Page 23 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

23

Felicity

F elicity’s limbs felt like a bowl of undercooked, wobbly custard, doing very little to support her as she made her way to the sideboard in the castle’s library. The room was stupidly bright in the afternoon light. This castle had too many bloody windows. Was it asking too much that she wanted a dark and dreary castle to mope in? But no, this castle was bright . Sodding inconvenient.

Her visit to Ash’s chamber and the tears that had ensued once she had returned to her own had completely drained her of energy, of feeling. So, she decided she was going to do the responsible thing. She was going to get herself a bottle of brandy and a book—and drown herself in liquor and literature—as any other mature adult would do in her situation. The situation where one loses what might potentially be the love of their life and is forced to marry that person’s son instead.

A hysterical bubble of laughter flew past her lips and echoed in the library while she searched the sideboard. Her plan for revenge had gone awry in the worst, most unimaginable way. Because this intolerable pain in her chest? It was stupid bloody love. And she was a stupid bloody idiot. Who fell in love with the man they were meant to seduce?

It sounded like a terrible gothic novel, so absurd it couldn’t possibly be real. A ridiculous and completely implausible dream spurred on by too much sugar before bedtime. But the hollowness that grew with every beat of her pathetic heart proved it was her reality.

Perhaps if she went to her brother now, Felix would be more inclined to end the betrothal. If her brother knew of her feelings for the Duke, he wouldn’t sentence her to a lifetime with the man’s son, would he? She was sure he would still insist she marry, but at least it wouldn’t be to Ash’s son.

“Felicity?”

Her eyes fell shut. She knew that slightly slurred tone. She had heard it often during the four years they had been betrothed. Colborn’s second love after swiving was drink.

She stood, the neck of a bottle of brandy clutched in her fist, arm loose at her side, and studied her fiancé. He was rumpled from traveling, hair turned up on one end, probably from sleeping against the squabs of a carriage. He was still irritatingly handsome, which somehow seemed unjust. Despite the slight slur to his voice, his blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, were clear beneath his pinched brows. Only a trifle disguised, then. Sometimes Felicity got the impression that Colborn affected a more intoxicated demeanor than the truth.

She uncorked the brandy and took a swig out of the bottle. “Hullo, Colby.”

His lips curved up in a sly smile. “I quite like that dress, fiancé.”

She barely repressed her shudder at his possessive use of fiancé and the insinuation in his tone. She had donned another too-small, too-tight dress since they were all she had left. His eyes scoured her bosom, and his tongue licked over the corner of his mouth.

She set down the brandy on the sideboard with more force than necessary, the bang echoing through the enormous two-level library like a gunshot. She laced her fingers and rested her palms over her chest, hiding the tops of her breasts from view.

“Stop ogling my breasts, Colborn.”

“Why? They’re as good as mine.”

She growled. She wanted to throw the brandy bottle at his fat sodding head. “They. Are. Not. Yours.”

His lids lowered, and his grin grew, his face pure dissolute rake. “That growl was delicious, love. Went straight to my cock.” He stepped forward and cupped her jaw, and she jerked away. “There’s fire in your eyes, something I’ve never seen before. I’d love you to unleash that passion on me.”

She pressed her lips together and prayed for restraint. Perhaps a tiny bit of Ash’s restraint had rubbed off on her, and she wouldn’t kill his son. You cannot kill him, Fliss . Was knocking him unconscious acceptable?

“Hands. Off. Colborn.”

His fingers trailed over her neck, and he tried to pull her hands away from her breasts, but she didn’t budge.

“Stop being such a tease, Felicity. It’s not as if we haven’t been together already.”

Felicity snorted, but he clearly missed the derision in it. Their one time together had been nothing short of pitiful. Short, reeking of alcohol, and completely lacking any pleasure on her end.

“I’m not teasing you. I don’t want your eyes on me like that, let alone your hands.”

