Page 3 of My Cruel Duke

Rufus took a few steps closer and cleared his throat to respond. “Your Grace, forgive me, but the valet scarpered the moment he stepped foot into the mansion.” The duke’s jaw ticked as his brows furrowed. “His reason had been the darkness that plagued the place. Perhaps it is time to paint the walls a brighter shade?”

Rhysand shot the older man a look filled with irritation at the subject.

“I have told you this shall not happen. Double the salary offered and get me someone who can do his job!” He thundered, annoyed because it was not the first time Rufus suggested the change. Each time he did, Rhysand had turned him down, and this time would not be any different.

“What is this clamor so early on this fine day?” Slurry words floated around them.

Rhysand turned to see his uncle, clearly jolly from the few drinks he must have hadso early on this fine day. Rhysand sighed as his uncle, Harold Patterson, inched closer. He reeked of whatever he had been drinking. Though he loved his uncle and it had been years since they had been living together, he was not used to the sight or the stench.

“Today is a good day, is it not? We are to celebrate and be merry, for all our dreams have come true,” Harold staggered, but Rhysand was quick to hold him lest he fell on his arse like he had done a couple of times.

Sensing the need to give his master some privacy, Rufus bowed. “Excuse me, Your Grace, sir,” he rushed and disappeared into a corner.

“Lighten up, my dear Rhys. We must discuss how we should celebrate.” Despite his disapproving groan, Rhysand let his uncle drag him to his study where he offered him a glass of whiskey.

“Drink with me.” Rhysand took hold of the glass with long, tapering fingers and brought it to his lips, but he could not find it in him to take a sip. Rhysand, like every man in London, loved to drink. A glass or two of whiskey was a must after dinner, but day drinking had never been his forte. There was already a day drinker in the family, and he doubted they needed another one. Harold took a sip from his glass and dropped it on the large rectangular oak table, a frown on his face.

“What troubles you, my boy? You should be happy today, of all days, that your family’s killer is locked behind bars, and he shall be staying there for the rest of his miserable days.”

It was the truth. After ruthless planning and years of patience, he had successfully punished the man who ruined his life in the only way that was legal. Left to him, a bullet or two in his head would have been far more fulfilling than sending him to prison for debt, but he swore never to stoop as low as his enemy. Societal ruin was a far better punishment since there was nothing Wilson Hislop loved more than his reputation. Without his reputation, the man was nothing.

It had happened on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life, on his twelfth birthday. His mother had asked the maids to prepare a little picnic for the family of four and had been very eager to do it. It was all Rhysand wanted: to spend a little time with his family, laughing and eating until he appeared. Wilson Hislop.

Rhysand shut his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been nearly two decades since then, yet the anger he felt was fresh like the incident had happened just yesterday. His uncle, since then, moved in with him and dedicated his life to taking proper care of him. Uncle Harold never got married or had children because, according to him, Rhysand was enough for him.

He had planned his revenge, and finally, he could revel in it, but somehow, it did not feel as fulfilling as it should have felt.

“I know what you need,” Uncle Harold cut into his thoughts. “You need a drink.”

Rhysand’s lips tipped up a little, “I do not.”

“Perhaps a new property? We should take whatever property Wilson Hislop has left and–”

“I do not care about that, Uncle. It is clear you do not know what I need. You should give up trying.”

“I am your uncle; I shan’t do that.”

Rhysand said nothing and a beat passed.

“You should get married and produce an heir then. Surely, raising your heir will take your mind off things.” Rhysand considered his uncle’s words.

“I have had my fair share of women, Uncle, but nothing can be done about the emptiness I feel inside. A child will not be any better,” he chuckled darkly. “Perhaps it is my curse, the incapacity to feel or long for something, for surviving that afternoon.” Uncle Harold dropped the glass on the table.

“You are notcursed. You just simply underestimate the power of having your own family. A new Season is upon us. Use it to find yourself a proper bride and produce an heir, or heirs, if you wish.”

He shook his head at the older man.

“Finding a lady desperate enough to marry theCruel Dukewill be no easy feat, no matter the number of balls I attend.”

Chapter3

With a deep breath, Penny flattened out her pink dress. The color had been vibrant in its time. It was one of the dresses she had dumped when its Season passed but now dusted off to wear since she was lacking in dresses. She sighed.

Oh, how low our family has fallen.

“You can go in, Miss, but not for long,” the prison guard urged, and with a nod of her head, she entered the room where her father awaited her. It had been three days since her visit to Eleanor had put her in her place, but she had to see her father.

The place reeked of old irons and piss, dark with barely opened windows, and she had almost tripped on her foot from the darkness. If she knew any cuss words, that would have been the right time and place to unleash them. The stench of the place triggered an ache in the front of her head, but she knew it was more than just the stench. It was the fact she was to meet with her father.

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