The Unclaimed Duchess (21 page)

She turned her face. In the firelight Rhys saw a tear slide down her cheek, but she didn't acknowledge it. Nor did she speak again as she slowly walked past him to the chamber door. He stared as she opened it and stepped into the dark, quiet hallway.

Only then did she turn back and whisper, “Good-bye.”

She was gone before he could say anything. The
door shut behind her and she left him in the chamber they had shared, the bed they had shared. She left him alone, just as he had been asking her to do since he discovered the truth about his parentage.

But his reaction was anything but triumph or relief. Without realizing he had done it, Rhys found himself on his knees, staring at the door, staring at the spot she had last stood.

In that moment, in that place, every emotion he had ever avoided, mocked, and feared slapped him in the face. He felt each in turn, though one pushed its way above the rest. One tormented him like no other.

In that moment, he knew with utter clarity just how very much he loved Anne.

His wife, his unwanted duchess, somehow
she
had become his entire world. His reason for rising in the morning, his meaning for living. He loved her without hesitation or doubt, without reservation or qualification. He loved her and she had just left him, not because she didn't return his feelings, not because she wanted something or someone else.

No, she had left him because he wasn't willing to fight for her.

Nausea rose up in him as he struggled back to his feet.

“I must fix this,” he said, needing to hear the words out loud. “There must be a way.”

He had spent so long believing there was only one option to end this blackmail, this nightmare Simon had revealed to him, that he had stopped searching for another answer, a way to fight as Anne had said he would not. Now his mind raced as he frantically prayed for another alternative.

Because now that he recognized how dear to him she was, there was no way he could let his wife go. There was no way he could protect her by abandonment.

He found himself running for the door, tearing it open, and hurrying into the hallway. He wanted to go to her, but he resisted. He couldn't. She needed him to fight now, that was the only way to make her see he loved her. The only way to be certain that the future he offered, when he finally laid his heart bare, was the future that she deserved.

So instead of going to her chamber, he ran down the stairs and called for his horse. Because the beginnings of another plan had come to Rhys's mind. A risky plan, but perhaps the only way to have what he wanted. What he needed. For once in his life, he knew what that was.

And that was Anne.

A
nne smoothed her shaking hands over the silky folds of her spring green gown before she offered a weak smile to one of the ladies who passed by and said hello. The Earl of Rythsdale's annual summer ball was in full swing, but she could hardly concentrate on the gaiety around her.

Not when she was fully aware of the horror about to come.

“Here you are,” Rhys said as he slipped up beside her and handed over a drink. She took the cup with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head. “No, I thank you for coming tonight. I realize how difficult this is.”

Anne arched a brow as she sipped her drink.
Difficult
was something of an understatement. Since their last passionate and angry encounter two nights before, Anne had been tormented. She had returned
to her father's home the morning after their argument, mostly because she couldn't bear to stay in the same place as Rhys when she knew what he intended to do to himself, to her, and to their marriage. Surprisingly he had allowed her to go.

But then when had he ever asked her to stay?

“I wouldn't want to miss your grand exit tonight,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness and sarcasm from her voice. “I am certain it will be the talk of Society.”

Rhys looked at her evenly and Anne squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. Since he had picked her up at her father's home earlier that evening, he'd been behaving strangely, watching her with an expression she didn't fully understand. It was as if he was trying to glimpse her soul and coming quite close to doing so.

“I hope that what happens tonight
will
be the talk of Society,” he said quietly.

Anne pursed her lips and turned away. How he could so callously destroy everything around him was beyond her, but there was no use arguing anymore. Her husband was a stubborn man and he obviously cared little for her thoughts on this or any other subject.

Rhys glanced down at his pocket watch briefly. “The message I received upon our arrival said that Simon and I are to meet with Warren in a quar
ter of an hour in one of the salons attached to the ballroom.”

Anne nodded as her gaze flitted around the room. She found Lillian and Simon at the edge of the dance floor across from them. They both appeared as nervous as she felt, though they stood close together, a united front against the evil bent on destroying their happiness.

Anne shot a glance at Rhys. She had nothing of the kind. By the end of tonight she would be utterly alone.

“Will you dance with me?”

She blinked as she stared more closely at her husband. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled, a knowing, odd expression. “I realize you're very angry with me, Anne. You have every right to be. But I hoped you might put that aside for a few moments and dance the waltz with me. It has just started, and I think it was always a favorite of yours.”

Anne stared at the dance floor. She'd been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the music change or the couples begin to move together. Rhys was correct. The waltz had always been her favorite dance, perhaps because it forced him to hold her close.

