Page 23 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

T he air was crisp with the bite of early autumn, the scent of damp earth mingling with the distant aroma of burning wood from Alstead Manor’s chimneys. From his position within the dense tree line bordering the estate, Lord Eddington stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the grand house that should have been his victory, his prize.

But the cursed Duke of Alstead had stolen her from him. It was nothing more than spite, he thought. Petty revenge for having diddled his previous wife. Not that he was the only one. Katherine, the former duchess, had been more than willing to spread her thighs for anyone and everyone. But not Violet. She was chaste, innocent… fresh. And bloody Alstead was keeping him from her.

The thought made his hands tighten into fists, his nails biting into his gloves as his lips curled in a silent snarl. Violet belonged to him. She had been promised to him, indirectly, by that spineless wretch, Nigel Cavender, when he had taken Eddington’s coin in a desperate attempt to delay his inevitable ruin. The debt had been clear. The terms had been set. Violet was meant to be the payment. She would be his if he had to pry her from Alstead’s cold, dead grasp. In truth, he might prefer to have her that way.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he imagined just how close he had been to owning her. And now she was the Duchess of Alstead, wrapped in the protection of a man who should have been rotting in a grave already.

Eddington’s breath came sharp and uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears as he watched the house, waiting—hoping—for some sign of her. He had never been a patient man, but for this, he would wait.

Because one way or another, he would have her. And if he could not have her, then no one would. Alstead could spend the rest of his days mourning her.

He had told himself—lied to himself—that his interest in her was merely transactional. That she was simply another investment—a means of reclaiming his fortune and restoring his position in society.

But that was before he had seen how beautifully she carried herself, how her defiant, fiery nature only served to make her more alluring. How the fire in her eyes was unlike any he had ever encountered before. She was not docile, not easily broken, and oh, how he longed to be the one to break her. Violet Honeywell Able would not simply spread her legs for him. But then he didn’t want that.

No, he wanted her shattered, remade into something his and his alone. He would make her beg, plead, bargain and ultimately he would own her. He would own her and Duke would die a slow, merciless death. Knowing that Violet would live the rest of her days under his thumb.

Eddington had been considering the details of it for weeks, ever since that wretched wedding had taken place. An ambush on the road, perhaps? A convenient hunting accident? The Duke was known to ride alone at times, and there were so many ways for a man to meet his end when his enemies were clever enough.

He wanted the Duke’s final thoughts to be of Violet, and how he had failed her, failed to protect her, failed to keep her from falling into the hands of another man. And when he was gone, when the dust had settled, what then?

Would Violet still fight him? Would she still glare at him with those brilliant green eyes, fire, and defiance battling against fear? Would she still hate him when she had nowhere else to run? Eddington exhaled sharply, dragging a gloved hand down his face as a dark amusement curled through him.

Yes, she would fight… And he would enjoy every second of it. He would relish the moment her spirit cracked, the instant she realized that there was no escaping him.

And if, by some chance, she thought she might still outmaneuver him? Well, that was where Ethella and Nigel came in.

The thought made him smirk. They had been useful thus far, providing him with just enough information to keep him one step ahead. But they were fools—Ethella, with her arrogant belief that she could control him, and Nigel, pathetically scrambling for his own survival.

They thought they were conspirators in his plans, but in reality, they were mere tools. Temporary pawns in a game they did not even realize they were losing. Once Violet was secured, once Max was buried, there would be no further use for them.

And while he had been willing to entertain Ethella’s schemes for a time, he had no intention of allowing her to live long enough to claim any part of his victory.

As for Nigel?

The man was as good as dead already.

Debts did not go unpaid. Loyalty was not optional. And Lord Eddington did not tolerate failure.

A faint rustling in the distance drew his attention back to the present, his sharp gaze shifting toward the great house once more. The servants were moving inside, tending to whatever nonsense occupied them, but still—no sign of Violet.

No matter. He would wait. And when the time came—when the moment was perfect— He would strike.