The Other Duke (23 page)

“I wasn’t certain how you felt after our conversation last night,” she admitted. “So I thought it was better to approach with caution in case you didn’t wish to see me.”

He moved around the desk. “I will always wish to see you.”

Those words forced her to look at him, and her expression lit a flickering light of hope inside of him. She still hesitated, yes, but there was something in her eyes that she had never shown him before. A desire that went beyond the physical, a yearning for the connection she had always distanced herself from.

“Serafina,” he said, taking another step toward her. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

She drew in a breath and then shook her head as if to clear it. “Could we perhaps go for a walk in the park? The air would do me good, I think.”

That request was unexpected, and Rafe leaned back to examine her face from a different angle. She was waiting, expectant, fearful, and he finally nodded.

“Of course. Will the one just around the corner do, despite it not being as popular as Hyde Park or St. James?”

She nodded. “I am not going there to be seen, Rafe. I’m going there to talk to you. As long as there is air and grass, I will be pleased.”

“Very well.” He reached for her and was happy when she didn’t flinch as he took her arm.

They walked through the house and out the front door. She was silent as they moved through the streets, nodding hello to his neighbors and hesitating at the corner for carriages. In fact, she said nothing at all until they passed through the gates of the little park nearby.

She sighed and released his arm as she looked up in the sky. The sun reflected on her porcelain skin.

She was utter perfection.

“I have thought a great deal about our conversation last night,” she said, looking at him at last.

He motioned her toward the path, and they walked together toward the center of the park. There were few others in their way, so they could talk openly.

“As have I,” he admitted. “Your words weighed heavily on my mind all night.”

She bit her lip, drawing his attention there. How he wanted to touch her. To kiss her. To somehow mark her as his so that even if she ran away, she couldn’t fully escape the changes he had made in her.

“Did you think of me even when you were with Lady Braehold?” she asked softly, her gaze suddenly focused on the ground.

Rafe waited a moment to answer because he was stunned by that question. Here he had thought his brother a fool to try to spark Serafina’s jealousy with another woman. And yet jealousy was exactly what he heard in his wife’s voice, even after she had set him down on the terrace.

“Yes, actually,” he admitted. “But it is obvious you have questions about the lady. Would you like to ask them?”

She froze. “It would be indecent.”

He laughed. “What is a bit of indecency between spouses?”

She glanced up at him, and he could tell she wasn’t certain whether to smile at his quip or glare at him for the same. She did neither in the end, but shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t—when did you—is she—” She cut herself off with a frustrated sigh. “Crispin said you and the lady were ‘old friends.’ What does that mean?”

Rafe cocked his head. “I suppose you want to know if she is my lover?”

She sucked in a harsh breath at his direct response to her meandering question, and her cheeks brightened to high pink. He hated himself a little for doing it, for he normally would not speak to a lady the way he was speaking to her. But these were not normal circumstances. Everything was on the line now and he couldn’t be so foolish as to pretend otherwise.

“Yes,” she whispered when he continued to wait for her answer. “That
is
what I want to know.”

He hesitated. Telling her the truth was a risk, but he owed her his honesty. That was the only way forward, as difficult as it was. He straightened up.

“She was.”

Serafina’s face jerked toward his, and there was a brief moment where betrayal slashed across her features. Then she covered her emotions with long-practiced grace he truly admired. That ability had helped her survive his cousin.

But he didn’t want her using it with him.

“I see,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t,” he said with a shrug that dismissed anything he’d shared with the viscountess because it meant nothing to him. “Lady Braehold
was
my lover. Once. Before you and I met, let alone were married.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Once?”

He laughed. “It is possible, you know.”

“Then why were you talking to her last night?” she asked.

“Because Crispin reintroduced us. Because it would be rude to refuse to speak to a lady in the middle of a ballroom where others might see and judge us both harshly.”

“It wasn’t out of interest in rekindling whatever you once shared?” she whispered.

He stopped on the path and leaned into her, crowding her space on purpose, forcing her to react by leaning back a fraction. “Are you saying you care, my lady? Because I seem to recall you telling me last night that you did not. That you
would
not. And that you wanted to fulfill that bargain we once struck to live separate lives.”

She clenched her hands at her sides, her cheeks darker than they had been even before and her eyes unfocused. “Will you make me say it?” she finally said, her voice broken.

He caught her hand and lifted it slowly to his heart. “You must, Sera. You
must
say it now.”

