Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

T here was murder in Charles’s heart as he strode towards the room of Archibald Barton.

Regardless of the man’s relative age and size, he had committed unpardonable crimes against the Wraith family, and as Duke of Huntingdon, Charles was bound to act.

The bedroom door was locked when he reached it, but the lock was no match for the power of his broad shoulders and righteous rage. It gave at his third charge, sending him crashing into the dimly lit room, Lord Oakley in bed and feigning a sleepy awakening.

“What is to do?” the gray-haired man asked, huddling in bed and acting as though awoken from sleep.

Not fooled in the slightest, the Duke went straight to the bed and ripped off the covers to reveal Lord Oakley still dressed in breeches, stockings, shirt sleeves and waistcoat. He even wore dress shoes on his feet.

“Get up,” Charles roared. “Get up and face me like a man, if that is what you are!”

“What?” Lord Oakley answered vaguely, still pretending to be confused. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“I said, get up,” repeated the Duke, this time hauling the man out of bed with two handfuls of shirt and tossing him halfway across the room to fall to his knees on a rug. “Did you really think your behavior tonight would have no consequences?”

Oakley rose shakily to his feet now, scrabbling for whatever dignity he could muster in this situation.

“You must have discovered my little assignation with Lady Cecilia? Well, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, you know. You meddled with my daughter, and your sister was more than happy to…”

Charles struck the man before he could complete this sentence, not with his fist as he might strike a younger man equal to himself in strength but with the back of his hand. Just as Oakley had once struck Cecilia. There was satisfaction in seeing the blood trickle from the older man’s brow as he lay stunned on the ground. The Duke was also wearing a family signet ring tonight, set with a small diamond.

“I told you never to speak the names of my sister or my wife again, and I will have your obedience, Oakley,” he said, standing over the man on the floor.

The Duke heard a sound from the doorway and saw his wife appear. Of course, Madeline had not obeyed his instruction to remain in Cecilia’s room. When had she ever obeyed him?!

Part of him wanted to furiously remind her of her wedding vows, perhaps reinforcing his message with a light spanking. Another part of him was heartened to have such a strong and principled woman standing beside him, Madeline’s face calming and hardening once she saw Lord Oakley, still alive, on the ground.

“Do you require assistance, Your Grace?” she asked Charles formally as though the scene were perfectly normal.

“No. Lord Oakley is leaving us now.” he answered.

“It is not yet sunrise,” protested Archibald Barton, easing himself into a sitting position and wiping at the blood that was dripping into one of his eyes from the wound on his forehead. “It is still raining and unsafe for the horses.”

“Put on your jacket and hat, Oakley, for you will be walking in that rain. It is six miles to the nearest village. I will count to ten, and then I will escort you to the front door, ready or not.”

“What?” queried the man owlishly, even casting a pleading glance towards Madeline. “Duchess Madeline, surely you cannot allow your husband to treat a guest in such a manner? Lady Cecilia and I have a long history, you must understand. I don’t know what you have heard but she is….”

“One,” said Madeline implacably, folding her arms. “You heard my husband. Two… three… four…”

Charles’s heart surged with respect and pride as he looked at her, her face now that of an avenging goddess. His duchess would always follow her principles, no matter what assailed her. He was blessed to have found such a woman.

Lord Oakley scrabbled to his feet and seized the jacket which seemed to have been carelessly discarded on a chair after his flight from Cecilia’s room.

“…seven…” Madeline counted as the man grabbed a cloak hanging on the door and a pair of outdoor boots beneath it.

“Father!” called out a small, frightened voice then, and Charles looked up to see Lady Juliette standing in the doorway in her nightgown, her brother and Mr. Stephens behind her, both fully dressed.

The Bartons’ rooms were all together on this corridor, and he knew that Stephens had planned a conference with Henry Morgan that night. Charles sighed, having hoped to avoid a full family confrontation at this hour but realizing it was inevitable.

“Come, Juliette, you must dress quickly. Duke Charles is throwing us out into the storm,” said Lord Oakley with a vindictive glare towards the Duke.

Lady Juliette looked very young and very scared for a moment, glancing back towards her brother for guidance. The Duke almost rolled his eyes, thinking that there was no point in fixing her hopes in that direction. That was after all, a significant part of what he and John Stephens had discussed in the drawing room after dinner.

But Lord Morgan stepped forward.

“No, Father,” he said firmly, without any sign of his usual stutter. “Juliette and I leave at sunrise in the coach. We will be going to America. Aunt Patricia, your sister, has long offered us a home in New York, and her husband will find me a seat on the stock exchange there. We are not returning with you.”

“What?!” said Lord Oakley, in disbelief. “You dare to defy me, boy?! I will disinherit you if you…”

“The title is mine in the end, whatever you do, Father, and I shall make my own fortune in America. It will be enough for me and for Juliette.”

“You ungrateful little whelp! You may run away to your accursed aunt and her upstart stock-dealer husband, but Juliette may not. She is only eighteen and under my authority. She will remain with me as a key part of my court case against the Duke of Huntingdon. I will have my ￡10,000 one way or another!”

“You have no case against the Duke,” said Stephens bluntly. “You might have tricked Lady Bentham and Lady Martin into being your stooges on the night of the ball, but there was a third witness to everything that occurred in the garden drawing room that night, before and after Lady Juliette arrived. I was smoking a cigar outside those windows and then watching from the bushes nearby.”

Lord Oakley attempted to laugh, but it died in his throat as he realized the import of the other man’s words. John Stephens was not only a scion of an eminently respectable family, but he was also politically well-connected and an upcoming man of the world. His testimony in a court of law would stand for a great deal.

