Page 17 of Taken By the Broken Duke
Horatio gritted his teeth, hands clenching into fists by his side. Beside him was an easel, atop which was a painting from last year’s ball. It depicted a beautiful young woman with a swan mask and a dress of silver and gold. He had been struck by her grace and beauty, using her image to remind himself that those he invited to the Ravenscourt ball were not all bad. That somegood could be found in the society which referred to itself as the ton. Now it enraged him, reminding him of his naivety. He lashed out, knocking it over and sending the canvas tumbling into the Great Hall.
“Get out! All of you! Get out of my sight!” he bellowed.
He seized another picture, this time hurling it towards the onlookers. It bounced off the doorframe and they scattered like vermin. Even Lady Margaret appeared shaken, stepping backward hurriedly and treading on her husband’s toes.
“Not you!” Horatio snapped, pointing at Lord Gilbert, “I will not be accused of depriving that young woman of the services of a physician. No matter what crimes she has committed against me. Take her to one of the guest rooms. A servant will guide you. A physician will be sent for or found among the guests and upon his approval, she can leave.”
He just wanted all of the Godwins out of his house but recognized, even in the depths of his rage, that this might be part of their ploy. To paint him a brute who assaulted a young woman and then threw her out along with her elderly guardians. There would be no coming back from that. No restoration of his name. He would not allow them to do it to him. But his anger needed sating. It could not be contained.
“Now, get out of my sight, the lot of you!” he roared, hurling another picture over the edge. It had the desired effect. The beauty spot became prominent against skin from which all color had drained. Lady Margaret clutched her skirts and ran.
Horatio stood with his hands clasped against the ancient stone of the balustrade. This was the oldest part of the castle, a place where lords of Ravenscourt had stood for generations, looking over the Great Hall below, receiving the homage of their vassals. Now, those below were hurrying out of the room, none courageous enough to look up at the dark figure above them. Horatio looked up into the worn face of a gargoyle carved into the vaulted stone ceiling opposite him. It grimaced back at him, mouth ajar in mocking laughter.
“We are both monsters then,” he whispered, “in their eyes at least.”
A small sound behind him, a subtle clearing of the throat. Horatio knew it well.
“What are your orders, Your Grace?” Hall asked soberly.
“Have a Physician sent for one of our attendees. She will be in one of the guest rooms,” Horatio said without turning.
“I have put her in the Tudor Rooms, Your Grace,” Hall replied, “And a physician has already been sent for. Would nae wait for orders seeing a fainted lass, now would I?”
Horatio grinned bitterly. “Do you know who that girl is, Hall?”
“I think I’m about to find out.”
“Juliet Semphill.”
Hall cursed in French, a language he had learned from captured French privateers and a habit developed due to his late wife’s intolerance of cursing. In English anyway.
“Oui,” Horatio agreed.
“She weren’t on the invitation list.”
“No, sheweren’t,” Horatio muttered, mirroring his subordinate’s speech. “The Godwins brought their daughters and an unnamed other. Now I see why they concealed her identity. She lied to me about her name too.”
“We need to get them all out of the house, Your Grace,” Hall said with conviction.
“No. Then I will be painted a heartless brute. I will speak to the Godwins about their intentions in coming here. When I am calm. There will be no duel today.”
“What can them blackguards be wanting?”
Horatio turned, smiling sadly. An idea was taking shape. A motivation for the lies and the manipulation. It would benefit the Godwins greatly to see their family allied to the Templetons. He could provide wealth and lineage, a great English family. It would elevate them at Court and within the ton, despite the shame surrounding his character.
“What do you know of the daughters, Hall?” Horatio asked.
“One old enough to marry, Your Grace.Frances,her name is. Not yet betrothed. Quite a looker, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
Horatio glanced at a painting on the wall. It showed a woman with hair of molten gold and skin like purest milk. She was depicted sitting while others danced, hands folded demurely in her lap. Horatio remembered seeing her. Remembered how she had seemed to blaze like a sun, even through the crowd of well-dressed lords and lasses. And she reminded him of Juliet. OrElisa,as he had known her.
Reminded him of her in the way that a candle might remind one of the sun, for both cast golden light and warmth. But the candle could in no way compare to the sun, of course. Just as that woman could in no way compare to Juliet.
Juliet, the woman who had deceived him.
He could see it all now. Use the niece to ensnare him and then offer the daughter’s hand in marriage. In exchange for helping to quell the fires of scandal.
“It doesn’t matter how much of alookershe is. I will not be pushed into marriage. I will not be used by the Godwins,” Horatio muttered, bleakly.