“I hated seeing you with that woman, knowing that it had been implied that you were lovers,” she huffed out in one breath. “She was so beautiful, Rafe, and when I looked at you two together I just—”

He grinned and tugged her against him before he dropped his mouth to hers right there in the middle of the park. She gasped against his lips, but then her arms came around his neck and she melted against him, returning his kiss with as much passion and heat and desperation as he felt.

And as much as he would have loved to lay her down and make love to her with the sun kissing her skin, not only was that very imprudent, but they were far from finished discussing the matter.

He set her aside gently and smiled down at her. “Hear me, Serafina. Are you listening, truly listening?”

She nodded.

“I will never lie to you. There were women before you, Lady Braehold being one of them. But they meant very little to me and I likely meant very little to them.”

Serafina swallowed hard. “It is unfair of me to feel these things, I know. I was the one who told you that you should carry on your life, and I know that carrying on will ultimately mean some other woman warming your bed.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you understand? I have no intention of taking any other lover, so your jealousy is misplaced. But I think you and I need to discuss
why
you were jealous.”

Her lips parted. “You’re right,” she admitted, and her shoulders rolled forward. “You’re right, Rafe.”

“Then tell me,” he urged her, motioning her to a bench that sat surrounded by rosebushes that were in full bloom.

She sat and he took the place beside her. As much as he wished to do so, he didn’t touch her. From her hesitation, he knew she needed her space, her own way to come to the conclusion he so desperately needed her to reach.

“You know my past,” she began softly. “You are probably the only one who knows the depth of it.”

“Even more than Emma?” he asked, truly surprised at that admission.

She nodded. “I spared her from some of the worst details, but not you.”

He drew back. What she said meant a great deal. It meant
everything
. “If I earned that kind of trust, I am deeply happy for that,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, her hand fluttering in her lap as if she wanted to touch him, but she didn’t. “You did, Rafe. But you must see how that past has mangled me, not physically, but in every other way. Do you know why I wanted us to live separate lives?”

“Because at the time we made the bargain, we hardly knew each other,” he said. “Why would you want to pledge a life with someone you were marrying three days after meeting?”

She shook her head. “Of course that was part of it, and that I wanted some freedom after a life of prison was also a portion of my reasoning. But it was also that I did not want to risk a life with someone else. When a woman feels things, it makes her vulnerable. I saw that, I felt that, I learned that. It defines me more than any other thing about me.”

He shook his head. “It does not have to.”

She pursed her lips. “I wish that were true, but these things, these fears, they already guide my actions with you.”

He stared at her. “Are you saying you care for me?”

He held his breath as she struggled for the answer, struggled to say things that he knew terrified her to the very core. Struggled to overcome her past and give them both a future he so desperately desired.

“Rafe,” she whispered, turning slightly so that she faced him full-on. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish the words. Suddenly there was the loud bang of a rifle from somewhere in the distance. Everything seemed to slow to half time as Serafina screamed.

Rafe caught her hand and dragged her off the bench and around behind it, hoping the stone surface would protect them from whatever was happening in the park.

“Are you hurt?” he whispered as he held her against him in the dust behind the bench.

She shook her head. “No. But Rafe, you’re bleeding.”

Serafina could hardly breathe as she watched a small circle of blood begin to rapidly spread across Rafe’s right shoulder.

“Let me help you,” she said as she moved to lean over him.

He jerked her back down. “No,” he whispered. “The bench is all that’s giving us shelter. If you get up, you could very well be a target.”

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t think that shot was an accident?”

He shook his head. “If we were in the wooded area, perhaps it might have been someone hunting for his supper where he ought not be. But out in the middle of the park? I would wager that is
not
an accident.”

Their eyes met, and she could see they were both thinking about their conversation not so very long ago about all the accidents that had befallen them. Now they were being shot at…and suddenly her fears were much more founded in truth.

Her lips parted. “If we are the targets, whoever did this is likely coming for more.”

He nodded. “I would guess that is true. Reach into my boot, if you will. I carry a pistol there.”

She stared at him, but didn’t hesitate to do as he had suggested. Indeed, there was a slender, single barreled pocket pistol hidden next to his muscular calf. She removed it and held it out to him, but he lifted a hand in refusal.

“You hold it for your protection. I assume you have shot a pistol before.”

She shook her head. “My father told me that if Cyril wanted to take me on hunts, he could teach me to shoot himself. And he didn’t.”

“Well, you are clever, so you can do it,” he said.