He tugged harder and managed to drag her hands down. “You complain that I sleep with other women. Hiding yourself and saying I can’t touch you isn’t the way to get me to stop.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Are you fucking jesting, Colborn? You are not blaming me right now for the fact that your prick has familiarized itself with the majority of England’s female population.”

He cupped her breast, and her stomach turned. She swatted him away, but his hands went right back.

“Fine, it’s not your fault I have a healthy appetite. But perhaps it would be less if you let me feast on you more often.”

Good Lord, she was going to vomit on him. She almost hoped she did.

She grabbed his wrists and held them away from herself. “No, Colborn. Not now, not ever.”

The only person she wanted to feast on her was his father. She almost said so, but she couldn’t do that to Ash. Even knowing it would wound Colborn where he was most vulnerable—his pride.

But her final attempt to sleep with Ash hadn’t been about revenge. It had been pure, painful panic. Her last chance to be with the man she had fallen in love with. And it would hurt Ash if Colborn knew. The question she’d agonized over at Willow Grove—who would she hurt? It wasn’t going to be Ash.

Colborn tried to shake her off and move back to groping her breasts, but she held tight. She had wrestled with her brothers plenty when she was younger. She would put him in a bloody headlock if she had to. The cad would probably enjoy it. She growled again and internally slapped herself when his gaze went from frustrated to heated.

The heat didn’t last long though, as she continued to thwart his attempts to touch her. Frustration furrowed his brow, and his smile was replaced with a flat, pinched line.

“You do realize this little act won’t work, Felicity. You are to be my wife. You have to bed me. You don’t provide any use for me otherwise.”

She inhaled sharply at his words. She already knew how he viewed her, but hearing it spoken aloud? That her sole purpose was to provide him an heir, she a mere vessel for the future Duke of Devonford, cut her to the core. If Felix didn’t grant her release from this betrothal, she would flee. She didn’t know where to, but anywhere, any fate would be better than this. She couldn’t endure the future that awaited her.

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, and that includes marrying you, Colborn.”

They glared at each other, and he attempted a last struggle before petulance painted itself thick over his face.

“Fine! I don’t want you, anyway!” he shouted and shoved her away from him.

She tilted off balance at his abrupt shove and stumbled backwards, crashing into the sideboard. Her back collided with the wood corner and pain radiated up her spine, pulling a sharp cry from her lips. Her legs crumpled, and she dropped to the floor, hands clutching her back as a litany of curses fell from her mouth. Big bumbling bugger fuck!

Colborn’s face went pale and completely slack, eyes wide and panicked. She glared at him. Now he felt remorse? After he shoved her into England’s pointiest cornered sideboard.

He opened his mouth, but before he could form any words, he was ripped from her vision and shoved up against the paneled wall of the library.

“You dare lay your hands on a woman!” Ash roared at his son, holding Colborn prisoner against the wall.

Felicity’s breath stalled in her lungs. The Duke before her was unlike any version of himself she had ever seen. Cool, composed, and reserved Ash had vanished. This Ash was as frightening as the Norse gods and monsters that fascinated him. His chest heaved, body taut and poised—poised to do harm, if the fury blazing in his eyes was any indication. Out of control.

His hand flexed on Colborn’s throat.

“Have I ever laid a hand on you?” His voice ricocheted through the library. “Did I ever to your mother? Have I ever even raised my voice in anger at you until now?”

Colborn’s eyes grew even wider, fear flaring his nostrils with each breath. Still able to breathe, then. Felicity took a breath of her own. Ash still held a semblance of control, despite his grip on his son’s neck. At the moment, he wasn’t going to kill his son, but the rage shaking his frame had her on her feet and padding toward him.

“Yet you think,” he bit out in a hair-raising, soft tone. “You have the right to put a hand to your fiancé, to any woman?”