“I have spoken to everyone concerned since then and am satisfied as to the truth,” Stephens continued. “If you attempt to bring a case, be aware that I will contradict you utterly, and you will be humiliated. Now, I recommend that you do as the Duke of Huntington has ordered. You must leave your daughter in your son’s care.”

“…eight…” counted Madeline, a little impatience now creeping into her voice.

“Damn you!” snarled Oakley, tossing on his outdoor clothes and throwing vicious glances at everyone in the room.

Juliette fled to her brother and buried her face in his shoulder, unable to watch any longer.

“Damn you, too,” said Henry Morgan steadily to his father, earning his first grain of respect from Charles Wraith. “May we never meet again in this world or the next.”

The expression on Oakley’s face was almost as satisfying as the blood trickling down his face.

Charles marched his unwanted guest down the stairs to the front door and flung it open with his own hand although Lonsley was now there too.

“This isn’t over,” warned Lord Oakley, his face a snarling grimace as he stood in the doorway, the rain and wind making their presence felt despite the flight of stone steps and roof above. “No one crosses me, not even you, Duke Charles.”

“I will find you,” Charles retorted, meeting the other man’s pale blue eyes with his own resolute gaze. “I will find you, and you will yield to me.”

With a final angry but powerless sound, Lord Oakley turned into the wind and rain and walked away down the stairs and along the path. Charles watched him until he was almost at the gate and folded his arms as the man had to drag the heavy iron structure open to get out into the road. The darkness then swallowed him.

“He is gone,” said Madeline’s voice at his shoulder. “You should tell Cecilia. There is no one she trusts more.”

Charles nodded and allowed Lonsley to close the front door again.

“Will Lord Morgan and Lady Juliette leave in the morning?” she asked.

“John Stephens will see to it,” said Charles. “He is in my confidence.”

Madeline’s face fell a little at this announcement, evidently hurt that Mr. Stephens had been subject to intelligence not given to her, but Charles had very good reasons for what he had done. Until he could be absolutely sure of Lord Oakley’s utter defeat, the less Madeline knew, the better. Her ignorance could protect her more than any degree of intimacy if her husband were to be publicly shamed.

“Trust me,” Charles said, putting a gentle hand under her chin and tipping up her face to look into his. “Can you do that?”

He saw Madeline’s eyes fill with tears which she blinked away. His heart ached at the sight. But still, she must leave for her own good. She and Cecilia would be safe with Lord and Lady Terrell, far safer than they could be here with him for the time being. He had failed to protect the women in his life once, and he was determined not to fail again.

“I will try,” said his wife after an obvious internal struggle. “But now we should tell Cecilia that he is gone. She will sleep better knowing that.”

They returned upstairs together, finding Cecilia already in bed, Ellen on a pallet bed beside her, and Gabrielle still pacing in the doorway with her warming pan like a small, rather chic sentry. The three women were much cheered by the news of Lord Oakley’s ejection although Ellen still locked the door from the inside as the others left.

Despite the night’s confrontation, or maybe because of it, Charles found that he desired Madeline more than ever. Her bravery, her loyalty, and her defiance were all fillips to his lust, and he wanted nothing more than to tumble her into his bed once more before he had to send her away.

Those rounded breasts, those curving hips, the bewitchment of her all-too-knowing eyes… he knew that he must have her and hear her cries of joy in his possession. There was no use denying it.

While he acknowledged the risk that Madeline could soon be with child by him, this now seemed like a challenge rather than a fate to avoid. It was his right, surely, and hers. Not something for Lord Oakley to obstruct or permit. It meant only that Charles must resolve the present situation before any child should be born. That thought focused his mind rather than blunting his desire.

Gabrielle did not linger long in the corridor, as if surmising the Duke’s intentions. Madeline would certainly not require her assistance to undress that night and would not be spending the rest of the evening in her own bedroom if he had his way.

“I shall see you in the morning, Your Grace,” said the Frenchwoman with a small curtsey to Madeline and then another to Charles.

Madeline watched her maid’s departure and then looked uncertainly at her husband, unsure what to expect.

“You will be in my bed tonight,” he told her softly to expel any lingering doubt.

“Is that what you want?” she asked him anxiously.

“I believe it is what you want,” he said, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Madeline nodded and stepped into his arms, her hands at his shoulders.

“I want you, Charles,” she said. “I will always want you.”

“Then I have my orders,” he said gruffly. “You are my wife.”

Kissing and then sweeping Madeline off her feet, the Duke carried her back to his suite without any further discussion.

It was a night of prolonged and piercing pleasure, Charles drawing out Madeline’s excitement before fulfilling it with his hands, his mouth, or his manhood, again and again.

Madeline understood that her husband was a man of the finest sort, standing in sharp contrast to Lord Oakley as a travesty of that sex. By dawn, she was exhausted but still somehow filled with desire and also sadness at the thought that their union was coming to an end. Charles had made it clear that he was sending her away and would brook no resistance.

“You will leave with your parents,” he reminded her as the sun rose although he did not look particularly happy about the prospect, any more than she.

“I will look after Cecilia,” she assured him, stroking his damp chest as she lay in his arms.

Charles’s hand lay over her belly, but his face was impossible to read.

“I know you will,” he said earnestly. “I trust you as I hope you will trust me.”

Madeline did not know what this meant and could only lay her head on her husband’s torso and listen to the rhythmic thumping of his heart, wishing that the sun would rise more slowly today.