the ravaged timbers collapse, burning her husband alive.

She shook her head, trying to lose the image, but all she saw were the charred remains confirming a man Tobias’s size had been killed in the blaze.

She reached for her neck and held on to the one thing that had comforted her during her mournin
g—
the chain holding Tobias’ssignet rin
g—
and gasped for air until she found her voice.

“Are you going to duel Basil?”

Tobias squeezed her upper arm. “Trust me. That’s all I ask.” His voice flowed over her like cool water on a scorching hot day as her eyesight adjusted and the lane leading up to the chapel slowly materialized before her.

A flurry of activity unfolded as coachmen who’d been mingling with one another took a moment to peer at them curiously to see if their employers had emerged. On the lane, various conveyances lined the cobblestones, including the shiny black landau sporting Underwood’s crest, prepared to carry Prudence and Basil to the Blackmoor estate.

Tobias ignored his surroundings, pausing only long enough to let out a shrill whistle. Within moments, clip-clopping hooves approached, and a large black stallion she immediately recognized advanced to a stop before them.

Manfred!

Prudence eyed the beast and suppressed a shiver. She’d bought the exquisite horse for Tobias shortly after their marriage. She hadn’t had the heart to get rid of the magnificent animal since the night of the fire. Keeping it had been a comfort, especially since her steward, Jones Denny, trained the animal and kept it in excellent condition.

“How did you get
that
?” she asked, pointing a finger at the horse.

“How do you think I got here?” he parried, slipping his cane through a loop on the saddle.

Tobias winked and took her by the shoulders. The pressure of his hands, the feel of his touch, sent tingles to her waist and below. How tall he was! How handsome and commanding! She’d forgotten his magnetism, the probing sensuality in his stare, how different he was from Basil.

His lovely blue eyes bore into hers with a fervent will that stole her breath. “I will answer your questions as soon as you are safe. Until then, you must follow my orders and do everything I say.”

Baffled, she stared at him, narrowing her eyes. How dare he? Did he seriously expect her to go away with him? The very man who’d deceived her?

“Nod, if you understand.”

She shook her head. “Why on earth would—”

“We don’t have much time,” he interrupted. “Markwick can only hold off those mercenaries for so long. Please, Prudence.” His voice softened with the last two words, surprising her almost as much as the words themselves.

“Hold off?” she asked. “Why did Lord Underwood feel the need to employ a small army at my wedding? Surely he could not have anticipated
this
!” she exclaimed, pointing to Tobias.

“A storm is coming, my dove.” His casual observation of the weather gave her no hint of what motivated him, just made all her feelings for him rush back from the way he addressed her, so sincerely, so easily. The emotion mixed with the anger, hurt, and betrayal already stirring in her gut. Nothing made sense as he led her to Manfred, the horse she’d named on a lark after the villain in
The Castle of Otranto
. “Let me help you mount.”

“That beast? No.” She would go anywhere with Tobias in order to understand why he’d cleaved her heart into pieces, but she would not go on that horse.

“Why not?” His brows knit together. “This pound of horseflesh is in top shape.”

The horse’s condition wasn’t the issue. Manfred had been one of the last horses rescued from the stable fire because he had been unwilling to leave without Tobias. Jenkins, the stable manager, claimed the animal was crazed as a result.

“You cannot expect me to ride such a dangerous horse.”

“Grab hold,” he said, wrapping her fingers around the stallion’s mane. “You have no choice.”

“And I’m beginning to loathe it.”

Why was he so insistent on acting her savior? She’d done a fine job surviving until now, even at the expense of sleepless nights and untold heartache.

“I do not trust you or this horse.”

“Well, you are stuck with us.”

He grabbed her foot and ankle, sending an astonishing familiar heat up her leg, and launched her into the air before settling her sideways onto Manfred’s saddle.
No. I will not let my body betray me, too.

“Is this truly wise?” she asked. “Manfred hasn’t accepted a rider since the fire.”

“I rode him here, didn’t I? And you are sitting on him now.”

His hands lingered on her hips a tad longer than she preferred, increasing her awareness of him, making it impossible to ignore the sensations Markwick had never stirred within her. Guilt pricked her heart as, in one fluid motion, he mounted the great black, pressed his chest hard against her back, and reached forward to grab the reins, proving he could still drive her wild with need. His chin grazed her cheek.

