Page 16 of My Demanding Duke (Forbidden Love #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HUGH WOKE WITH a start, his body tense and unsatisfied. He had spent the night restlessly turning, sleep finally claiming him only to deliver dreams of Anna. In them, he had not hesitated—he had claimed her fully, right there on the carpet of her bedchamber.

Sleep, he thought wryly as he rolled from his bed, was the only place he might ever claim Anna’s body as his.

Dawn had long since broken; he was late for his session at Lords. With Thompson’s assistance, he bathed and dressed quickly, his mind replaying the evening before. Gravesend hovered at the forefront of his thoughts, and he wondered what exactly had passed between the young lord and Anna. Something had shifted in her after they spoke.

He made his way to the dining room, expecting it to be empty—and stopped short. Anna was seated at the far end of the table, her golden hair swept up like a halo.

"Good morning," she offered by way of greeting. Her tone was cool but at least she was speaking to him.

"This is unexpected,” Hugh noted, as he took his seat.

A footman poured coffee for him, then quietly withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"I wished to speak with you," she said, her fingers fidgeting with the white tablecloth.

"About Lord Gravesend, I presume?” Hugh guessed, meeting her cool gaze with one of his own.

"Yes." Anna took a fortifying sip of tea, while Hugh wished that his coffee was laced with something stronger. "I do not understand your objection to him. He seems perfectly amiable.”

It was almost a pity that the question was so reasonable, for Hugh’s visceral response to Gravesend was anything but. He knew his feelings about the lad were based on a hunch and a word of caution—from Bartie of all people—but he knew too that his gut instinct was correct.

"Gravesend is not to be trusted," Hugh said simply, setting down his fork.

"So you have said,” Anna noted, “But that is not an explanation. I require more than vague pronouncements, Hugh. Why should I not speak with him?"

Hugh leaned back in his chair, studying her. He could see the determination in the set of her jaw, the stubborn tilt of her chin. She would not be put off with half-truths.

"Because he has a vendetta against me, and he will use you to exact it," he said finally. "He bears me ill will for reasons of his own making, and I fear he means to hurt me through you."

Her expression softened slightly. "What reasons?"

“I exposed him cheating at cards,” Hugh said with a shrug. “It may not sound like much, but men don’t take kindly to having their reputations ruined.”

“Nor do women,” Anna was dry. “Has he threatened you at all? Has he expressed these plans of revenge to anyone, or..?”

Anna allowed her questions to trail off unanswered. She lifted her tea again to her lips, her eyes regarding Hugh shrewdly over the rim.

"He is not the type to openly threaten," Hugh set down his coffee cup, a little irritated that she did not believe him. “But his intentions are clear; his sudden interest in you is no coincidence."

"He was there the night you won my hand from my father,” she answered, after a slight pause. “He told me that he was there to witness it. Perhaps that is why he has taken a sudden interest in me? You made me interesting.”

Hugh felt a cold weight settle in his stomach as he envisioned Gravesend whispering in Anna’s ear during a private tête-à-tête. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Anna continued before he had a chance.

“He also claimed that you spent our wedding night gambling at The Bird's Nest. Is that true?" she added, delivering her final blow as swift and calm as any pugilist.

The question hung in the air between them. Hugh hesitated, caught between the truth that would damn him and a lie that would insult her intelligence.

His silence was answer enough.

"I see," she whispered, her lips pressed thin. "I do not know who to believe anymore. My father abandoned me. You purchased me like chattel. You claim that it is you who speaks the truth and not Gravesend, and yet you would lie to me too. Tell me this, your Grace, who can I trust?"

She stood abruptly, trembling with indignation.

Hugh rose as well, fighting the urge to reach for her. "You can trust me to protect you, Anna. Whatever else you may think of me, believe that."

"Protect me?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "From whom? The man who might tell me the truth about my husband?"

"Gravesend is dangerous—"

"And you are not?" she challenged. "A man who won my hand in a card game, who spent his wedding night at the card tables instead of with his bride?"

