Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers

10

William Manning rubbed at the ache in his chest, willing the pain to go away, knowing it would not. “I’m coming Maureen,” he said softly to his dead wife’s portrait. “Soon.”

Maureen said nothing, of course, only staring at him, a gentle smile on her lips from her perch above the mantle in his study.

His sweet Maureen. Dead for so many years, but always alive still in his heart. Dead because of him. He'd paid dearly for his part in the betrayal of the Dunbars, his punishment, a lifetime without Maureen.

“I’m sorry, my love. I have done the best I could.” He turned from the portrait to the pages of his confession lying atop his desk.

George Corbett, his greatest friend and his accomplice in treason and duplicity for twenty years. George, who told William to attend that damned house party at the Duke of Dunbar's. George, who knew exactly where those papers were hidden and knew exactly who to sell them to for the greatest amount of money. George, who arranged William's death. George, who was content to allow William to shoulder the blame for all of it.

William looked back up at Maureen’s portrait. She was posed with her hair down, one hand protectively over the gentle swelling of her belly where his son lay. “You're dead because of me.” William dabbed at one eye, his voice breaking in the empty study. “I only did it because I was young and stupid. Father cut me off, but I wouldn’t set you aside. I should have trusted that we could find our own way, but I was a coward then,” William muttered to himself. “And I am now.”

Maureen continued to smile serenely down at him, encouraging him to speak. “I'm very frightened, my love. The Devil has come to Hamilton. Finally. I have made arrangements to keep Jane Emily safe, in case George means to do her harm. And I think he does. Or she doesn’t wish to wed Augustus, which I am certain she does not.” He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t wish her to know I am a traitor, my love, unless there’s no other way. Selfish of me, I’ll admit.”

It took several weeks of convincing on William’s part for George to come around and realize that the Devil was in their midst. “Why does he not just declare himself?” George mused after cards the other night. “What do you think he wants Willie?”

“I think, George,"he’d said “that he wishes to toy with us, as a cat does a mouse.”

George had shaken his head, so arrogant and full of his own self importance. ‘The Crown would never allow him to hurt me. I’m the Governor of Bermuda. I think we should wait, Willie, and let him approach us.”

William thought George a great fool. “A great fool,” he whispered.

No one ever crossed that cursed family and expected not to pay. William would pay the price, gladly, as long as Jane Emily was safe.

Rubbing his eyes, he walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. If not for Jane Emily, he would have confessed his crimes long ago. It would be such a relief to finally be free of the past. George claimed to have not seen his erstwhile houseguest for several days and thought perhaps the heir to Dunbar left of his own accord, but William knew the man wasn’t gone, only waiting. He wanted something, and he imagined it was a signed confession. Perhaps, he even meant to take William back to England in chains. Truthfully, he no longer cared. He was ready.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Sir?” Gladdings, the head butler of Sea Cliff, poked his head into the study.

“Yes?” William took another sip of the brandy. His head ached as dreadfully as his chest. “It's not time for dinner yet Gladdings, is it? And where is Jane Emily? I haven't seen her all day.”

Gladdings, a tidy man who arrived on Bermuda a bond servant and ended up at Sea Cliff, bowed slightly. “Dinner will be ready at half past seven, sir. Miss Jane Emily is upstairs and should be down shortly.”

“Where’s she been all day? Fishing, I suppose?”

Gladdings nodded. “I believe she left a basket with Cook.”

William smiled. Jane Emily was the joy of his life. He adored her eccentric habits, though he never encouraged them.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Gladdings, is there more?”

“Governor Lord Corbett and Lady Corbett sent word that they will be here promptly at seven."

William frowned. “Did I invite them?” He couldn't seem to remember. “I don’t recall.”

“I assumed you did, sir.” Gladdings sounded confused.

William shook his head. His memory failed him. “I’m sure I did. Why wouldn't I? Will Augustus be joining us?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. Only Lord and Lady Corbett.”

William waved Gladdings out. “Tell the Governor to indulge me in a drink before dinner. Please direct Lady Corbett to the drawing room. Jane Emily can keep her company before we dine.”

