Page 3 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“It cannot,” Uncle Gilbert echoed.
Meredith frowned, then nodded her head. “I trust my father-in-law will see to that, Lady Margaret. Lord Somerset shallruethe day he crossed me.”
To Juliet, that did not sound quite right. The meaning was clear but the wording was odd. She frowned, watching Meredith as she crossed the room. There was no longer any sign of the wracking sobs, the shuddering breaths, the burning cheeks. She glided with grace and dignity. Juliet did not know what to make of it.
As the door closed behind her, Aunt Margaret rounded on Juliet with fists planted firmly on her hips.
“Now, young lady, since you have decided to entangle yourself in the affairs of this esteemed family, you will hold steadfast to your account. I will not endure the humiliation of you wavering, nor will I forfeit the connections our family stands to gain from this scandalous ordeal. You saw that despicable man strike down Lady Meredith. His name is Lord Horatio, Marquess of Somerset—Horatio Templeton. Remember the details. You can describe him, can you not?”
“Tall and broad-shouldered,” Juliet furrowed her brows in thought. “His hair was dark, and it fell to his shoulders. His face was… square. He looked strong, but not a man yet. More like… a tall boy.”
“Enough of a man for this,” Aunt Margaret harrumphed. “That is good. Remember it and remember what you saw.”
“I did not make it up,” Juliet protested, feeling as though her veracity were in question.
“Good!” Aunt Margaret snapped. “This night shall have grave consequences for the Marquess of Somerset, mark my words.”
CHAPTER TWO
RAVENSCOURT CASTLE
Horatio stood by the window of his father’s study at Ravenscourt Castle, gazing listlessly beyond the glass. Outside, swallows darted from the eaves high above, wheeling playfully over the yew hedges and flower beds.
His vacant eyes drifted down the perfectly straight paths leading to the mere; the jewel of the famous Ravenscourt Gardens. At its heart sat an island crowned with a timber-framed house. How many summers had he spent diving into the lake’s cool depths and lounging on the island’s soft grass under a golden sun?
Those days had once felt infinite, like an endless series of reflections in opposing mirrors, like a time that never was, yet was ever-present.
He frowned, briefly closing eyes as blue as the sky, shutting on the bittersweet memories.
In their place surged another image: the Duke of Marlingford, his face a mask of shocked horror. The memory played out with cruel clarity—the iron-gray hair, a dignified face slackening as blood welled on his lips. Then he was falling, legs giving way beneath him. A flower of red on his breast, spreading insidiously out from underneath his coat. A final, shivering breath...
And Horatio stood, just as aghast, a smoking pistol in trembling hands. His right shoulder ached from the gouge which had been carved there by Marlingford’s earlier shot. A flesh wound only, but it had been enough to jerk Horatio’s aim off by an inch. He had not intended to kill. Would have given anything to undo it.
Fate had reckoned otherwise.
Horatio opened his eyes now. The days of wine and summer were over. The winter of his life was about to begin. And it would be cold and lonely. The society with which he had surrounded himself at his house at Woolstone… they would evaporate like drops of water from a hot skillet.
First, the accusation of assault against a lady. Then the challenge to a duel by her father-in-law. A demand for the satisfaction of honor. All culminating in an unjust death.
A door behind him opened and was slammed shut with the force of a January north wind. Horatio sighed, careful to hide it from the man who had just entered the room.
Uncurling his posture, he twisted to face his father.
William Templeton was a gentleman in the prime of his life. Dark hair the color of coal was only just beginning to silver. The strong jaw and imperial nose that gave his son a patrician dignity was, in William’s greater maturity, the aura of an emperor. Now, those Roman features were dark with fury as he strode across the study towards his son. Horatio braced himself, standing with arms folded defensively, jaw set.
William, Thirteenth Duke of Ravenscourt, stopped in front of him, and then struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Horatio’s head lashed to one side. Another blow landed, whipping it in the opposite direction. Such was the force that Horatio fell to one knee. He instinctively reached for the side of his face, feeling a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. William stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched.
“A great man lies dead because of you!” The old man spat mercilessly. “His Grace, the Duke of Marlingford. A soldier. A Parliamentarian. Above all, a dignified gentleman! What have you to say for yourself, boy?”
Horatio remained on the floor, staring up at his father. He tried to hide the fear that gripped him. He knew that he had lived a life of privilege thus far. A life of society balls and luncheons. Of horse racing and card games.Wine, women, and song. He was unused to confrontation or violence. The duel was the first time he had ever drawn a pistol in anger instead of sport.
“It—it was an accident. I did not intend to kill him,” he shuddered a breath.
“Did notintendit? Anaccident?” William muttered wryly. “So the Duke of Marlingford was killed out of sheer incompetence, was he? Not even the dignity of an honorable death, fighting for the name of his daughter-by-marriage?Murderedbecause you were too incompetent to miss?!”
He reached down and seized Horatio by the lapels of his coat, crushing the delicate fabric in his iron grip. He hauled his only son to his feet, drawing him close enough that Horatio could feel the man’s tobacco-wreathed breath on his singeing cheeks.
“And what of Lady Meredith Templeton?” William hissed. “What of the reason for this duel being called in the first place! Not only a murderer but a ravisher of women? What manner of man have I raised?”
