Page 4 of When He Was a Duke
The executioner’s hand moved to the lever.
Time stretched like spun glass, fragile and endless.
Then the lever fell.
The trapdoor beneath Papa’s feet gave way, and the rope snapped taut with a sound that would live in Sebastian’s nightmares forever. For a moment, everything stopped. The Duke’s body convulsed as the noose tightened, his final, grotesque jerk signaling the end.
Papa hung lifeless in the bitter wind.
James collapsed completely then, rocking back and forth on his knees, his shoulders heaving with silent, violent sobs. Sophia went limp in Sebastian’s arms, as if her spirit had simply fled from a pain too great to bear.
But Sebastian remained standing, watching as the executioner cut the rope and Papa’s lifeless body crumpled to the wet ground. His father—his guide, his hero—lay in the dirt like a discarded thing.
Several guards came forward with a stretcher. When they had Papa situated, they lifted him and headed toward the heavy prison doors. Sebastian half-expected James and Sophia to rush toward their father’s body, but they remained by his side. Perhaps they knew, as he did, that Papa’s soul was no longer there.
Around them, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring amongst themselves about the spectacle they’d witnessed, their bloodthirsty desires satisfied.
Damn them all.
Sebastian stood among the wreckage of their childhood, his heart a gaping wound. But something else was taking root there, something colder, more deliberate than simple grief. Not just vengeance, though that burned in him like Greek fire. It was purpose, sharp and clean as a blade.
He would not simply restore their name. He would destroy the man who had orchestrated this travesty. Viscount Wentworth would pay for every lie he had told, every piece of false evidence he hadplanted, every moment of suffering he had inflicted upon their family.
Sebastian would learn the art of patience. He would master the games of power and politics that had defeated his father. He would become everything he needed to see justice done. He would ensure his siblings lived full lives—ones that fulfilled their father’s wishes. With opportunities and freedom. And love. That most of all.
And he would never, not for a single day of his life, forget the sound of that rope going taut, or the way his father had smiled at them even as death reached up to claim him.
The boy who had walked to Newgate Prison that morning was gone. The boy who had once read peacefully by the fire while snow fell beyond the windows was nothing but a memory.
In his place stood someone harder, colder, infinitely more dangerous.
Someone who would make the world remember the name Ashford—and tremble at it.
Someone who would make Viscount Wentworth suffer.
Chapter One
On a quietJuly evening, Sebastian Ashford stood at the edge of Brighton’s Lower Town docks, watching the sun bleed gold and crimson across the English Channel. Twelve years of planning, and he was no closer to destroying the man who had murdered his father.
The visit to Ashford Hall that afternoon had left him raw. Weeds choked the circular drive where carriages had once delivered distinguished guests. The family crest on the rusted gates was barely visible beneath years of neglect and salt air. Everything they had been, everything they should have inherited, was rotting away while Viscount Wentworth lived in luxury built on lies.
Sebastian turned from the water, his jaw set with familiar resolve. Time to get back to work. James would need help at the tavern tonight, and Sebastian couldn’t afford to lose himself in bitterness. Not when he still had a promise to keep.
The narrow streets leading back to the Stag & Anchor reeked of rotting kelp and despair. Sebastian passed the usual collection of drunks and whores, dice games and stolen goods changing hands in shadowed doorways. This was their world now, not by choice, but by the machinations of a man who should have hanged instead of Papa.
The tavern’s sign creaked overhead as Sebastian pushed through the entrance. He breathed in the familiar scents of spilled ale, woodsmoke, and damp, salty sea air that had seeped into the bones of the place. Pipe smoke curled from the mouths of men, drifting up tolinger against the soot-darkened beams. Lanterns swung from the ceiling, their golden glow flickering against stone walls that had witnessed decades of Brighton’s rougher trade.
The scrape of chairs on uneven floorboards and the occasional burst of raucous laughter filled the air. No matter the evening, it was always the same here. Sebastian might have found solace in the familiarity of it all, but he most decidedly did not. Although he respected the men who frequented establishments like this, he could not help but feel misplaced. He’d been meant to be a lord, not one of these roughnecks. His family’s estate was only miles from here, decaying in the briny air with nothing but ghosts to roam the hallways. Yet here he was.
Tonight, as most evenings, the establishment hosted men who worked with their hands and bodies. A table of sailors played a loud game of dice, their coins clinking against the crude wooden table. Hands calloused and scarred from rope work lifted pints or tumblers of rum. Gamblers and rogues sat in the shadows at the far end of the room, well-dressed in fine waistcoats that didn’t necessarily match their station. Thievery was as common as gambling here.
A barmaid dressed in a skirt hitched slightly higher than was proper balanced a tray of drinks while sidestepping a man’s attempt to slap her bottom. Sebastian caught the glint of a dagger tucked into her garter. Smart girl.
James stood behind the scarred mahogany bar, sleeves rolled up, golden curls falling over his forehead as he poured drinks with practiced efficiency. At twenty-two, he’d grown into his strength, but Sebastian could still see the furious ten-year-old who had wanted to fight the whole world on that terrible morning at Newgate.
Sebastian still found it hard to believe that James had won this place in a poker game. How a man could gamble away his livelihood in such a manner was beyond Sebastian’s comprehension. If he could have his old life back, he would never risk losing it again. But Jameshad lucked into a way to make a living when their options were so limited. Out of nowhere, his brother had a business and they could live in the rough rooms above the tavern.
It had been twelve years since they’d watched their father hang. A lot had transpired in those years, none of which had been good.