“Very good, sir.” Gladdings quietly shut the door behind him.

He planned to tell George tomorrow but would now tell him tonight. William had already written out his confession, admitting to all he had done, leaving out George Corbett’s part in the theft. He planned to trade his confession and life, if necessary, for the guaranteed safety of Jane Emily and William’s family in England. The confession lay on his desk now, the lines of words proclaiming his sins standing out starkly against the creamy paper.

Another knock sounded at the door.

Gladdings’ head popped in again. “I’m sorry sir, but you have a visitor. I've explained that you are not available, but he insists and threatens to come in uninvited. Mr. Nick Shepherd.”

William took a deep breath. The Devil meant to have his due tonight it seemed. So be it. His pulse beat his temple, with fear, though he also felt an odd sense of relief. No more playing games.

“Show him in.” William drained the brandy and poured himself another glass. He was in dire need of courage just now.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and made their way to William’s study. Gladdings opened the door wide, ushering Mr. Shepherd through the wide doors.

William didn't look up. His hands trembled against the brandy snifter.

“Good evening, Manning.” The dark voice floated towards him.

“Shepherd.” William looked up, determined to see this through. He tried to keep his features serene and polite. “I mean, my lord.” William nodded. “Would you care for a drink?”

Nick Shepherd, or rather the man who presented himself as Nick Shepherd, strolled into the study to stand before William's desk. Dressed all in black, except for the snowy white of his shirt, the man certainly looked like the devil he was purported to be. The heir to Dunbar smiled cheerfully at William. “Shepherd will do.”

William looked into the odd mismatched eyes, determined to keep his voice even, though he felt like screaming. “Brandy or rum?”

“Whisky, actually. If you have it.” The deep baritone was polite. “You've suspected who I was since that dinner party at Corbett’s, haven't you? You knew I would eventually come to you.”

William nodded. “Yes.” He could hear the frightened beat of his own heart pulsing in his ears.

“I thought as much. Corbett didn't believe you, did he?” Shepherd’s lips twisted into a wry smile.

“No.” He’d tossed and turned at night, wondering how his meeting with the Devil of Dunbar would present itself, but he never imagined having drinks with the man. William found a bottle of whisky hidden behind the decanter of brandy on the sideboard. Dusting off the top he said, “I don’t drink whisky.” He held up a bottle. “Will this do?”

“Indeed, it will.”

William poured out a glass of the dark amber liquid and held it out to Shepherd’s waiting hand, telling himself not to stare at the man’s eyes. Impossible, of course. The contrast of one brown eye and one brilliant blue was so pronounced one could not look away. “I see you’ve finally done away with the eye-patch,” William said stupidly, stating the obvious.

“I saw no point in continuing with the charade. An eye-patch is horribly uncomfortable, especially in this God awful heat. I suppose that is why pirates grow to be so ill tempered. However do you grow accustomed to the weather?” He took a sip of whisky and nodded in approval. “Quite good.”

“Time,” William answered. “One’s blood grows thin over the years and you become used to the heat. I suppose I should freeze in London. Are you taking me there?” He shuddered slightly at seeing the dull wink of pewter on the man’s thumb. The ring. Even as a child he’d heard about the ring and the stories about the Devils of Dunbar.

Shepherd made his way over to a chair facing William’s desk, seeming to assess the piece of furniture. Apparently satisfied, he sat, the chair creaking in protest as the big man settled himself.

Shepherd rolled his eyes in resignation and muttered something under his breath.

“You don't look like your father, if I may say.” The words tumbled from William's mouth.

“You may.”

Emboldened, he continued, lest he lose his nerve. “I recall that your father was leaner, and his hair lighter." You resemble your grandsire. The duke. I assume he is still alive? Or should I address you as Your Grace? I'm afraid I'm not sure what to call you,” William rambled.

“As I said, Shepherd will do for now. I prefer to leave this island as I arrived. Minus the eye-patch. And what should I call you?”

