Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers

11

The wind whistled across the clearing, moving the bared branches of a dying mulberry tree and filling Jemma’s nose with the smell of the sea. She reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

I miss you so much, Papa.

Her hands ran over the hump of earth, not caring for the condition of her gloves. Grief, sharp and painful, caused her to clutch at the earth under her fingers.

At least, he's finally with my mother. Her eyes misted with tears and she tried to blink them away. Her father spoke of his deceased wife often, as if she were still roaming the halls of Sea Cliff, but Jemma barely remembered her mother. A vague recollection of a lilting Irish voice and a warm embrace smelling of tea roses were all Jemma had of Maureen Manning. She wiped bitterly at a lone tear that ran down her cheek. Now, all Jemma had were memories of her father to sustain her. Memories and guilt.

I am responsible.

Jemma stood, the force of the wind whipping the skirt of her mourning dress about her ankles. She could see the ocean just over the rise and the profusion of hibiscus encircling the tiny graveyard at the edge of Sea Cliff. A beautiful spot for her parents to spend all of eternity. She was alone now.

Firm hands grabbed her shoulders. Augie. She'd not even heard him come up behind her.

“Come, my dear.” He pulled her to him, clutching her hands in his. He turned his head towards her father’s resting place. “I loved him as well, you know.” The pain of the loss Jemma felt was reflected in Augie’s drawn features. “He was as much a father to me as my own.”

“I know.” And, Jemma did know. Augie Corbett learned well from Jemma’s father how to run a vast enterprise, and the two had spent many evenings together discussing trade ventures, the salt industry and the price of rum. Augie had loved her father, but he also coveted Sea Cliff. She suspected that Augie’s affection towards her had less to do with her person than it did with the vast Manning empire of which Sea Cliff was the seat. In the week following her father’s death, Jemma saw lust in Augustus Corbett’s eyes, but it wasn’t for her. Nor did she feel an ounce of desire for him.

I am being uncharitable.

Augie had been her rock, a steady shoulder for her during the days when Jemma’s father lay ill and dying. Apoplexy, Doctor Wade called her father’s affliction, brought on by a sudden shock.

The shock of being blackmailed by the very man who ruined me.

Jemma nursed her father, refusing to leave him, even though he never spoke and barely opened his eyes. Mrs. Stanhope arrived to stay at Sea Cliff, and Augie handled her father’s affairs. Two weeks after that horrible night while Jemma mopped his brow, William Manning simply expelled a deep breath and went silent.

Numb with grief and guilt, Jemma sat in a daze while the Corbetts handled the arrangements of the funeral and the running of Sea Cliff. She moved through those days in a fog, so full of sorrow she barely acknowledged those around her. Her thoughts remained chaotic, disjointed, as if not wishing to believe that her entire world was suddenly changed.

Nick.

How did one still long for a man who caused such a tragedy? Hours upon hours she berated herself for her stupidity while her heart still ached for him.

Lord Corbett had told her the truth of Nick Shepherd. How the man planned to ruin the richest heiress on the island and blackmail her father to stay silent. Money. That was all Nick ever wanted. All else was a lie. He'd fled Bermuda the moment her father collapsed, else Lord Corbett would have had him put in chains. She cursed herself a thousand times over for being so blind. But nothing would bring back her father.

“Come, Jemma. You must not walk out here alone, along the cliffs,” Augie said quietly. “I was worried when I came to call, and Mrs. Stanhope said you were out here again. Mother says it's not safe.”

At the mention of Lady Corbett, Jemma stiffened and attempted to pull away from Augie. Grateful though she was for Lady Corbett's assistance immediately following her father’s death, the older woman’s concern was quickly beginning to feel more like suffocation.

“While I appreciate,” Jemma struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice, “your mother’s concern for my welfare, she does not dictate my actions.” Jemma wrenched her arm from Augie. “She will not even allow my own coachman to take me into Hamilton with Mrs. Stanhope. I am not some fragile flower that need be coddled.”

Augie took her elbow again, his fingers digging into her skin. “Stop behaving like a child.” His mouth drew into a grim line and his eyes darkened. “You know very well why you cannot go to town. Mrs. Stanhope is poor protection for such an endeavor.” He raised a brow and his words were tinged with distaste. “Mother is not to blame for your lack of discretion.”

