Page 33 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke (Regency Beasts #3)

L ove was a problematic emotion, Theo had always known this. While many of his happily married friends swore that it was the best thing that ever happened to them. He was skeptical about it.

Yes, it might be true, but the process of falling in love was always messy.

He had watched them struggle with their emotions, he had witnessed how they had tried to run from the intensity of their feelings towards their lovers.

It was messy, nonsensical, and entertaining as well.

He had laughed as they fumbled, content with the thought that it would never happen to him.

How could it, when his heart was a block of ice in his chest, swirling in darkness, so thick and poisonous, that there was no way it would yield to such an emotion?

Unfortunately, Fate, with its characteristic wicked humor, had made sure to prove him wrong when it had sent him Cecilia.

Perhaps he had lied to himself first when he convinced himself at their first encounter at the ball, that it was lust, but even then, he has known it was different.

He was quite acquainted with lust, he had built his reputation on it, he knew what it felt like, and what he felt for Cecilia was not just lust, it had been the start of something more dangerous than that.

He had known that, but he was too tempted by her to let her go.

He convinced himself that he could help her play the game of scandal without getting attached.

It was a lie.

From the first moment he had given in to the urge to kiss her, it was out of his hands.

His simple attraction became a craving, one that overwhelmed his thoughts with her.

With every night he took her into his arms, his obsession grew until she was a part of his every breath and he craved her presence.

He was too busy trying to rein his obsession, that he had not realized that he had fallen prey to cupid's arrow.

He had fallen in love.

The thought alone was laughable. He could imagine his friends' amusement if they found out. Alas, he could not tell them, if he did not wish to unleash chaos even worse than the war they had fought in.

Magnus would be livid if he ever told him that he was in love with Cecilia. He would definitely kill him if he found out that he had been corrupting his innocent sister.

While it was tempting to surrender himself to the surreal emotion, he could not love Cecilia. It was forbidden on so many grounds. Apart from the dangers of being murdered by a dear friend, he was not callous enough to bind Cecilia to himself when he had demons haunting him relentlessly.

Unfortunately, forbidden fruits were tempting.

The only sane way to avoid temptation was to flee.

So he was running, running away in search of something, anything that would distract him from the intense cocktail of chaos and longing that swirled inside him, making it difficult for him to breathe or think.

Predictably, he ended up in the underground boxing ring.

Of course, the underworld welcomed him easily, his demons were at home here, this was the only place that quietened them.

He stepped into the ring, hoping that it would work enough to numb him.

Exhaustion was the key. If he was exhausted, he could not long for her.

He did not have to fight the urge to go to her.

He must have underestimated the strength of his emotions, because his usual strategic awareness that was part of the reasons he won these matches was missing. Instead, his concentration was marred by the images of a certain minx.

For every moment of distraction, he paid for it in bodily damage. A busted nose here, a punch to the stomach there and soon his body was a mass of pain so much so that he welcomed the fall when his opponent landed another kick to his side.

He laid there reeling in pain. From the blinding pain in his side he was willing to bet that he had broken a rib or more.

Of course the audience cared very little.

There were boos, cheers and chants, urging him to stand up and fight.

From his peripheral vision, he could see his opponent pacing, eager to continue the fight.

He didn't blame him. Many fighters in this infamous ring dreamt of fighting him, the infamous masked fighter with a mysterious identity.

It must sting that when he got the chance to fight with the 'legend', it was no challenge at all.

While a coward would relish that opportunity, a seasoned fighter would be frustrated by the lack of challenge.

If it was any other time, Theo would have pulled himself up and given him a fair fight, but for the life of him he could not find the will to stand.

His vision was swimming from pain. Distantly, he realized that he was losing consciousness. Ordinarily, he would be afraid but at that moment, he welcomed it as a better alternative to the madness that had infected his mind the past few days.

"Theo," somebody called to him, jolting him to wakefulness. It could not be him. No one knew his name here. He wore a mask to protect his identity.

"Theo," the familiar voice called urgently, closer now. He could make out someone kneeling in front of him, stretching a hand out to help him up.

"You damn idiot," William said when he finally stood up, supporting him when he swayed.

Of course it was William. No one else could recognize him through this mask.

"What are you doing here?" he groaned, clutching his side, craving a stiff glass of whisky in that moment.

"I should be asking you that. I thought you quit this," William bit out as he led him down the ring, towards the exit of the wrestling arena.

"I thought so as well," Theo returned on a laugh. "Apparently, I have not. I have good reason to be here. What are you doing here, leaving your wife alone at home?" he queried in return.

"What good reason would you have to be in this godforsaken place?" William asked exasperated, completely ignoring his question about his presence at the unsavory alley.

"It helps me sleep," he muttered with a smile that he knew would annoy William more.

"I know better ways to fall asleep. You do not have to-" William admonished.

But Theo was no longer listening. His ears having caught on another conversation by a group of young lads just at the entrance of the alley.

"....you should not be so stingy. You are about to become quite rich soon, when you marry that chit. I heard tale that she has quite an attractive dowry and she is quite lovely to look at. You lucky bastard, you ought to celebrate your good fortune with us," one of them said.

"I would not call it good fortune. Lady Cecilia might have a good dowry and she might be pretty if you prefer your ladies looking nosy and pretentious." His friends laughed at the jab.

"I do not fancy her in any way. I absolutely loathe snobs like her," the voice continued.