Tonight that made her heart sting.

“I don't know—” she whispered, trying desperately to keep her voice from cracking with emotion.

“Please,” he whispered as he took her hand and began to back toward the floor. “Please, dance with me.”

She followed him without answering, mostly because she couldn't help herself. He had always been able to lead her with ease, and truth be told, she longed for this touch, especially if it was to be the last dance, the last embrace he allowed them to share.

Rhys's hand was warm on her back as he twirled her into the crowd of dancers. His gaze held hers, even and strong, as he gracefully maneuvered them in and out of the steps, and soon she forgot everything around her. She forgot the other dancers, she forgot Lillian and Simon, she even forgot the blackmailer who waited in the wings. There was only Rhys, there was only her, there was only the heartbeat they shared as they held each other.

But the music ended far too soon, and Anne blinked as the rest of the room came back into focus once more.

“I—” she began, staring at Rhys.

He took both her hands and lifted them to his lips to kiss each one gently. “I know. Now go and be with Lillian. Simon and I must meet Warren. You may need her support for what happens next.”

Anne blinked as sudden tears stung her eyes. She nodded, unable to stop the things about to come. Unable to even try anymore.

“Be careful,” she whispered as she pulled away from him.

He nodded and then he disappeared into the milling crowd, off to face a villain, off to end her life as she knew it. And all Anne could do was watch him go.

 

“Are you ready for this?” Simon asked as they hesitated before the salon door just off the ballroom.

Rhys nodded. “There is no longer a choice, is there?”

Simon arched a brow. “There is
always
a choice, my friend.”

Slowly Rhys turned to face his friend and brother. “You think my plan to be folly?”

His brother shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps, but in truth, it may be the only way to save us all. I suppose we'll find out, one way or another, soon enough.”

With that, Simon reached out and opened the door. The salon was empty and cold, unlit by a fire since it was not meant to be used by the guests who filled the Earl of Rythsdale's glittering home. Rhys hesitated as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room. He didn't like this, it felt like a trap.

“Warren?” Simon called out, as hesitant and on edge as Rhys. “Where are you?”

There was a rasp of flint, and suddenly a lamp glowed across the room. In the rising light, Xavier Warren limped forward and stared with utter triumph and even a touch of mad glee at the two men who had come to meet him.

“You are late,” he said, tapping the clock on the desk beside him. “Perhaps you should be punished for that.”

“What more can you do but what you have threatened already?” Rhys said with a snort of derision.

“I can think of a few things,” Warren said with a thin smile. “Your wife is a beautiful woman, Waverly.”

Rhys stalked forward a step. “Do not speak of my wife.”

“Why not?” Warren's smile broadened. “Perhaps
she
could have some involvement in this. That was always your father's favorite game, I think it might be fitting to make it mine as well.”

Rage flowed through Rhys as he stared at the vile person who stood, so smug, across from him. This man had murdered, he had stolen, he had threatened, he had done everything in his power to hurt others, and it was all in the name of greed. All in the name of Rhys's real father.

“You know,” Rhys said as he cocked his head and let his gaze flow over Warren once more, “I think I might enjoy what is about to happen even more than I thought I would.”

“Enjoy it?” Warren asked, drawing back a fraction. “What are you talking about?”

Rhys lunged toward Warren, hitting his body with all his weight. Because of his old injury, the other man was already off-kilter and he fell backward, sprawling across the floor with a yelp of pain.

Rhys dug his hand into Warren's coat, searching for the spot where the villain had kept his gun during their last encounter. He hit upon it just as Simon threw open the salon door and allowed three other men into the room, their own weapons drawn.

“What the hell is this?” Warren squealed as Rhys tore the gun loose and thrust it across the wooden floor with a clatter.

Rhys got to his feet, grabbing Warren by the lapels as he did so and dragging him up. He pushed him toward the other men with a nod.

“You see, gentlemen,” Rhys said as he watched Warren stagger into the arms of the military officers he and Simon had asked to come here tonight. “It seems our intelligence was correct. May I present Mr. Xavier Warren, traitor to the Crown. I think you've been looking for him for some time now.”

As two of the men held Warren by his arms, the other withdrew a sketch. He held it up and pursed his lips with a quick nod.

“This looks like him indeed. Mr. Warren you are under arrest for the crimes of treason, murder, and a list so long that it will take hours to present it to you.”

Warren's face crumpled as he yanked and jerked in the arms of his captors.

“No!
You!
” He glowered at Simon and Rhys. “You idiots. Do you think this changes anything? I'll utterly destroy you and all you stand for! I have the power!”

