Page 32 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

“ N ervous, duchess?”

“A bit,” Gigi whispered back. “I have friends and acquaintances here tonight. They are already looking at us and talking.”

She wasn’t wrong. They’d arrived at the Grantley residence mere moments ago and were waiting to be announced. Standing at the top of the staircase, Conrad felt the heat of curious gazes from the ballroom.

“Let them look.”

As Conrad lifted her hand to his lips, her ring caught the light and blazed with purple fire. If that wasn’t sufficient proof of his claim, the matching sapphire-and-diamond necklace draped around her throat surely was. The modiste had dressed Gigi in violet taffeta, which heightened the contrast between her raven hair and fair skin, bringing out her vivid eyes. The elongated bodice clung lovingly to her slender torso, the full skirts swaying with her graceful movements. Gigi looked every inch the duchess she was, the kind of woman who made a fellow stand tall with pride to have her by his side.

“By the end of the night, the only topic of conversation will be how beautiful you are,” he murmured. “And what a lucky man I am.”

“I think your announcement might compete for attention.”

Hearing the ruffle of anxiety in her wry words, he said, “You do not have to do this with me. If you wish to go back to the carriage?—”

“I am not letting you do this alone.” Looking adorably outraged at the very idea, she straightened her shoulders, which were rimmed by sensual black lace. “I am ready when you are.”

She squeezed his hand, and he gripped hers. They were next to be announced, and when it was his turn, Conrad gave their names to the steward. At first, the fellow looked confused, but when Conrad gave him a commanding look, the fellow shrugged, probably assuming the name was a coincidence or that he was some distant relation.

“Lord Christian Beaufort and Lady Georgiana Beaufort,” the steward boomed.

Gasps and whispers erupted as Conrad led Gigi down the stairs. The moment they reached the dance floor, they were swarmed by guests buzzing with the need to know who he was and why Gigi, one of their own, bore his last name.

He ignored them, steering her through the throng toward his destination: a small group standing by a potted palm. Well, not all of them were standing. Conrad’s gaze was fixed on the man sitting in a grand, wheeled chair. Fashioned to look like a throne, it appeared to function like a gilded cage. Despite getting regular reports on his brother’s condition, Conrad felt a brief shock at the changes.

Robert’s once stately figure had shriveled. He was slumped in his seat, a blanket draped over his withered lap. His thick hair had been reduced to a few oily strands combed across his skull. The disease had carved into his flesh, leaving scars and collapsing his features. His nose, half-dissolved, left a gaping shadow where an arrogant, hawkish edge had once been. Yet his eyes were the same. Even though they were now covered in a dull film, Conrad saw recognition flare in those pitiless depths.

Robert’s wife, Lady Katerina, stood at his side. Dressed in an unflattering shade of pink, she was a tall, plain brunette who looked as if life had sucked the marrow from her. Deep lines were etched around her eyes and mouth. She watched Conrad like one watches a tiger escaped from its enclosure. Her eldest daughter, Lady Anne, was a younger, less depleted version of her and stood on the other side of Robert’s chair. Next to her was Harold Stockton, a short, balding fellow whose tailoring attested to the universal truth that wealth could not buy taste.

The final member of the cozy group…well, that was a surprise.

“Mr. Godwin.” Isobel Denton’s light laugh was no doubt intended for the surrounding guests, all of whom were avidly eavesdropping. “If this is meant to be a prank, it is far from amusing. You are interrupting an important occasion, the betrothal between Lady Anne and Mr. Stockton?—”

“That is precisely why I am here,” Conrad said. “I couldn’t miss such an important family occasion, could I…brother?”

He was ready for Robert to deny their connection. His Grace’s refutation would be meaningless, for Conrad had documents, meticulously compiled by Marvell: parish records and eyewitness testimonies that established who he was.

Robert bared his chapped lips, revealing teeth rotted at the roots.

“I always knew you would come back.” His words were raspy and effortful. “Like any mongrel, you are a survivor.”

“I’ve done more than survive,” Conrad said coolly. “I believe you are acquainted with my wife, Lady Georgiana Beaufort?”