"Then why marry her?" Another man in the group asked, curiosity bleeding through each word.

"I have a reason for that. Marrying her is the easiest way to get what I want.

Like all English girls, she is not immune to my charm.

The deal will be done soon. I can discard her after.

I have someone even lovelier in mind," the last sentence was said with so much fondness, the men hollered, teasing him with raucous laughter.

Even through swollen eyes, Theo was able to make out their features and as he spoke, he identified the cowardly traitor.

Of course it was Cecilia's viscount. The one that he had imagined sacrificing himself to have Cecilia marry. With every word out of his mouth, Theo felt his blood turn into lava, his body shaking with his anger. His anger made him stronger, fading the pain to the back of his mind.

One moment he was standing close to William and watching them, the next moment he was launching at the group's leader, clutching his collar and landing a punch on his nose, enjoying the crunching sound as his nose broke eliciting a howl of pain from his victim as he crumbled to the ground clutching his nose.

With the unprovoked punch, the other young men scattered unwilling to be involved in the fracas. Theo was not surprised, most young men of nobility were weak at best, they would be no match for a street fight.

His knuckles stung where it had busted open when it made contact with the coward's face, but he didn't care.

"Damn bastard," the sniveling viscount swore, shooting a murderous glare at him from his place on the floor. "Who the hell are you?"

Oh, the fool did not recognize him?

It was understandable, seeing that he looked very different from the duke he had met. He had simple clothes on now, and his face was probably swollen beyond recognition. Even now he could feel it throbbing, but it was a distant concern compared to the anger that still flowed through his veins.

"Why did you approach her?" he roared, uninterested in the fellow's confusion. "Why did you approach Lady Cecilia?"

The coward leveled a wary look at him. "What is it to you?"

He must have noted the murderous look in his eyes then, because in the next moment he asked another question.

"Are you the Duke of Emerton?" he asked timidly.

"It is no concern of yours. If you fail to answer me the next time, I will make sure to beat you within an inch of your life, before handling you over the authorities" he growled.

Hector looked around, concluding that no one was coming to save him, he finally acquiesced.

"I swear I did not approach her for her money. It was my father. He wanted to teach you a lesson, He knows about your attachment to the Blackmore girl. He thinks this is the best way to get back at you. You have made enemies, Emerton. This is all your fault. You are the one to blame for this mess."

"Is that all?" Theo asked in disbelief. The other man nodded.

"I find it inconceivable that a grown man like you would marry a lady simply for your father's revenge. Do you not care about the destruction you would wreak on the lady's life and reputation? You are worse than a coward."

"You would never understand," the other man sneered.

"You have never had to beg for the titles and money and influence you possess.

There are so many like me who have to work hard and still plead like a beggar, before we are granted even a fraction of what you possess.

You do not understand what it means to be on the receiving end of mockery all your life.

To be called a bastard wherever you go, simply because your sire did not deem it fit to marry your mother.

He promised to make me legitimate. He promised to give me the lands and the influence that is my due if I did this one thing.

What did you expect me to do?. Spit in his face? "

"Yes, in fact," Theo replied gravely. "That is what a gentleman would do."

Hector laughed bitterly. "Good thing that I am not truly a gentleman."

While Theo was aware that Hector referred to his illegitimate claim to nobility, Theo believed he had no qualities of a true gentleman, but then most of the members of high society who held titles were not gentlemen either in the true sense of the word.

Spending time in the clubs for men of high society, he had heard them brag about elaborate deceptions that many of them used in trapping unsuspecting young women in marriage that made Hector's plan seem like a child's play.

The females were not excluded from these games, quite a few young ladies had set up their own ruination to trap unsuspecting gentlemen into marriage.

Since time immemorial, ton marriages had always been a game of deception and selfishness.

Each party marrying for some superficial selfish interest. Most men married for dowry and continuation of their lineage, while many noblewomen aspired to marry a lofty title, give birth to an heir and spare, then be free to pursue other love affairs outside their dull and dour marriages.

Love was the exception, not common place.

It was perhaps the reason why they scorned couples who were in love. After all misery loves company.

By the standards of ton marriages, what Hector had done was commonplace and if he had overheard this in a club, he might have minded his business, sparing only a thought of pity for the poor girl in question.

This unfortunately involved Cecilia, and the thought of her being deceived by a man who didn't deserve her, filled him with rage.

"Who is your father?" he asked, his voice dripping with lethal intent. Hector squirmed, uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

"He will kill me if I tell you," Hector answered finally.

"I assure you, you will be dead before he gets his hands on you, because I will kill you myself," Theo shot back on a growl of frustration.

There was a long pause as Hector weighed his options and the seriousness of his threat.

He must have determined that Theo would carry out the threat, because in the next moment he released a single word, the name of the man behind the whole ruse and nothing could have prepared Theo for the shock that ran through him.

In the next moment, he limped over to where William stood watching him while keeping an eye out for trouble.

"I need your help," he said in an urgent whisper.

William raised an eyebrow, but did not ask any further questions, perhaps the urgency in his tone informed his decision to ask questions later. "I need you to help me take this coward," he said pointing at Hector, "to Blackmore's house."

Securing Hector to William's coach outside the alley was surprisingly easy; he had most likely determined the futility of struggle. Once they had him secured, Theo turned to William with a grim look.

"Call for the constables, tell them to come to Blackmore's house."