“I did not want to take you until you were ready,” Hugh reminded her—he had told her as much. Surely she could see that this is why he had sought distraction in a gaming hell.

He had not wanted to force her into his bed. He had wanted her willing, he had wanted her ready…

He had wanted all of her, heart included.

The realisation struck him like a physical blow; his yearning a name. Love.

"You keep secrets," she continued, unaware of his inner tumult. "About my father. About Gravesend. About yourself . How can I believe anything you say when you hide so much?"

"Anna—"

But she was already moving toward the door, her skirts swishing with her haste. "Please excuse me, your Grace. I have some urgent engagements this morning."

She left before he could form a response, the door closing firmly behind her.

Hugh sank into his chair, the food before him forgotten. The weight of his many foolish choices pressed down upon him. Every misstep had brought him to this moment—alone, aching, and afraid that Anna was forever lost to him.

With a muttered curse, he pushed away from the table and strode from the room. He needed to clear his head before his session at Lords.

He made for the library, where he hastily poured himself a tot of whiskey for his frayed nerves. He then retrieved his notes from his desk, shuffling through the papers absently, as he tried to recall just what would be debated in Parliament that day.

Above the mantel, Jack’s portrait stared down at him accusingly.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that," Hugh muttered to the painted face. "Not everyone has your charm with women."

The portrait offered no absolution. Perhaps his seeking absolution from a painting was the first sign of madness, Hugh thought with despair.

He hastily arranged the papers into a neat pile and called for his carriage. Only the stultifying atmosphere of The House of Lords had the power to quiet his racing mind.

After several hours spent listening to a debate on agricultural reforms, Hugh was in dire need of a drink. He made for White’s, where the familiar comfort of leather chairs, mahogany paneling, and masculine hush offered a momentary respite from his troubled thoughts.

"Falconbridge," Lord Beaufort materialised the moment the footman set down a decanter of brandy. "Do you know, you’re just the man I was hoping to see."

Hugh lifted his glass in greeting; he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, but Bartie’s inane chatter could usually be managed with the odd nod or murmur of “I see”.

"I...," Beaufort began, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "There's a matter I thought should be brought to your attention."

Something in his tone made Hugh sit straighter. Bartie did not oft opt for gravity when given a choice.

"Go on."

"It concerns your duchess," Beaufort continued, lowering his voice. "There are rumors circulating. Whispers that she has formed an attachment to Lord Gravesend."

Hugh's grip tightened on his glass. "What sort of attachment?"

"That they have been seen in intimate conversation. That they exchange notes." Bartie shifted uncomfortably. "That she may be contemplating an indiscretion."

"Who is saying this?" Hugh demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.

"It's all over the clubs. I believe it started with Lord Percival, who claims to have heard it from Gravesend himself."

Of course. The snake would not dare approach Hugh directly, but he would happily poison Anna's reputation among the ton. Gravesend was attempting an Old Testament approach: a reputation for a reputation.

"It's nonsense," Hugh said firmly. "My wife is beyond reproach."

"I knew as much," Bartie nodded, looking relieved that Hugh seemed disinclined to shoot the messenger. "I thought you should hear it from a friend rather than overhear it in passing. I did tell my source that Gravesend might hold a grudge against you, after all that funny-business in The Bird’s Nest."

“Perhaps you might circulate the rumour, Bartie, that I have every intention of calling the cad out,” Hugh stated, as he softly placed his empty glass upon the table.

Although he felt vindicated that his suspicion about Gravesend was correct, the victory was Pyhrric. If he had been honest with Anna—from the off—she would not have been so vulnerable to Gravesend’s manipulations.

The carriage ride home was interminable, his mind racing with possible confrontations. He would have to speak with Anna directly, warn her of the damage Gravesend wished to exact on her reputation. Would she believe him? Perhaps he should have brought Beaufort along as assurance, he thought wryly.

The house was quiet when he entered, and after a cursory check of the drawing room and parlour room, Hugh made his way upstairs.

He had just reached the top step when a call from below caused him to swivel.

