Page 102 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Sidney put his hand down and whirled around, the pistol wavering in his grasp as he registered her presence.

“Ah, my dear Emma,” he slurred, attempting to reassert his customary charm. “The boy was merely being disciplined. A guardian’s right, you understand.”

“The only thing I understand,” Emma replied, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her throat, “is that you were about to strike my child. Release him. Now.”

CHAPTER31

“Mama,” Tristan choked out. “He said—he said he was going to take you away. That I would be sent to a school and never see you again.”

For a moment, something dangerous flashed in Sidney’s eyes—a glimpse of the true nature that lurked beneath his polished exterior. Then, with visible effort, he controlled himself, releasing Tristan with a slight shove that sent the boy stumbling toward his mother.

Emma’s arms tightened protectively around her son, though her gaze remained fixed on Sidney and the weapon that now hung loosely at his side.

“Go find Martha,” she instructed Tristan quietly. “Tell her to take you to the carriage and wait for me there.”

“But Mama?—”

“Now, Tristan,” Emma insisted, giving him a gentle push toward the path that led back to the house. “I shall join you shortly.”

The boy hesitated, his loyalty warring visibly with his obedience. Finally, with a last suspicious glance at his uncle, he turned and ran back toward the distant lights of the ballroom.

As Tristan’s footsteps faded, Sidney’s posture shifted subtly, the facade of respectability slipping away to reveal the predator beneath.

“How inconvenient,” he said, lifting his pistol once more. “I had hoped to conclude our business without the boy’s involvement, but children can be so unpredictable, can they not?”

Emma forced herself to remain still, though every instinct screamed at her to flee. “There will be no ‘business’ between us, My Lord. Not tonight, not ever.”

Sidney’s laugh held no trace of humor. “I think we are well beyond such protestations, my dear. The boy has seen too much. As have you.” He gestured with the pistol toward a small summerhouse barely visible at the far end of the garden. “I suggest we continue this discussion somewhere more private.”

“And if I refuse?” Emma challenged, gambling on his reluctance to cause a scandal that might damage his carefully cultivated reputation.

His smile chilled her blood. “Then I shall be forced to reconsider my guardianship of young Tristan,” he said. “Perhaps a school abroad would best serve his development—somewhere suitably distant with infrequent opportunities for family visits.”

The threat struck with precision, targeting the vulnerability the dastardly cur knew would break her resistance most effectively.

Emma felt her shoulders sag in momentary defeat.

“You would threaten a child,” she said quietly. “Your own nephew. Your brother’s son. Have you no shame?”

“Shame is a luxury afforded to those with nothing to lose,” he replied, gesturing once more toward the summerhouse. “Now, shall we conclude our negotiations like civilized adults? Or must I summon a footman to send a message to your maid?”

With the last of her options exhausted, Emma moved reluctantly in the direction he indicated, her mind racing for some means of escape. The summerhouse loomed before her, its shadowed interior promising horrors she could scarcely bring herself to contemplate.

“After you, my dear,” he murmured, his free hand coming to rest possessively on the small of her back. “I have waited years for this moment. I see no reason to delay our pleasure any longer.”

“Pleasure?” Emma repeated, unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion. “You mistake fear for anticipation, Sir.”

Sidney’s fingers dug painfully into her waist as he propelled her forward. “Fear, anticipation—the distinction matters little to me. I shall have what my brother so carelessly discarded and, with it, the satisfaction of knowing that the proud Lady Cuthbert serves at my pleasure.”

They had reached the threshold of the summerhouse, its interior cloaked in shadow.

Emma halted, mustering the last of her courage for one final attempt at reason.

“Your family,” she began desperately. “Your wife, your children. Would you truly risk their happiness, their reputation, for this? For a-a sordid encounter that can bring you no lasting satisfaction?”

Sidney’s laugh was ugly, devoid of any pretense of gentility. “My wife understands her place, as you shall understand yours. As for my children, what concern are they of yours? Your sole purpose henceforth shall be to provide me with the pleasures my brother was too inept to claim for himself.”

He stepped closer, the pistol now pressed against her side, hidden from view by the folds of her gown.

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