William cleared his throat and ignored the pointed question of his identity. “Then you will be leaving?”

“Yes.” Shepherd sipped his whisky, smiling as he did so. “Of course. There is no reason for me to stay any longer. I have found what I sought.”

A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of William's face. “Me.” He wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand. “I assume, my lord, that you wish me to confess my sins to you?”

“Yes,” the husky voice murmured. “I would have it from your own lips.”

“If it matters, my lord,” he started shakily. “I didn't mean to hurt anyone nor did I wish ill to your family.”

The broad shoulders gave a small shrug. “Ill wished or not, my family was harmed.”

William cleared his throat again and tugged at his cravat. He felt as if he were strangling. He held up the pages he’d written out so carefully only this morning, in preparation for this meeting. “Confession is good for the soul, I'm told. If there’s any saving of my soul. It’s all here.” His eyes watered and he looked away. “I did not know your father would be blamed. The death of your parents weighs heavily upon me.”

“Not so heavily,” Shepherd said, waving a hand about the room, “that you didn’t enjoy the fruits of your deceit. You fled England and allowed all that happened, to happen.”

He winced, knowing Shepherd spoke the truth.

“How did you know about the papers? The list? How did you know to steal them?” Shepherd swirled his whisky as if admiring the dark liquid in his glass. “Who told you?”

“George. I'm not sure if your father told him or—” he shook his head. “I take full blame for the entire affair. I am the traitor.”

“Indeed you are, but you certainly had help becoming one. Manning is not your real name. I have read the guest list of my grandfather’s house party at least a dozen times. George Corbett sent regrets, three of the men I’ve cleared and the other two are dead. Manning is not a name in either my father’s correspondence nor my grandfather’s.” Shepherd's odd eyes glinted. “Who are you?”

William grew very still. “My family believes me dead, and I wish to stay dead. I would not bring my disgrace upon them. You may take me away in chains if you must or kill me on the spot. I no longer care. But I will not give them up, for you would destroy them all without a qualm.”

Shepherd merely cocked his head. “You are of noble birth. Perhaps, the second or third son, aren’t you?”

William could feel the blood leave his face.

“Why did you do it?” Shepherd said softly. “You caused the death of three men whose names were on that list. The French garroted two and had the third tortured.”

William swayed back and gripped the desk for support. Would the demon before him not shut up?

“You purposefully allowed the taint of treason to attach itself to an innocent man. Granted, my father was of no high moral standing, but still, to allow anyone, especially a member of my family to bear the taint of treason, is a most hideous crime.”

“They could never prove anything, my lord,” William whispered, his mouth dry as dust.

“No.” Shepherd growled. “My father did not hang, instead he and my mother became pariah’s within the ton. My family bore the taint of treason and added to it the scandal of suicide. How bold you and Corbett were to do such a thing to my family. And, the men who died. Two of them left wives and children. How do you sleep at night, Manning?”

“George…he never told me—” Dear God. He’d known about this man’s parents but not about the men whose lives he helped end. George never told me all of it—the sum of my evil.

“Did you sell out the lives of three men and ruin another’s life, just so you could have all of this?” Shepherd flung out his arm to include the fine furnishings of the study. “I would have your name.” The words came out clipped and cold.

“I didn't know!” William tried to remain calm but found he couldn’t. “I didn't even look at those damned papers. George never told me exactly what was in them.” William wiped at his eyes. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know your father would be blamed or that men would die. Oh, Dear God.”

“I’m sure Corbett knew exactly what would happen.” Shepherd tossed back the rest of the whisky in one swallow.

“What does it matter now?” William’s voice shook with fear and emotion. “You’ve found me. I am guilty. You have your confession.”

“Why?” Shepherd demanded. “I wish to hear from your own lips why a man does such a thing.”

William spun away from him, tears rolling down his cheeks. The horror of what he’d done, what he’d caused, made him sick to the core of his being. He no longer cared if Shepherd saw his weakness. He wished the man would just run him through and end this horrible conversation.