“B-b-but-but she was refusing me,” Colborn choked out. “She is mine. To be my wife. She has to bed me—”

“She is yours ? She has to bed you?” Ash’s voice rose. “She is not a bloody pocket watch, Colborn. She is not yours. She is a person, not a fucking possession. Not a whore. You do not lay a hand on a woman. You do not force yourself upon a woman.”

Felicity flinched. Ash’s voice dripped with a contempt that was poisonous, deadly—palpably so.

But Colborn, ever the rebellious son, scoffed, disrespect curling his lip. “Oh, like you never forced Mother to sleep with you. Even as a young boy, I knew she wanted nothing to do with you, yet you kept having more children. I wonder how that happened. Like you never harmed her.”

The blood drained from Ash’s face so fast that by the time Felicity blinked, his face had turned ghost-white. The rage, the tremors wracking his frame, ceased, and his eyes dulled, clouded over. He released his son and stepped clumsily backward.

Felicity rushed to his side and grabbed his wrist, but he didn’t look at her, didn’t react to her touch. God, what just happened? It was as though he disappeared, even though he still stood in front of them. Gone. Somewhere deep inside himself, in his purgatory.

She cupped his cheek and turned him to her. “Ash. Ash, look at me.”

A flicker of life sparked in his eyes but just barely. She knew there was no way he had ever forced his wife. She knew Ash. She knew the man he was. He was not that man. He did not abuse women.

“Ash…” Colborn said, and her gaze flicked to his. He looked between her and Ash and then stared at Felicity’s hand cupping his father’s face. “What the fuck is going on here?”

She ignored Colborn and was fairly certain Ash hadn’t heard his son, too deeply lost inside his self-fabricated nightmare. His words about his marriage came rushing back. How there was no love, no affection, nothing at all between him and his late wife. There was something here, in his reaction to Colborn’s words, something telling. She just didn’t know what exactly it told.

She brushed her fingers over his light stubble, and a bit more life seemed to flow back into his blue irises. He reached up to grip her wrist, grip it like a lifeline, and then he came fully back to her, but pain and anger and torment creased his forehead, tightening his features.

“Ash,” she whispered, “Where’d you go? Come back to me.”

He swallowed convulsively, and the muscles in his jaw flexed under her palm.

Colborn’s incredulous tone interrupted their silent conversation. “Seriously, what in the bloody hell is going on here? Are you two sleeping together?”

Felicity finally dropped her hand, and Ash’s gaze shot to his son’s.

“Are you fucking my betrothed? Because that’s rich, even for you, father. You scarcely exist in my life, but apparently you make your presence known when you see a woman you want to bed.”

“Enough!” Felicity spun to face Colborn, slamming her hands on her hips. “God, can you be more of an ungrateful, spoiled child, Colborn? Your father and I are not sleeping together. Despite my best efforts, I might add.”

She stepped forward, and he shrank back. “That’s why I’m here. Thanks for asking, by the way. You didn’t wonder why I was randomly at your family’s country estate when you never asked me here? When you weren’t here? And do you know why you didn’t bother asking? Because you are—” She jabbed a finger at him, thrusting with each word. “—So. Bloody. Self. Absorbed.”

Colborn winced and looked as though he was trying to disappear into the paneled wall behind him. Felicity wasn’t sure if it was her words that caused it, her finger-jabbing, or the fact that her tone would put any reprimanding mama to shame. She didn’t bloody care.

She advanced further.

“I came here for revenge. I came here to bed your father. I was going to rub it in your face and use it as leverage to get out of marrying your arrogant arse.”

She dropped her head back and let out a mirthless chuckle before glaring at him again. “And it would have been glorious . But your father has refused me at every turn. And trust me, I have tried my fucking damnedest. But he is honorable, noble, principled. Traits that clearly skipped right over you.”

He gaped at her. “You-you were trying to seduce my father for revenge against me? What on earth for?”

Her shoulders slumped, and it was her turn to be the one wide-eyed with shock. Was he serious?