Looking uncertain, Gigi nonetheless played her part with disarming charm.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Graces,” she said. “Lady Anne.”

“It is lovely to see you, Lady Gigi.” Lady Anne’s mouth pulled into a tight smile. “I haven’t yet thanked you for introducing me to the Chuddums Water Cure. It has worked wonders.”

When Gigi gave her a friendly nod, Conrad’s mood darkened. His family did not deserve kindness from his wife.

“Do you know why I am here?” Conrad asked.

Robert’s gaze darted, but even if he could run, there was no place to hide.

He grunted. “I suppose you’ve come to claim what is yours, brother.”

At the acknowledgement, gasps went up around the room.

Knowing he had won, Conrad expected to feel some sort of satisfaction. Instead, what he felt was coldness and rage. The wrongs Robert had committed against him crowded his head, banging against his skull. His temples pulsed. On the verge of regaining what was rightfully his, he found it wasn’t enough.

I must have justice. An eye for an eye. Your blood for every drop you took from me.

“As your heir and the soon-to-be Duke of Grantley, I came to apprise you of my plans,” he said. “For you see, brother , I will show your family the same courtesy you’ve shown me.”

He heard Gigi inhale. Her presence anchored him—kept him from driving his fist into Robert’s face and caving in what was left of it.

“You…you leave them out of this,” Robert hissed. “This is between you and me.”

At the spark of Robert’s old fire, Conrad was glad. He wanted a fight—a rematch now that he wasn’t easy pickings. His hands curled.

See how Robert enjoys being the weak one. The vulnerable one. See how he enjoys being powerless while I grind my boot into his neck.

“You treated my mama worse than a servant. You separated her and me. She died trying to find a way to fix what you broke.” Fury cleared his head and numbed him. “I will have justice, which means I will take from you what you took from me. I will treat your family like you treated mine. In other words, when I am duke, I will see to it that they have nothing .”

He towered over Robert, who shrank back in his chair.

“Please, sir.” The timorous plea came from Lady Anne, who had turned as white as her dress. “Whatever has happened in the past, this is a conversation best had in private?—”

“I’ve held my silence long enough,” Conrad snapped. “Unlike your papa, I have nothing to hide.”

When Lady Anne pressed a hand over her mouth, her mama took a step forward.

“There is nothing to be gained by airing dirty laundry in public, sir,” the duchess said. “Our family’s reputation affects you as well. Let us reconvene upstairs?—”

“I’ve said what I had to say. Except this.”

Conrad aimed his stare at Stockton, who looked like a cornered hare.

“Stockton, I am Robert’s heir. If you choose to marry Anne, know this: whatever Robert promised you is now void. When I control the duchy, she will have nothing from me.”

Lady Anne let out a soft whimper.

“I am sure what my husband means is that, um, renegotiations will be necessary.” The unwelcome interruption came from Gigi. “He will handle things differently than his predecessor, I am sure?—”

“When I say nothing, I mean nothing.”

At his growled words, Gigi stiffened but kept her polite smile in place.

“Darling, why don’t we discuss this in private?” she said.

He resented that she was siding with Lady Katerina, the wife of his enemy. Yet Lady Anne was openly weeping, her mama huddling next to her, and the pitiful sight gave Conrad pause. He was aware of the onlookers circling like sharks, eager for a taste of blood.

Maybe Gigi is right. I’ve gone in for the kill. I can finish this off elsewhere.

Before he could speak, Robert raised his hand. Conrad froze at the sight of the ring. Now loose on his brother’s bony finger, the circle of gold and its winking ruby ripped a scab from his soul.

How does it feel to be on your knees, Robert? This time, you will be the one kissing the ring. The one to say you’re sorry for existing.

Wheezing, Robert pointed a finger at him. “You…you are not fit to be the next Grantley.”

Rage flooded Conrad. “But I will be the duke. And when I am, your bloodline will pay for your sins.”

As Robert sputtered, Conrad turned to Gigi, who was gazing at him, wide-eyed.

“Let’s go,” he said tersely. “This family reunion is over.”

Grabbing her hand, he dragged her away.