“Do you see her?” William said wildly, his hand shaking as he pointed to Maureen’s portrait. “I did it for want of her. I got her with child, willingly, I might add. But she was Irish, a maid, and Catholic to boot. I refused to put her aside and my family disowned me. My father sent me packing. I had no skill, no trade.” He turned back to Shepherd and said savagely, “Have you ever been in love, my lord?"

The big man looked away, refusing to meet William's eyes.

William nodded. “Yes, well, then possibly you understand. She died, by the way, only a few years after I came to Bermuda. Childbirth. I told her, confessed to her what I had done and the shock and disappointment caused early labor. She wouldn’t look at me, even as she bled to death upstairs, struggling to bring my son into the world. She and my boy died,” his voice broke, “in my arms. She never spoke to me again, my wife died disgusted with me and what I’d done.” His voice raised an octave and he thanked God that Jemma was still upstairs. “So, you see, my lord, I have been well and duly punished. I have lived an eternity without her. I killed the very thing I loved most. A far worse punishment than even the infamous Devil of Dunbar can mete out.” William took a great heaving breath.

“You have my confession, and you may take me to hang if you wish. I would have your word that if I hand you this paper, give you my name, that you will leave my family, and particularly my daughter, alone. You will leave the Corbetts alone.” William held up the paper. “It's all there, Devil. Your family’s honor will be restored. I will go with you tonight and you may kill me at your convenience.”

* * *

Nick listenedto Manning’s speech and wished he could do as the poor, pathetic man before him asked, for surely killing Manning would be doing him a great service. But he found he could not.

“Have you ever been in love, my lord?”

Nick looked up at the portrait of Maureen Manning and saw Jem.

“I killed the thing I loved most.”

The words, so like the gypsy’s prophecy spoken to Nick on that long ago night sent a prickling, a foreboding through him, and he squashed it down. He glanced back at Maureen Manning again and cursed himself for feeling sorry for the woeful man before him. Nick had his confession. He was taking Jem. Manning he would leave to the fates.

“I have no intention of killing you, nor taking you to London in chains.” Nick put down his glass. “You have my word that your family will not be harmed. Now, I would have your confession,” Nick nodded to the paper Manning held, “and your true name.”

Suddenly, the door to the study burst open, to reveal the corpulent form of Governor Lord Corbett.

“Pardon my interruption.” Lord Corbett sneered as he strolled into the study, an ugly look on his florid features. “I knew if I left you alone, Willie, for a minute,” he raised a finger to emphasize his point, “that you'd fall on your knees whining and sobbing like a virgin on her wedding night. I told you I would handle this.” Corbett waved a be-ringed hand towards Nick.

“George.” Manning's face turned red as he faced his friend, his eyes popping in agitation. He laid his hand on the desk, concealing the written confession from Corbett’s wondering glance.

Corbett, sweat clinging to his forehead, walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Thank goodness I got here before you did something stupid,” he spat.

“I’m not sure what you mean, George.” Manning’s fingers crawled over the paper containing his confession to the edge of the large desk. His eyes flitted to the side.

“Good evening Governor Lord Corbett.” Nick flexed his large fingers, wanting to snap the man’s neck like a bit of kindling. Corbett deserved to die, but that chore would need to wait. He wanted nothing of this evening to hurt Jem, especially not the duplicity of her father and her father’s best friend. Once he and Jem were well away, Corbett would be dealt with. There were other ways to destroy the Lord Governor and in light of Corbett’s sins, Nick thought killing too quick.

Corbett turned to Nick, lips curled in distaste. “Good Lord, your eyes are as ghastly as they say. No wonder your mother screamed as you were first placed in her arms.”

Nick flinched. Everyone in London knew the tale of his birth, it was no great secret, but hearing Corbett say the words out loud still caused a twinge across Nick’s chest. “I would be mindful, Corbett, of what you say to me.”

Corbett's eyes flickered with a hint of fear before narrowing once again. He lifted his chin and replied, his words thick with arrogance, “You should be careful of what you say to me.” He wiped his upper lip. “You are on my island. My domain. All answer to me.”