Jemma’s cheeks grew warm. Augie was right, though it pained her to admit it. Abel Sinclair had not breathed a word of Jemma’s affair with Nick, but his sister, Agnes, did not keep quiet. The stares of her neighbors at her father’s funeral had told Jemma as much. Still, she refused to believe that she had become a pariah. “I cannot believe the people of Hamilton would treat me so unkindly. Your father has assured me that—”

Augie snorted and dropped her arm, his manner making clear his annoyance. “You spoiled little brat.” A strand of hair fell over his brow and he pushed it back sharply. “What about me? What about the humiliation I have suffered? Do you not think I must endure the whispers of your indiscretion as well?” He held up his hands as if seeking agreement from the gulls that flew overhead. “Had you any sense of humility you would do exactly as Mother asks until the gossip dies down. If it dies down. My parents have done all they can do to quell the likes of Agnes Sinclair. All you must do is stay at home and show some remorse for your scandalous actions. You are so selfish you cannot even do that.”

Jemma stopped and clasped her hands across her stomach. She shut her eyes against Augie’s harsh words.

“That I am willing to overlook your indiscretion and still marry you," Augie's voice raised an octave, “is a testament to the esteem in which I held your father.”

“How honorable of you. I’m sure Sea Cliff has nothing to do with your sense of duty,” Jemma said without thinking, her eyes snapping open to glare at him.

Augie took her arm again in a painful grip. “You are my betrothed, soon to be my wife. I will brook no further disobedience on your part. My mother says you are willful and reckless, traits which I will not tolerate once we are married.”

Jemma opened her mouth, then quickly shut it. She’d learned in the last few weeks that arguing with Augie did nothing but antagonize him further. The man who practically dragged her down the slope back to Sea Cliff was not her childhood friend, nor the gentle suitor of just a month ago.

She stumbled, her toe hitting a small stone jutting up in the path and used it as an excuse to pull her arm away from his grasp.

He let her go, shaking his head. “Do you really think you have a choice? Now? After everything that has happened? Does my touch offend you? Oh, I know,” he mocked. “You’re still pining for Shepherd, aren’t you? The very man who ruined you so he could extort money from your father. Betrayed by a fortune hunter.

A sob caught in Jemma's throat at the mention of Nick and his betrayal. She stumbled again and this time Augie let her struggle to stand. He laughed sharply, stepping back as she reached out to steady herself against him.

Jemma swayed, catching herself. The skirt of her dress spun furiously about her ankles as her footsteps quickened. Keeping her eye on the peaked roof of Sea Cliff, she hurried, determined to get far from Augie and his hateful words. She had no wish to endure another moment of his taunting.

He caught her just at bottom of the hill, grabbing her by one shoulder and twisting her around so she was forced to look up at him. “I am the best offer you will ever have, Jemma. At least outside of a brothel. You should be grateful, instead you insult me with your insolence. You wish to go to Hamilton?”

“I do not care to discuss this matter further with you, Augie.”

He let go of her abruptly, pushing her from him.

This time, she did fall to the ground, the shells that littered the path cutting into her palms, even through the gloves she wore. Clutching at the shells, she wanted to weep, but held back tears.

“Don't delude yourself, Jemma. My mother has put it out that the rumors about you and Shepherd are nothing more than the rant of a jealous Agnes Sinclair. But without the support of my family, without your status as the betrothed or wife of the Governor’s son…” Augie’s words hung in the humid air. “You are just the sullied daughter whose indiscretion killed her father.” He leaned down to look at her. “What? No sharp retort? No witty comment?” He gave a snort of amusement. “I thought not.”

He stood, turning his back on her and walked down the path to Sea Cliff, his steps confident and sure. The notes of the jaunty tune he whistled filled the air merrily as if he’d not just ground her into dirt with his words.

What am I to do?The words thudded in her mind as she sat, not yet ready to stand and face the future. I could run, but this is my home. And, I have nowhere to go. No one to go to. Nick’s features swam before her eyes and again the pain of his betrayal pierced her.

“Jemma?” Augie stopped but didn’t look back at her. “Are you coming? Mother wishes to discuss our wedding plans over tea.”He tapped his foot. “Hurry along. You know Mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”