Her heart swelled, but she wasn’t so certain. “Tell me how.”

“The gun is loaded. Now fully pull back the hammer.”

She nodded and did as she was told.

“It’s ready now, but you will only get one shot, so don’t waste it,” he said as he eased up. She saw him flinch in pain with the movement, and her heart caught.

“Rafe.”

“Shhh. Let me look.” He peeked up over the bench and immediately ducked back down. “I don’t see anything, but whoever shot at us is likely reloading their weapon. They’ll have only one shot, just as you do.”

“You should take the gun,” she whispered, her hands and voice trembling at the importance of what he was asking her to do. “You’re more likely to hit whoever is stalking us.”

He shook his head. “I’m hit on my right.” He made an attempt to rotate his arm and grunted with pain. “No, I shoot with my right, Sera. I don’t know that I could do it. I must depend on you.”

Her lips parted at that statement. Depend on
her
.

“Then I won’t let you down,” she murmured.

He cupped her face with his left hand and smiled at her. “You never could.”

“Rafe—” she began.

“Not that I don’t want to hear whatever it is you have to say, but I want you to tell me once we’re safe.” He flashed a grin at her despite the anxiety in his gaze. He was trying to be strong for her. “So we have to move.”

“Where?” She looked around the park. “We’ll be exposed until we get off the path and into that copse of trees.”

She motioned toward the trees in the distance, and Rafe shook his head.

“That is going to be a problem. I’m fairly certain our little friend is hiding there. And we are running out of time if he is reloading, so we’re going to stand up and we’re going to run.” He rose up slightly to look toward the exit of the park. “Run toward the gate. Toward the street.”

“But—”

He got up and dragged her to her feet. “Run!”

She did as he asked, lifting the edge of her skirt and running as fast and as hard as her legs would allow. The pistol was heavy in her hands and she could hardly catch her breath to do as he had asked.

“Help! Someone help us!” she screamed.

As she said those words, she peeked over her shoulder as they left the center of the park. Rafe was behind her a few paces, his hand inside his coat to staunch his wound. He was pale and sweaty.

She slowed her stride. “Rafe,” she panted.

He pulled his hand free. It was covered in dark blood and she gasped in horror. He didn’t allow her to say anything. He just pressed his hand to her back and pushed her.

“Go!”

The gate was just ahead of them, and she scuttled through it onto the quiet street. She spun around and recoiled. There, standing behind the entryway pillar, was Cyril’s mother. She was dressed in full mourning black, with a formal veil draped over her as if she were a death bride. In her hand was a hunting rifle, which she was holding by the barrel.

As Rafe passed through the gate, she swung the gun like a cricket mallet and connected the butt of the weapon squarely with his head. His flesh on his forehead split with the force of the blow, and blood from the gash began to trickle down his face, his neck and merge with the blood from the gunshot wound to his shoulder.

He staggered, his eyes wide as he looked first at his aunt and then at Serafina.

“I’m sorry, Serafina. Run,” he groaned, and then collapsed in a heap in the entryway to the park, sickeningly still and quiet.

“Rafe!” Serafina screamed and took a step forward.

“Stop,” Hesper said, spinning her rifle around in order to aim it at Rafe properly.

Serafina froze in her spot. What choice did she have? Hesper could fire her rifle, and with the barrel almost pressed to Rafe’s skull, he would be dead before Serafina could catch a breath to scream.

The weight of her pistol was heavy in her hand, down amongst the folds of her gown, and she glanced at Hesper. Had Cyril’s mother seen the weapon? It was possible she hadn’t, for she was clearly more focused on murdering Rafe than Serafina at present. And when she ran past, the gun had been at her left side, away from the woman now standing over her husband.

If she could distract Hesper from pointing her weapon at Rafe, she might have a chance to save him.

“Your Grace,” she began, easing the gun deeper into her skirt to hide it. “Please, stop this madness.”

“Madness?” Hesper sent her a glare from the corner of her eye. “This is not madness, little girl.”

She hadn’t budged her gun from Rafe’s prone form, despite Serafina’s distraction. And until Hesper did, she had no leverage that her own gun would grant her.

So how would she get her to stop aiming at Rafe?

The only way was to make Cyril’s mother point the gun at
her
instead. Serafina swallowed and eased not forward but to the side, so that she was within Hesper’s line of sight. She glanced around as she did so. No one was on the street at present, no one around to help her.

So she would have to do what Rafe had said earlier and depend on herself. It was the only way to save them both.

