Chapter 26

26

Richard felta growl rumbling in his chest, an unending burst of fury that consumed him from within. It was a wildfire of rage, regret, and pain that threatened to engulf him whole.

His brother—unconscious and helpless—had been snatched against his will. Press-ganged onto a navy ship. He had been the duke; how could that have happened?

A veil of crimson descended before Richard’s eyes, blinding him to reason. This wasn’t him. He was usually calm, genteel, the picture of grace under pressure. This…this wild, fiery creature, consumed by fear for his brother, was alien to him. Yet, it had sprung from within him, a primal force hidden beneath years of polite society’s conditioning.

For months, they had all mourned Spencer, assuming he was gone forever. Only recently had they dared to hope, dared to move forward. Now, this devastating revelation set them back. Spencer had been sent to war, and Richard was left to wrestle with the injustice of it all.

He grabbed Reuben by the collar, lifted him up, and growled right into his surprised face. He didn’t think this was irrational. All he could think was…my brother is at war… My brother is at war! And Richard didn’t even know which one—the French war or the American one.

“Thorne will pay for this!” he yelled into Reuben’s face.

The music around them died. The clanking of cutlery against plates stilled. The murmurs, laughter, and ecstatic moans and groans from behind the curtains of the alcoves stopped. Gentlemen, whores, and servants all stood still and looked at him.

Something sharp and cold cut through his vest and his shirt and poked painfully at his stomach.

“Stand back, my lord,” said Reuben coolly, all drunkenness gone.

A hand lay on his biceps and gently tugged it back. “Come on, Richard,” said Jane. “Let Reuben go. You heard him, he didn’t do anything. It was the wrong man. And we don’t know for sure if your brother was press-ganged. He could have left the city.”

Richard breathed deeply, his head cooling at Jane’s words. She was right. The red-hot fury started to slowly dissipate, even though it still thundered in the pit of his gut. It was like her voice was the only thing that could calm him.

Still holding Reuben, he glanced at her, only to see her wide-eyed face staring at the other corner of the club. Pure horror registered on her face. “Thorne! Thorne’s here!”

Richard looked up. Indeed, as the activity in the room resumed—the musician playing more of Vivaldi’s repertoire, the servants continuing on their way with food and drinks, the men gambling—Thorne casually made his way through the hall, dressed immaculately, with his high cravat and the stiff-standing collars of his coat. Behind him, two tall men followed, identical, with wavy chestnut hair, looking dangerous and menacing.

With a casual, relaxed expression on his face, Thorne nodded here and there, greeting his guests. He looked around, his gaze landing on the tables, on his workers, on the panther, in the way of a master checking on the order of things.

He hadn’t seen them yet.

Richard let go of Reuben, panting hard.

“Let’s go,” Jane said, her grip around his biceps stronger as she pulled him after her. “Quick! Reuben, not a word!”

Richard was still struck from the shock of it all—the hope that Spencer was, after all, alive, the rage of hearing he was dragged onto a navy ship, the helpless fear for his brother.

Jane guided him through a door the same color as the dark teal wall behind the marula tree with the python, which stared at them, and they sank into the dark corridor behind it. Richard barely noticed where they were going as images of Spencer under exploding cannons, hurt and blown to pieces, tore at his mind.

As they passed through the now-familiar labyrinthine corridors, he saw the door to Thorne’s study—where he’d found Reuben’s letter…where he’d been suddenly betrothed to Jane…where he’d intended to find out the truth.

Rage, once again, scalded him from inside. He couldn’t think straight. “Thorne will pay. I’ll file a criminal case against him. He must pay!”

Jane didn’t say anything, only tugged him past the door to the study, then upstairs, and into the apartment she and Thorne shared. Despite the black night behind the windows, Jane’s room seemed like a haven of light with its pale walls and carpet and bedspread in the weak glow of the single gas lamp she’d lit.

With the door closed behind them, he inhaled the scent of her room, all flowery and her, in a desperate attempt to calm himself. His hands shook, his legs felt weak, and his head spun.

Jane put the gas lamp onto the tea table and faced him, her expression one of cautious concern. “You don’t mean it, do you? Thorne didn’t do it, remember? He didn’t do a thing to your brother. Spencer was gone from Portside before Reuben got there.”

Richard growled out and began pacing the room. “I do mean it, Jane. For months he allowed everyone to believe Spencer died!” he exclaimed as he waved his arms. “Most of all, us, his family. It must be a dozen days ago that we learned our brother could be alive and in trouble. Had we known sooner, we could have tried to rescue him. And now he could be at war, Jane! At war. Please tell me, how can I not blame Thorne?”

He stopped by the tea table, his knees feeling shaky. “He may be at war, Jane. And not of his own accord.”

Jane’s face softened as their eyes met. Slowly, she came to him, the skirts of her dress moving around her legs. The thunder in his chest that made him shake in this helpless rage and fear subsided as she approached. In the soft golden glow of the lamp, her gray eyes were a shade of smoky charcoal.

Gently, she took his face in both of her hands, the soft touch of her warm skin like a balm. He stared in the depths of her eyes, feeling like he could forget everything if she only kept looking at him like that.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly. “That must have been quite a shock.”

He didn’t reply, unable to move, afraid to spook her, craving more of her touch, wanting her right here…as close as possible. He inhaled the sweet, flowery scent of her skin, her hair, and could feel his blood beginning to boil—only not with anger anymore.

It was a shock. And so was his own reaction to the news. After all, the fact that Spencer may be alive and lost couldn’t mean anything good. Richard should have been prepared.

Perhaps it was the confirmation. The gruesome story. The fact that Spencer was so alone, without his family, somewhere out there risking his life…

“He’s my brother, Jane,” he murmured. “And he could now be shot at. Under cannon fire. Or drowning.”

She leaned forward, closer to him. So close he could feel soft warmth radiating from her. So close, it would only be the tiniest of movement to meet her lips with his own. His mouth went dry from wanting to do just that.

But it was she who moved first. She planted the softest, petallike kiss on his mouth. Then another one. And another. He stood perfectly still as the feathery caresses stirred a storm far greater than anything he’d just felt when he’d almost attacked Reuben. It took every inch of his self-restraint not to act on his desires.

“We don’t know that, Richard,” she whispered. “I understand how distressing this is for you. It will be all right. At least we now know where to look.”

She flattened her hand on his chest, and even through the multiple layers of clothing, he could feel her warm touch. It was this one thing that undid him. The last of his self-restraint snapped. The only thing that could keep his mind from imagining Spencer dead was her touch.

Her lips on his.

Her body under his.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers, urging them to part with his tongue. To his surprise, she took him in as though she’d waited for him to do it for ages. Forgetting all caution, he devoured her.

His…he wanted to make her his. The woman he loved.

He froze for a sheer moment, pulled back just a little and looked into her dark, glossy eyes.

The woman he loved…

He loved her.

More than he had ever loved Lady Charity.

More than he could ever love anyone else.

The only one who had come into his life and made everything better. Made him a better man.

And all he could do now was hold on to her and pray she wouldn’t leave.

Gently, and yet with an insatiable need for her, he claimed her mouth again.