“ What on earth for? ” She laughed and palmed her face, closing her eyes while she took a deep breath. “Have you completely lost your senses? You sleep with everything in a skirt. And explicitly said you would continue to do so once we married, yet you expected me to stay home as your little doll of a wife. You were going to make my life miserable. And after this little incident just now, I think I underestimated how miserable. So, yes, I came here under the guise of revenge and escape. Because I will not be your anything,” she spat.

She turned to Ash, and her voice went soft. “But revenge is no longer my aim. I’m afraid to say my desire for revenge was embarrassingly half-hearted. Vengeance fled my person my first day here.” She searched Ash’s gaze, torment swirling there, pain stiffening the muscles of his face. “I may still want in your father’s bed, but my aim is quite different now.”

“I-I do not understand what is happening,” Colborn said.

Ash broke their locked gaze and turned to his son. “What is happening, is you are no longer marrying Lady Felicity Jennings, son. The betrothal is off. I will write to Felicity’s brother immediately.”

Felicity’s jaw dropped in unison with Colborn’s.

“As for you and your petulance, Colborn,” Ash continued. “I think it is time you assumed some responsibility in your life. You are nowhere near fit to be a husband nor, God-help-me, a father to children.”

He paused. Felicity wilted beneath Ash’s stare, and it wasn’t even directed at her.

“After your sister’s birthday, you will go to Brackenridge Hollow. I have some horses being worked with that are not fit for traveling yet. You will assist the stable master with their rehabilitation and with the managing of the estate until the horses are ready to be brought here. It is time you learned the meaning of hard work, of respect. Of decency.”

A weight lifted from Felicity’s shoulders as she stared at a gaping, incredulous Colborn.

She was free.

A delirious warmth infused her, filled every crevice of her being, soft and gently buzzing.

Free.

Colborn sputtered. “Y-you cannot think I will willingly go to Brackenridge Hollow. It’s in the middle of bloody fucking nowhere in the Yorkshire Moors. You cannot decide after five-and-twenty years you want to be a father and order me around.”

She frowned. Well, that seemed oddly telling. It appeared Colborn cared more about his exile than he did about the end of their betrothal. He hadn’t even mentioned it in his complaint. And she was thrilled—truly thrilled that it was over—but Colborn’s response didn’t do much for her pride.

Anger prickled over her skin, itchy and annoying. He would have made her life a living hell, and he didn’t even truly care about her? God, she wanted to slug him across the face. She should have put him in a headlock. That was a woman’s lot, though, wasn’t it? They were tossed around at men’s wills, interchangeable, as plentiful as bloody pebbles.

Ash’s lips pressed tight together, and he drew a sharp breath through his nose.

“You forget who is the Duke here, son. You forget who holds all the power. If you don’t do as I say, I will cut you off.”

He lifted his chin, studying Colborn, measuring him. And his expression conveyed everything. He found his son lacking.

“It will be simple, really. I will pull strings, and you won’t be able to set foot in any of your favorite haunts. No place will accept you. Any debts you build up, any scrapes you get yourself in, will no longer magically disappear.” He snapped his fingers.

“You will be going to Brackenridge Hollow. You do not have a choice. Don’t flatter yourself in thinking you do. I have been soft on you for too long. I have failed you as a father. I am fixing that now. It is time you become a man.”

He stepped up to Felicity, his gaze taking in every inch of her. He spoke to his son, but his eyes never left her. “Now, I am going to escort Felicity to her chamber, because there is no way in hell I will leave her alone in your company again. You will go directly to my study and wait for my return.”

He rested a hand on her back to encourage her toward the door. She sucked in a breath as his hand pressed against the spot where she had collided with the sideboard. His entire body stiffened, and a low snarl ripped from him.

He shifted his hand to grip her waist and turned back to Colborn. “You best pray she does not need a doctor for your transgressions, son.”

Felicity turned with Ash and let him guide her from the library, leaving her fiancé slumped against the wall and gawking at his change in fate.

Not fiancé.

Former fiancé.