A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (31 page)

“Nothing for the rest of you?” She swept her hand about the room. “Why, you have all this. And…and Marguerite declined her legacy when she married Harry. Furthermore, long before
our
father passed on, he gave George ample funds to found his shipping company—” Suddenly, she saw Rupert in a different light—one striated with shards of blackness.
Why, you self-serving bloody cur—you want it all for yourself.

She studied him intently while an excruciating dawning spread through her. He had never loved her. Not for one minute. How naïve had she been to grow up with a brother who had loathed her, and she had not realized as much.

Her hand pressed against her stomach to ease the physical pain devouring her insides. Had George and Marguerite secretly resented her as well? No, Marguerite loved her, she was certain of it. And George—he’d regularly sent her letters during his school years. And later, when he had taken to the sea, he had sent gifts along with his long letters describing his adventures. He wouldn’t have bothered had he not cared. But she’d never received so much as a note from Rupert.

Realization sent a sour taste tramping through her mouth like an army of unkempt foot soldiers. “You wanted everything all to yourself, didn’t you? Do you resent George as much as you resent me? No, don’t bother answering since it’s clear as day, you bloody pig. A pox on you.”

“
Tsk, tsk, tsk
, Suri. What would the queen think of your language?”

Her mouth fell open. “What would the queen think of—this ridiculous conversation is over.” Her jaw snapped shut. “Where’s Mother?”

He snorted. “She’s hardly your mother, Miss Half-breed. In case you haven’t realized the way things are, allow me to explain. The dowager duchess is even further removed from you than I, seeing as how not a drop of her blood flows through your veins. She won’t see you.”

“Won’t see me?” An earthquake trembled through Suri. Suddenly the library, with the stale scent of cigars still clinging to the walls, with the same brown leather furniture she’d climbed all over as a child, with the books she’d been allowed to arrange by author and then rearrange by title again and again, closed in on her. She didn’t belong here any longer. Papa was gone and she had to go as well. Despite the darkness threatening to close in on her, she stiffened her back and lifted her chin. “And why, pray tell, would the woman who lovingly raised me now refuse to see me?”

Rupert snorted. “Letters from acquaintances were sent from Delhi long before the mutiny broke out telling Mother how you, a duke’s daughter—no matter that you are a half-breed—flirted shamelessly with an Indian and allowed him…certain privileges.”

“Privileges? I did no such thing.”

“Nonetheless, gossip has it you refused to leave Delhi in a timely manner, which forced Marguerite to wait around while you dallied with some darkie prince. Mother blames you for Marguerite having gone missing and wants nothing further to do with you.”

Suri tried to make sense of what she’d heard. The only mother she’d ever known was throwing her to the wolves? When she needed her most? How different was this from a grandmother who had literally thrown her to the lions? Suri’s fingers found her temples where she pressed against the pain throbbing through her head. “Then what am I to do? Where am I to go? I have nothing.” Her words echoing through her head seemed to come from a long way off.

Rupert shot a suggestive glance toward Trent. “You might try lowering your standards and make do.” He waved a hand at Trent in a dismissive gesture. “Now take your—whatever he is—and leave Bridgeford Hall once and for all.”

A peculiar shudder ran through Suri. She blinked away a darkness that threatened to close in on her. Dear Lord, her knees were about to give way.
Mustn’t lose control now—there is Jeremy to think of.
She locked her knees in an effort to remain upright and gathered her strength about her like a protective cloak. “Whether or not the dowager duchess cares to acknowledge me, at least call her down to receive her grandson who is likely out in the corridor this minute clutching a maid’s skirts and listening to every cruel word you’ve uttered.”

Rupert lowered his head and stared at Suri through hate-filled eyes. “Seeing as how Chatham gets the blame for dragging Marguerite off to that wretched country, and seeing as how the boy is the image of his father, the duchess can no longer bear the sight of him.”

“You cannot be serious!” Suri batted away tears and struggled to stand steady on her feet. “Marguerite loved India. She—”

A hand gripped her elbow. Barely aware of her surroundings, she turned to find Trent gently tugging at her arm.

“It’s time to get Jeremy out of here,” he murmured. “You, as well.”

“But—”

“Let things be, Suri.” Wielding subtle force, he placed a hand around her waist and led her into the corridor.