"Your Grace!" Josie called, her voice high with distress. Anna's maid had clearly just come through the front door, for she still wore her cape and gloves . "Thank goodness you're here!"

"What is it?" Hugh demanded, a premonition of danger making his heart race. He raced down the stairs to where Josie stood, her breath short from exertion.

"It's Her Grace," Josie wrung her hands. "She received a note this morning, after you left. From Lord Gravesend. He claimed to have news of her father."

Hugh felt the blood drain from his face. "Where is she?"

"She asked me to accompany her to Green Park. We were to meet him by the fountain."

Hugh stifled a curse of annoyance; had he not expressly forbade Anna from walking alone?

Tears welled in the maid's eyes, as she continued her tale.

"When we arrived, he insisted on speaking with Her Grace alone. I was to wait nearby. After a few minutes, when neither returned, I grew worried and searched for them."

"And?" Hugh prompted, though he already knew the answer.

"They were gone, Your Grace. Both of them." Josie's voice broke and she dissolved into floods of tears. "I searched everywhere, then when I realised that he had taken her, I rushed straight back to inform you."

Hugh stood frozen, the implications crashing down upon him. Gravesend had Anna. He had lured her away with promises of information about her father.

And Hugh knew, with cold certainty, that the young lord had every intention of thoroughly ruining his wife.

He swore an epithet, so violent it caused poor Josie to jump.

“Apologies,” Hugh absently offered, running a distracted hand through his hair. He had to find Anna, and quickly. Luckily, he knew the one man in London who could assist him.

“Do not speak of this to anyone,” Hugh urged Josie, squeezing her arm in reassurance. “I will find Anna before that knave has any chance to harm her.”

“God speed, your Grace,” Josie whispered, wiping away an anxious tear from her cheek.

Without another word, Hugh departed through the door he had only just come through, calling for his carriage.

Hugh arrived at The Bird’s Nest to find the gaming hell half-awake, its windows still shuttered against the day. A yawning footman let him in without comment, clearly recognising trouble when he saw it. Hugh cut through the main hall and strode toward Shatter’s office without waiting for permission.

Daniel Shatter looked up from his ledgers with a startled expression, as Hugh slammed through the door.

“Your Grace,” he said slowly, pushing back his chair. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“I need information,” Hugh said, wasting no time. “Lord Gravesend has taken my wife.”

Daniel’s expression darkened at once. “Taken her?”

“Lured her to Green Park with lies about her father and disappeared with her. I believe he means her harm.”

“I’ll put some scouts on it,” Shatter said immediately, his tone calm. “From Seven Dials to Southwark—if Gravesend so much as breathes, we’ll hear about it.”

“I’ll check the gentleman’s clubs as well,” Hugh said, thinking aloud. “Gravesend’s not the type to work alone.”

“You might start with a known friend,” Shatter suggested, lightly. “Gravesend is rarely sighted without young Lord Lewisham in tow. If anyone knows of his whereabouts, it’ll be him.”

Hugh nodded in agreement; he should have thought of that himself, but his mind was too scattered with worry.

“You don’t happen to know where Lewisham keeps rooms?” he asked, quelling the rising despair he felt.

“Won’t stray too far from behind his mother’s skirts to keep any,” Shatter grunted, as he poured two large brandies for them both. “He’s in residence at Graystone House—and so is the new duke. He was once your friend, wasn’t he?”

Shatter referred of course to Nate. Hugh’s heart gave a leap of hope.

“He still is,” Hugh called over his shoulder, as he raced out the door.

Graystone House stood in silence, looking out over the gardens of Charterhouse Square. Black crepe was tied in thick rosettes along the railings and over the brass knocker, a sign to any visitors that those within were mourning.

Hugh did not wait for his footman to approach the door with a card to seek an audience with Nate, as was usual. Instead, he banged the brass knocker himself, his boot tapping an impatient tattoo as he waited for someone to answer.

After a few moments, a butler appeared, wearing a black armband and offering a low bow.

“Falconbridge,” Hugh said, thrusting his card at the astonished man. “I seek an audience with Graystone, at once.”