“This will gain you nothing, Hesper,” Serafina said softly. “Nothing will change what has already come to pass.”

“No, but this boy, this awful stain on my family name, will not hold
my
son’s title.”

Serafina caught her breath, trying to maintain the façade of calm she had to present to counteract Hesper’s insanity.

“That is true,” she said. “If you kill Rafe today, then he will not be the duke anymore. But he will be buried as a duke, likely in the Hartholm plot, with full respects due to that station.”

Hesper’s face twisted. Clearly this plan of hers might be well planned, but not well thought through. Which gave Serafina hope that she could inject enough reason into the situation that it would end without murder and further destruction.

“I don’t care where they bury him,” Hesper said, shaking her head. “Just as long as he is dead and gone.”

Serafina flinched as she glanced at Rafe briefly. He was still enough that she feared Hesper already had her wish. He was losing so much blood and she had no idea how bad his injuries were.

She wanted to throw herself against him, to render aid and bring him back to life. But that would not help either one of them now.

All she could do was be strong. Strong like she had been during the years of torment with Cyril. Strong as Rafe said she was, said that he admired.

She owed him that.

“Very well, so my husband will be dead. But his brother will inherit the title from him, so the Flynn line will continue to carry Cyril’s dukedom into the future.”

Hesper’s lips pursed. “Yes, a troubling thought. The younger brother is as bad as the older. Perhaps I will have to see him dead as well.”

“But they are the last to inherit.” Serafina shook her head. “If they are gone without heirs between them, then the title will revert to the crown. It will die with them.”

“Thank God,” Hesper said with a smile.

It was an almost angelic expression, as if the thought gave her enormous pleasure that could not be fully expressed with words. It was a terrifying look, for it revealed how far gone Cyril’s mother was. How she could not be brought back from this plan she had formulated possibly from the moment her son had died and it was clear Rafe would inherit.

“You did those things,” she whispered.

Hesper tilted her head. “Things? I assume you mean all the ‘accidents’ you’ve experienced since you met your husband?”

Serafina nodded. The dowager’s smile broadened, and Serafina knew the answer.

Hesper had insured Rafe’s horses went wild on their first ride together. She had arranged for the carriage that had nearly mowed him down. She had planned the fire in his kitchen. This madwoman’s need to destroy what she couldn’t have, like a petulant child, had nearly killed them both.

It now left Rafe in a heap on the sidewalk.

Serafina had always been good at controlling her emotions. It was something she had forced herself to do over the years. And yet now a set of feelings washed over her that she could not control. She was
enraged
as she stared at Hesper.

And if she could get that damned woman to put the gun on her instead of Rafe, then she would have a chance to end this. And also a chance to say everything she’d ever wanted to say to Hesper, to Cyril, to her father…

“Thank God?” She forced a smile. “Perhaps so. Except that if Rafe dies with an heir on the way, then your plan is far more complicated. After all, you would have to kill Rafe, kill Crispin, kill me and my child.”

Hesper’s eyes bugged out. “Are you with child?
His
child?”

Serafina swallowed. Although she and Rafe had made love so many times that she couldn’t count them, she’d had no indication that she had a child growing within her. But the idea of that child, formed in the passion and the love she felt for Rafe, had a power that was staggering.

Love. In this moment, she knew that was true. She loved the man slumped by the gate. She loved him with everything in her.

And she would do
anything
to save him and build the life with him that he had offered—and she had foolishly tried to push away.

She slid the hand that didn’t contain her hidden pistol over her belly and smiled at Hesper. “You’ll have to wait and see, if you strike down Rafe. How long will it take you reload that gun? Long enough for me to escape.”

Hesper’s hands shook, and Serafina could hardly breathe. If her finger twitched on the trigger, Rafe would be gone in an instant and none of this would have been for anything at all.

“I’ll find you. Find his brother,” Hesper said, almost with a feral growl.

Serafina shook her head. “But I know the truth. I know you’re after us all. The precautions our family will take to protect my husband’s son will be limitless. And
you
will likely be arrested and put in Bedlam after this.”

“Then I’ll hire someone,” Cyril’s mother said, but her tone was becoming less certain.

Serafina shook her head. “Certainly you wouldn’t be able to afford that. After all, the reason Cyril was marrying me was to get at my inheritance. Could you
pay
for the murders of us all?”

Hesper shook her head. “You are trying to distract me, but it doesn’t matter. This one will be dead and you will be destroyed. The rest will follow.”