“Yes,” Nick said softly. “All commanded by a traitor. One wonders what the Crown will think about that.”

Corbett paled a bit but otherwise maintained his composure. “Traitor?” He sipped his brandy. “You've no proof of anything. The ramblings of your drunken sire are not enough to hang a man. Certainly, they weren’t enough to convince anyone of his complete innocence, though I suppose your grandsire kept him from being thrown into prison.

Nick raised his glass in a mock salute to Corbett. “Indeed.”

“Did I tell you,” Corbett’s mouth turned into a malicious grin, “that I played cards with your father? What an incredible waste of title and privilege. He drank like a fish. He found himself so in debt once during a card game that he tore the buckles off his shoes. How we laughed at him.”

Nick said nothing. He wished only to leave, not stay and be baited by the likes of George Corbett. His eyes ran to the piece of paper that Manning now clenched in his hand. I’ve given my word.

“And, let's not forget your dear mother, Charlotte. A more silly, frivolous woman I’ve yet to meet. I’m told she was so drunk she thought your father was joking with the gun and actually put the end of the weapon in her mouth.” Corbett shook his head. “She loathed you. Simply, loathed you.”

“George,” Manning’s face had grown ashen. “Please, don’t say more. His lordship was just leaving.” Manning shot Nick a nervous look.

“Oh, please don’t fuss, Willie. We’re just catching up, aren’t we?” Corbett sipped his drink and regarded Nick carefully. “I wonder that you didn’t just rip off that eye-patch and declare yourself the other night.”

“I wonder that you didn't dispose of me, when you realized who I was.” Nick’s temper flared at the man’s pompous arrogance. “Oh, but then you aren't sure who will come looking for me. And, it’s a dangerous thing, to attempt to murder the heir to Dunbar. You got lucky with my father, I’ll grant you that, but my grandsire and myself,” Nick scratched his chin, “we are not quite so weak.”

Corbett’s hand trembled slightly as he took another small sip of his brandy, but his face remained frozen, hatred for Nick stamped across his features.

“And there is Dorthea, your daughter, to think about.” Nick dipped his head. “Who knows what could happen to her if I don’t return. What instructions I may have left?”

Corbett’s nostrils flared. “Don’t threaten me, my lord, you are not off my island, yet.”

“Stop it! Stop!" Manning cried, setting his glass down on the desk. “There is no reason for threats,” he held his hand up in supplication. “The past is to stay buried.” Manning shot Nick a sideways glance. “Please," Manning lowered his voice, “for Jane Emily's sake.”

“Oh, yes. Dear Jane Emily. My son’s betrothed. The soiled bride to be.”

Nick’s stomach twisted. Damn Corbett. How could he know what transpired that afternoon? “I should take my leave.” He set down his glass and held out a hand for Manning’s confession.

“What do you mean?” A dark purple flush crept up Manning’s cheeks and his mouth hardened. He clutched the papers to his chest with one hand.

“Revenge.” Corbett said cheerfully, lowering his eyes and raising a brow at the papers Manning clutched. “Revenge, my dear friend. Why do you think he disguised himself and walked among us? He was looking for your weak spot. Your Achilles’ heel. I believe he found it, or rather, her.” Corbett lifted his glass in a mock toast to Nick. “Tell him about Jane Emily.”

Nick stood and reached out for Manning’s confession.

Manning's cheeks puffed and his face took on a horrible purple hue. He slid back behind the desk to collapse in the large leather chair that sat there, still clutching the sheaf of papers to his heart. “What," he gasped, ignoring Nick, “are you implying George?”

“Oh, I think you know, don’t you?” Corbett sipped his brandy. “I can’t believe you meant to give him that,” he nodded to the now crumpled paper in Manning’s hands, “after what he’s done. He’s defiled her. Fucked your precious daughter like some common whore.” He reached across the desk and easily took the papers out of Manning’s hands. He held them up, briefly scanning Manning’s words before tossing the pages into the fire. “I’ll have to speak to Augustus about Jemma’s indiscretion, of course.”

