Page 116 of The Duchess Trap
“Raynsford,” came the smooth, drawling voice from the shadows. “You’re punctual. I suppose I should admire that.”
Felton stepped into the lantern light, dressed in his usual elegance, in a dark coat, silk cravat, and gloves that gleamed faintly in the dim glow. His face bore that same thin smile Duncan remembered from every negotiation, every deceitful courtesy.
“I didn’t come for admiration,” Duncan said evenly.
“No,” Felton murmured, “you came for justice. Or revenge. There’s hardly a difference when a man’s pride is wounded.”
Duncan’s jaw hardened. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
“Ah, yes.” Felton’s smile widened. “Your father. Her father. The fire. Tragic, really.” He said those phrases with such nonchalance that Duncan’s hand balled into a fist, and he had to restrain himself from unleashing a torrent of fury. “But you should thank me—it gave your wife a chance to play heroine. Nothing earns sympathy from Society like a duchess covered in ash and virtue.”
Duncan’s hand flexed at his side. “Careful.”
Felton laughed softly. “Still so restrained. Tell me, did she weep when she thought she might die? Or did she whisper your name like a prayer?”
The blow came fast. Duncan’s fist connected with Felton’s jaw in a clean, brutal arc that sent the man staggering back. The sound echoed through the empty mill.
Felton straightened slowly, blood glinting at the corner of his mouth. “There it is,” he said, almost admiring. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to feel.”
“I came to make you answer for what you’ve done,” Duncan said. His voice was low, steady, far more dangerous than a shout. “Not just to me, but to every man you’ve blackmailed, every family you’ve ruined. You prey on weakness and call it power.”
Felton dabbed at his lip with a gloved finger, smirking. “Power is knowing how to use what others cannot handle.”
“You used Catherine’s father,” Duncan said sharply. “You fed his debts, twisted his desperation, and used it to reach her. You tried to ruinmywife’s work to get to me.”
Felton’s expression flickered, just briefly. “A casualty—to be sure.”
“No,” Duncan said, stepping closer. “It was calculation. You found the weakest thread and pulled until it frayed. And when you couldn’t get what you wanted, you set fire to a house full of children.”
“Baseless accusation,” Felton sneered, though his voice had lost some of its ease.
Duncan’s smile was cold. “Hardly baseless.”
He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from inside his coat and laid them on the barrel between them—signed statements, bank drafts, and one letter bearing Felton’s own seal. “I’ve traced every account, every false transaction. Half the men you bribed have turned on you. The rest are already in custody.”
Felton’s eyes narrowed. “You think a few papers will ruin me?”
“They’ll hang you,” Duncan said. “For arson. Extortion. Conspiracy.”
For the first time, the color drained from Felton’s face. His composure cracked, just slightly, but enough for Duncan to see the cornered, terrified man beneath the veneer.
“You don’t have the nerve,” Felton spat. “Men like you never do. You hide behind the law and your stacks of documents. You’d never risk getting your hands dirty.”
Duncan’s gaze sharpened as he raised his fist and showed off the blood splotches on his knuckles. “My hands are dirty enough.”
Felton’s sneer faltered. He reached inside his coat, and Duncan saw the glint of metal a second before the pistol cleared its holster.
He lunged forward, grabbing Felton’s wrist. The shot went wide, the sound deafening in the enclosed space, shards of splintered wood flying from the nearby wall. The pistol clattered to the floor as Duncan drove his shoulder into Felton’s chest, forcing him back against the beam.
They struggled—Felton striking wildly, Duncan moving with careful precision. His fist caught Felton’s throat, once, twice, enough to make him choke and falter. Duncan pinned him by the collar, the fabric twisting in his grip.
“You think you can stop me by shooting me dead? You think you can save yourself by silencing me? I thrive in silence!”
Felton’s breath came in ragged gasps. “You’re… just like your father,” he rasped. “A brute hiding behind a title.”
Duncan’s eyes flashed. “My father died running from his demons. I’m not running.”
He slammed Felton against the beam again, hard enough to make him stagger. “You played with lives to feed your pride. You made my wife fear for the children she swore to protect. For that alone, I should end you myself.”