“Must you breathe down my neck?” she grumbled as he put his arm around her and the chapel doors sprung open. She tensed as Markwick raised his hands to block the sun from his eyes so he could see them.

“Go now,” Markwick shouted, waving them away.

Tobias spun Manfred in a circle. “We can’t be seen.” He turned their mount toward the gully paralleling the road. “Time to fly.”

Confused and frightened, Prudence tightened her hold on the black stallion’s mane. “Where are we going?”

“Beyond Underwood’s reach.”

She hooked her leg around the saddle, nearly losing her seat. Tobias tightened his grip on her waist and kicked the stallion into a run.

They rode pell-mell for several minutes before Tobias slowed their mount to a trot. Leather and tack creaked beneath them as he twisted to survey the surrounding landscape.

After several unbearable moments of silence, she forced herself to speak. “Where have you been for the past two years?”

“I promise a reasonable explanation soon.”

Prudence shifted uncomfortably, trying to put distance between them but her clumsy movements only joined their bodies closer, breaking the harmonious gait of the beast beneath her. Warmth radiated from Tobias’s torso, heating her back. His shifting hips heightened her awareness, driving her to distraction. The air carried a chill that saturated the thin fichu ruffling her neck and the brisk wind provoked a shiver from her body. Nothing had prepared her for thi
s—
for hi
m—
for the emotional battle wrenching her soul.

She swallowed a lump welling in her throat. “Reasonable?” Her heart clenched with unbearable pressure. The man she’d adored had left her, betrayed her, and apparently felt no remorse for his actions. He’d allowed her to mourn, to picture flames devouring his skin night after night. The horror had almost driven her mad. And
that
didn’t fit her opinion of love.

“Damn you,” she said, pounding on his thigh. “I will never forgive you for what you’ve put me through. Never!”

He lowered his stubbly jaw to her neck, sending arousing prickling sensations coursing through her body. “I didn’t return seeking your forgiveness.” He spoke so softly, she almost didn’t hear him. But God in heaven, she did, and his admission cleaved her in two.

“Good,” she said sharply. “You won’t get it.”

“Would it make you feel better knowing I’ve suffered a great deal without you?”

It would serve him right. She huffed and settled back against him, absorbing his warmth. “Nothing would delight me more.”

“I spent two years dreaming about the way you’d look lying in my bed again.” His hand inched upward slightly, the movement igniting a dormant fire deep inside her that took her by surprise.

Her breath caught, then rage filled her. Was she that much of a wanton? Was that all he’d missed about her?

She pushed his searching fingers back down to her waist. “And that is the only way I will ever share your bed again. In your
dreams
.”

“Is it?” he asked, tightening his embrace and pulling her toward him.

“I want only one thing from you, Tobias: the truth. After that, I never want to see you again.”

“How can you be so cold? I’m alive. I’ve come back for you.”

“Ha!” She fought against his roaming arms. “Go to the devil! You left me. I’d rather die than play your reunited lover.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, swinging his cloak about her shoulders as the wind picked up. “You just may catch your death.”

“Said the wolf to the rabbit.”

Tobias’s frustration mounted as he held Prudence close. She had no idea how dangerous their situation was, but despite how angry she was at him, he wasn’t going to educate her now. He couldn’t take the time to explain his actions. At any minute Underwood’s men would rally and, most likely, pursue them. The weather was also their enemy. The sloping plateau dominated by a wild wind proclaimed a storm advanced up the valley. They needed to make it to the manor house before they were either ambushed or hit by bad weather. If not, he’d need to find adequate shelter before he and his churlish bride were caught off guard.

The land adjoining Underwood’s estate and his own provided easy access, but once they neared the river, the varied landscape, angry sky, and unspoiled fields of scrub and bracken would make it harder for Underwood to follow his tracks. If their journey became treacherous, as he suspected it would and, if he had a hard time throwing Underwood’s men off, he’d head for his tenants’ cottages. Roads leading to and from the manor house offered opportunity for surprise attack. He couldn’t risk going there now. Not with Prudence. She was the most important thing in his life, even if she couldn’t see it, and no one, including Markwick, would take her from him.

Brilliant. You’ve never lied to yourself before, old boy. Why start now?