Nick’s chest hurt. “Damn you.” Nothing had gone as planned since he set foot on Bermuda.

“Agnes Sinclair was quite distraught over your rejection." Corbett smirked. "She wished to persuade you to take her back to England, so she followed you. Agnes painted quite a vivid picture for her brother. She’s no fan of Jane Emily’s, I’ll warrant. Her brother was absolutely horrified. Distraught. He came straight to me.” Corbett patted Manning on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Willie, I paid him well not to repeat the story. We can’t have my son’s future wife be known as a slut.”

Manning panted, like a dying dog, behind the desk. “I meant to do the right thing.” He lifted a shaking finger towards Nick. “And you ruined my daughter?”

Corbett lifted a brow at Nick. “Why, she could be carrying his bastard right now!”

Nick watched the last wisps of Manning’s confession blacken and burn in the fireplace and cursed George Corbett. Years of planning and searching for the man who betrayed England and framed Nick’s father became ashes before his eyes. He told himself it didn’t matter. All that mattered now, was leaving this island, alive, with Jem. He would need to take her now. “Move.” He snarled at Corbett.

Corbett didn't budge. “Tell us all what happened on the beach with Jane Emily.”

Manning stood on shaky legs and approached Nick. His skin had turned greenish gray and his eyes were crazed. “You defiled my daughter. You filthy bounder.” Manning lurched forward.

“Deny it. Deny you ruined her.” Corbett’s eyes flitted to the open doorway.

“I do not deny it.” Nick walked deftly past Corbett.

“I thought not. You didn't get what you came for, and you've sullied Jane Emily. You’ll get not a farthing here. Now, get out,” Corbett said, his voice rising loudly. “Get out I say!” Corbett looked past Nick into the hall as if he saw someone there.

Nick puzzled for only a moment over Corbett’s odd comment before walking from the room. He didn’t think that Corbett would have the audacity to try to kill him, but he didn’t intend to stay long enough in Bermuda to find out. Nick felt the reassuring weight of his knife in his boot and hoped he could find Jem quickly.

As it turned out, Nick didn’t need to look for Jem at all.

She stood just outside the study door, her hands trembling against the folds of her skirts, looking for all the world like a wounded animal. Her eyes widened as she took him in, though he doubted she could see his face clearly in the dim light.

He knew from her stance that she’d heard every vile word George Corbett spoke. “Jem.”

“You ruined me for money?” She swayed and reached for the wall to steady herself. “Why?” Pain and betrayal etched the lovely planes of her face.

A thud, of a body falling to the floor, came from inside the study.

Jem jumped at the sound, her eyes flying to the open study doors.

“God’s blood!” Corbett shouted. “William. Shepherd’s killed him.”

She turned from him and ran into the study, falling to her knees before the collapsed form of her father.

George Corbett regarded Nick over Jem’s shoulder, his eyes flickering with triumph. “Oh no!” His eyes never left Nick’s face. “William has collapsed from the shock. Money in return for your reputation. Blackmail.”

Nick turned and walked as quickly as he could out of Sea Cliff, his mind racing. He brushed past the shocked butler who had let him in barely an hour before.

The house erupted into a frenzy as the butler screamed out an order to send for the doctor while Lady Corbett burst from the drawing room.

No one stopped Nick on his way out the door. He quickly counted the number of servants, the location of the stairs and wished he knew the exact location of Jem’s bedroom.

His boots crunched across the gravel drive as he moved towards his horse. Jem would fight him now, every step of the way, thanks to George Corbett. He would have to find a place to hide, then break into Sea Cliff once everyone was abed. Kidnapping would now be added to the list of his crimes, for Jem was going with him, whether she willed it or not.

The first blow hit him across his face, and he felt his nose break. The second blow, from a cudgel, hit him in the temple and drove him to his knees.

“Hello toff,” Wren whispered as Nick struggled to get to his feet. “Governor Lord Corbett sends his regards.”

He felt something heavy against the back of his head and knew nothing else.