Rhys arched a brow. “I have no idea what you're talking about Mr…. Warren, is it? But you are a traitor to the Crown and I'm happy I could play a part in bringing you to justice. Gentlemen, perhaps you could take him away before he spoils the Earl of Rythsdale's party.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” the main officer said as he bowed slightly. “And our thanks to both of you for helping us with this matter.”

Warren howled as they dragged him out of the room. Simon and Rhys exchanged a look before they followed the group out into the main ballroom. Already the faces of the crowd were turned toward the ruckus, but all sounds in the ballroom ceased as the
officers stepped into the room with their screaming, squirming quarry at their sides.

The Earl of Rythsdale hurried forward. He was a younger man, near Simon and Rhys's age. Rhys's stomach turned as he vaguely recalled mocking Rythsdale when they were boys. But then he pushed those thoughts away as he refocused on the matter at hand. If he survived this moment, he could make up for all the others.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rythsdale snapped as he looked from Simon and Rhys to the officers and back again. “Who is this
person
?”

“A traitor to the Crown, my lord,” one of the officers said with a quick bow for the earl.

Rythsdale looked at Warren with an expression of pure disgust. “In my
home
?”

“Indeed, sir. Planning something terrible, no doubt. But the Duke of Billingham and the Duke of Waverly helped us bring him to justice.” The officer acknowledged Rhys and Simon with a quick bow.

“Bring me to justice?” Warren howled. “No, they only covered their own asses.”

He struggled and managed to free one hand briefly. With it, he motioned to the crowd. “Do you think you know these men? These paragons of virtue? These elevated mice?”

The officers grabbed for Warren and caught him
into their grip again, but it didn't stop him. And Rhys could only watch and wait for what was about to come.

“The Duke of Billingham, this man's father,” Warren screamed as he tilted his head toward Simon. “He wasn't the saint you believe him to be. He fucked half the women of your rank and most of them far below it.”

“That's enough, you!” the officer who held Warren snapped as the crowd let out a collective gasp at both his language and the images he had just put in their minds.

“You can't stop me now,” Warren cried out as he smiled at Rhys and Simon. “You could have, but not now. And this one—” He nodded toward Rhys. “His mother spread her legs for Billingham. The great Duke of Waverly is nothing but a bastard brat of his best friend's father. He's no better than most of the pickpockets on Bond Street. Remember
that
when you look at him.”

A murmur rolled through the crowd as the people around them began to whisper to each other, to stare at Rhys with question, perhaps even glee that he was being humiliated before them in such a fashion.

But Rhys didn't look at them. He simply stared at Xavier Warren and focused on what he had to
do. Because here was the moment. Everything hung on this.

Slowly he moved forward, fists clenched at his sides. He stopped mere inches from his accuser and looked the man up and down with all the disdain the man who had raised him had instilled in him. He returned his thoughts, his demeanor, his tone to the man he had been before all this happened. And it was easier than he would have liked to admit.

“What in the world are you going on about?” he asked with a sniff worthy of the prince himself. “Of course I'm the Duke of Waverly's son. And how
dare
you insult my mother in such a fashion? I should have you flayed from head to toe for such disgusting accusations.”

Warren stared at him, eyes wide. “I have proof!”

“Do you?” Rhys asked more calmly than he felt inside. “Please produce it, I'm sure we are all agog at the idea.”

The other man blinked. “I-I wouldn't be such a fool as to bring it with me,” he stammered.

Rhys shook his head as he rolled his eyes at the crowd in general. “Oh, of
course
. You have proof of this ridiculousness, but not on your person. I'm sure everyone believes you, though. You certainly look like the sort of fellow who can be trusted. What is it you
are accused of again? Treason? Murder?”

The crowd murmured in unison and he gave them another look of incredulity before he returned his attention to the officers who held Warren. “Honestly, what kind of job are you doing that you would allow such a vile dog into our midst? Take him away, his stench is overpowering.”

The officers did not seem to know what to say in the face of his dismissive disgust, but began to drag Warren toward the door. Rhys faced the crowd, hoping desperation didn't line his face. Many nodded, and he heard snatches of their whispered conversations.

“Waverly has always been as much of an arrogant braggart as his father ever was. Who could doubt his paternity?” one lady snickered.

Her companion nodded. “And the Duke of Billingham was far too good and decent for this foolishness to be believed.”

Rhys sagged in relief, for the two women seemed to represent at least two-thirds of the crowd. But to his dismay he also saw the shocked and questioning looks of others. It had been a risk to allow Warren to spill his poison and hope a cold denial would be enough to combat the response. Some of these people would forever distrust that he was who he said he was.