Her stomach wrenched at the sight of Jeremy, wide-eyed and holding on to a maid. “Oh, dear.”

Breaking from Trent’s hold, she rushed over to Jeremy. “Come along,” she said in a voice that sounded far stronger than she felt. “We’ve places to go.” Where in God’s name that might be, she hadn’t a clue.

Taking Jeremy by the hand, she marched out the front door and down the steps alongside Trent without a backward glance. She was certain, very certain, that were she to turn and glance upward, she’d catch sight of her stepmother peering down from behind a curtain. Well, she wouldn’t look up if the sky fell.

Life at Bridgeford Hall was over.

Her stepmother no longer existed.

Spine straight, Suri continued on to the carriage. When they reached the open door, she gathered her skirts, placed her hand in Trent’s, and stepped inside.

They rode in silence down the long drive and through the entry gates. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of her life here. To her right stood the wooden, flower-laden fence she, Marguerite, and George used to sit on for hours, delighting in many a newborn foals’ awkward attempts to find their balance on spindly legs. To her left stood the huge mulberry tree they’d been forbidden to climb after George had fallen from the topmost branch and had broken his arm.

Nostalgia wound a slow dance around the errant corners of her mind. And hadn’t George had a fine time with her and Marguerite waiting on him hand and foot while he’d healed? Played off their guilt for having dared him to climb the blasted thing, he did. Suddenly, she missed George so badly the thought of him somewhere out at sea sent an ache through her bones. And Marguerite, where was she? Please, oh, please, let her be safe. Memories, once sweetly cherished, turned cruel and sank into her like sharp talons.

Despite her concern for Jeremy’s well-being, her inner world collapsed like a house of cards. Tears scalded her cheeks and dripped off her chin, staining the blue of her dress in dark splotches that took on a life of their own. Fisting her hands against her stomach, she rocked back and forth, unable to control her moans.

If only John were here. If only she could curl up in his warm, loving arms and find solace…if only.

Recollections of his scent, of the feel of her body nestled against his became so real it startled her. Lord have mercy, as if there weren’t enough pain to deal with.

She shoved a fist against her mouth. The act did no good. Her sobs were relentless. “I…am…so…terribly…sorry.” She gulped in quick breaths, opened her puffy eyes, and peered at Trent. “I…I cannot seem to help myself.”

Trent studied her with concern, etching lines at the corners of his eyes. “No need to. You’ve suffered a great loss—your inheritance, a loss of home, your family. And Ravenswood,” he added softly. “Add that to everything else you’ve been through, and I’d think something wrong with you if you weren’t spilling over with grief.”

From the opposite bench, Jeremy leaned forward and placed a hand on Suri’s knee. “Oh, Jeremy,” she cried.

“There’s my young man. Well done,” Trent said with a small nod of his head. “Let her know she still has you.” He retrieved a handkerchief from inside his jacket and handed it to her. “Your aunt is in desperate need of comforting and I’m hardly the proper fellow to be called upon.”

Jeremy squeezed her knee.

He’s trying to comfort me?
But he’s only a boy. No, he’s hardly had a boy’s life of late, has he? Not at all.
She grabbed hold of his hand and leaned forward. “Dear Jerri. I do love you so. You know that, don’t you?”

Before he pulled his hand from hers, he gave her a brief nod. Well, such was progress.

Trent, who’d been eyeing the exchange, regarded her with those fathomless obsidian eyes of his that bespoke compassion. Gone again was the unreadable, enigmatic Tanush who’d protected her in her brother’s library.

“I would’ve intervened earlier and got you the hell out of there,” he said. “But I thought it best to hear all of what the new Duke of Bridgeford had to say. I’ll see to an investigation. And if there’s any way of having your inheritance returned, I’ll find it.”

She wiped her nose with the handkerchief. “What good would that do? He’s likely right. And he’s a duke. They get away with most anything.”

Something dark and mysterious flooded Trent’s countenance. He shifted in his seat. “I’ll see to it he is thoroughly investigated on all accounts. I doubt he’s only recently lost his integrity.”

The confident way he spoke gave her pause—and a queer sort of comfort. She leaned her head back against the squabs and sniffed away her tears. “Can people change that much overnight?”