“His Grace is in mourning,” the butler stuttered but was unable to protest any further, for Hugh pushed past him calling for his friend.

“He’s in the library, your Grace,” the butler called, desperate to exact some control on the chaos Hugh had brought. “If you’ll just follow me, quietly.”

He led the way through dark halls which smelled of beeswax and polish, until they reached a door. The butler gave a knock that somehow managed to sound apologetic.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Hugh pushed open the door to find his old friend seated in a high-back chair, facing a roaring fire. His head turned as Hugh offered a greeting and Nate quickly rose to his feet, once he realised the identity of his unexpected guest.

The war had carved a maturity into Nathaniel’s face since last Hugh had seen him. His cheekbones were sharp as glass, his chin dark with stubble, and shadows smudged beneath his eyes. He looked, Hugh realised with a start, haunted by the ghosts of the battles he had fought.

“I am sorry for your loss, Nate,” Hugh said, crossing the room to his friend who—he noted with alarm— now walked with a stiff gait and a pronounced limp.

“You of all people understand what a loss a brother is,” Nate—or Graystone as he was now styled—inclined his head graciously at Hugh’s condolence.

Hugh reached out his hand and Nate clasped it, in a strong soldier’s hold, and the two men briefly embraced.

“It’s good to see you, if unexpected,” Nate continued, turning an amused eye to the door where the disapproving butler still hovered. “That will be all, Ronson.”

The butler disappeared and once he was certain they were alone, Hugh told his friend the sorry tale of his marriage, his altercation with Gravesend, and Anna’s disappearance.

“I am not acquainted with Lord Gravesend,” Nate said apologetically as Hugh finished. “I am not acquainted with anyone, after five years on the continent. Though I will call for a horse at once and accompany you on your search.”

“Five years of war has not changed you,” Hugh noted warmly. Nate had always been steadfast, brave and loyal, even as a boy.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the new duke gestured ruefully to his leg.

“You have one connection still, who might be able to shed some light on the matter,” Hugh continued, choosing his words carefully now. “Your brother, Edwin.”

“Edwin, useful?” Graystone raised a dark brow in amusement. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything. He’s in one of the parlour rooms, I believe, sleeping off a sore head. He’s taken the Irish approach to mourning.”

Hugh noted his scathing tone, filing it away for a later date. All was not well between the brothers Lewisham, as Thorncastle had suggested, but now was not the time to discuss it.

Graystone led the way to the parlour room, where heavy velvet drapes were drawn against the late- afternoon light. Lewisham was sprawled across a chaise longue , shirt undone, one stocking half off his foot, a brandy decanter clutched in his hand with the same reverence as a penitent might hold rosary beads.

“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” Lewisham croaked, as the light from the open door spilled across the room.

“I will take but a moment of your time, my lord,” Hugh said dryly, as he crossed the room in three strides and hauled the young lord to his feet by his lapels.

“Unhand me, at once,” the lad squeaked, both confused and terrified by the sudden turn of events.

“I will,” Hugh answered evenly, “Once you tell me where I can find Gravesend.”

If the situation were not so serious, Hugh might have found some entertainment in the brandy-sodden lad’s confusion. Lewisham glanced from Hugh to Nate, beseeching his half-brother to help him.

“Tell him where your friend can be found,” Nate instructed, with a lazy shrug.

“Cheapside,” Lewisham stuttered, as he realised that the cavalry would not come to save him. “He’s taken a room at a boarding house there—The Grand, I believe. He asked a few of us to join him at five o’clock for a lark of some sort.”

A lark? Disgusted, Hugh released the young man from his grip, shoving him so hard that he went careening back into the chaise, spilling brandy all over the rug.

“My apologies, you can send me the bill,” Hugh addressed his friend, as a dark stain spread across the pale carpet.

“I never liked it anyway,” Nate gave an amused grin, then his expression turned deadly. “Come, there’s no time to waste.”

He turned and Hugh followed him, desperately hoping that they would be in time to save Anna.