“I doubt it,” Trent said. “Most likely he hid his true nature quite cleverly over the years.”

Suri rubbed her temples in small circles in a feeble attempt to dissipate the ache in her head which had reached thunderous proportions. “He’d always been civil with me up ’til now. I’m just realizing I was rather foolish in assuming everyone loved me with the same regard as I loved them.” She blew out a heavy sigh. “I fear I am severely lacking in sensibility at times.”

Another tear trickled down her cheek. And here she thought there were none left. She swept it away with a gloved finger and bit at her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “We shouldn’t be speaking so in front of Jeremy.”

Trent glanced at her nephew. “On the contrary. Since he’s been forced to grow up long before his time, we need not shelter him from our foibles now. How is he to learn how to decipher his inner conflicts if we shield him from our ability to resolve our own?”

Jeremy tilted his head.

Trent shot a speaking glance Suri’s way.

She nodded that she understood Jeremy paid keen attention. She picked up where she’d left off. “As I reflect on things, Rupert was a rather aloof child. But I didn’t feel singled out as someone he despised. I didn’t think his coldness meant he loved anyone the less for it. Whenever he returned from school for the holidays, I simply passed his choleric disposition off as part of being raised to be a duke. I doubt my father had any inkling, either. Knowing Papa, had he been aware, he would’ve found a legal way to stifle Rupert’s arrogant ways.”

Trent wedged a shoulder in the corner of the carriage and stretched out his long legs. “What about George? How was his behavior toward you?”

“George?” She couldn’t quite tell what was playing in Trent’s mind that caused such a question. “I’m certain he cared for me. He even told me so in his letters. And when we were children, he left me silly little gifts. Papa always referred to them as a boy’s show of affection.”

Trent leaned his head back and studied her. “Silly gifts?”

Despite her sadness, a bit of a smile escaped. “Toads in my bed, salt in my shoes, those kinds of presents. He treated Marguerite equally.”

Something mischievous skipped through Trent’s eyes. His fingers tickled the window curtain in an unconscious gesture. “Brilliant. I never once thought of dumping salt in my sister’s shoes.”

“You have sisters?”

“Singular,” he replied.

Suri suddenly realized that with all their time together aboard ship, and with all their deep conversations, she knew little of Trent’s personal life. Over time, she’d observed how he enjoyed watching the sun set over water, that he’d eat anything placed before him except snails, that he harbored a wicked sense of humor, and that he cheated at cards. But as far as his background? He’d slipped that by her without her even realizing. Yet, she’d come to think of him as dearly as a brother. And with as much integrity as she saw in George. They’d traveled far together, but where would they go from here?

“I wonder where we’re headed, Trent? I’m destitute, which puts me in a bit of a stew.”
Oh, dear.
She glanced at Jeremy to see if her carelessly tossed words had any effect on him. He was gazing out the window at the rolling hills dotted with horses and sheep as if he’d heard nothing. She doubted that was the case.

“To Ravenswood Park,” Trent responded, and eased the curtain aside with his gloved fingers, as if searching for whatever Jeremy was intent upon. “Edward and the dowager duchess are expecting me.”

Suri’s breath left her in a whoosh. “Ravenswood Park? Oh, my. How can I go there? I mean, surely you’ll be welcomed, but as for me…”

“Do you mean will they shut you out like what just happened in the only home you’ve ever known?” He turned from the window and glanced down at John’s golden signet ring she was busy twisting around her finger. “I know Ravenswood’s mother,” he said in a voice gone soft. “She’s a good woman. You’ll be welcome.”

“And then what, Trent? Where do I go from there?”

He shrugged. “Take things one day at a time, Suri. You’re on your way to a safe sanctuary. That’s enough for now. It has to be. And don’t forget, a grieving mother and brother await our arrival.”

Suri ceased working John’s ring around her finger and buried her hand beneath her other one, her heart in her throat. Although Trent had not spoken of the letter he’d sent off to what was left of John’s family, it had to have been hard on him. He’d barely spoken for a full day afterward.

“I apologize if I appear insensitive, Trent, but what of John’s younger brother? The new Duke of Ravenswood? You’re quite certain he’ll receive me? Allow me to remain until I can find my own way?”
My own way at what? To where? Dear Lord in Heaven, help me.