The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton
Prologue
She was asleep and dreaming of a future that, in all likelihood, would never be hers.
Even in the dream, she knew that the things she was seeing weren’t real. They were too beautiful to be real. They were things she could never have.
A small cottage, clean and well lit. The smell of baking bread in the air, and flour on the table.
A man, just outside the window. Her lover. He faced away from her, surveying their small plot of land, the vegetables that grew in their garden, and she smiled at the sight of him, knowing that he took pleasure and pride in the life they had built.
A baby, crawling on the floor, staring up at her with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. His father’s eyes, not hers. Not her dull brown ones, which she had never admired. They were the eyes of the man who had brought beauty into her life.
She loved him. In spite of everything, she loved the child’s father.
In spite of everything…
She felt vaguely sick at that thought, as reality encroached on the beautiful fantasy of her dream. She loved him, and yet there was no denying that he had been cruel to her. He would never love her in return.
She would never have this vision, this beautiful dream.
But there was one part of it that would be brought to life. One part of what she was seeing would be real.
The child. The beautiful, blue-eyed child.
And even in sleep, she felt the baby move inside her, reassuring her that this much, at least, was no dream. It was a soothing feeling. Whatever came next, at least she would have her baby.
Suddenly, a hand closed around her arm, jerking her from sleep.
She awoke to the cold brutality of her real life. She was lying on a mattress on the floor where she always slept. No one around her was stirring.
A hand clapped over her mouth. “Silence,” he said. “If you make a sound, you’ll regret it. You and that bastard you’re carrying.”
Fear shot through her like a knife. She couldn’t have made a sound even if she had wanted to. She looked up at him, terrified.
Even now, her heart clenched with love for him as she looked up into those blazing blue eyes. Even now, she wanted him in her perfect fantasy life. She wanted him to grow vegetables behind the beautiful cottage they would live in together. She wanted to leave this dark and dirty world behind her, and she wanted to do it with him by her side.
But he would never agree to it. He would never go with her, never stay with her. He had made that clear. What he wanted from her, he had already had, and there was nothing between them anymore.
So what did he want with her now?
He dragged her from the sleeping room, and she scrambled to keep her feet beneath her, doing her best to keep up with him. When they reached the front door of the Manor, he released her mouth but kept his grip on her arm.
“Not a sound,” he growled.
She was desperate to ask where he was taking her, but she was too fearful to actually put the question into words. She had no doubt that he would harm her, harm her baby, if she didn’t do as he asked.
How can I love someone who’s so hateful?
She didn’t know. She only knew that she did love him. He was never far from her thoughts. Every time she indulged in fantasies about the life she wished she could have—the life she knew would never be hers—he was in them.
But maybe…
Maybe something different was finally happening tonight.
Maybe that was why he had woken her up. Maybe he had decided that he wanted her after all. Maybe he was going to take her away from his Manor. They would run away together. They would finally start the life that should have been theirs from the beginning.
Or maybe—maybe it was even better than that. Maybe he had finally decided to take her as his wife! She would be a lady, a proper lady, living by his side, and they would be free to love one another publicly.
If that’s what he wants, why is he being so rough?
He was a strong, rough man by nature. That was all. He didn’t know his own strength. When they had made love, it had been painful, because he had been too rough with her. But he just hadn’t known, that was all. And this was the same thing. He didn’t know his hand was hurting her arm. He didn’t know he was frightening her.
He would never hurt her on purpose.
Yes. That was it. Her heart filled with hope. She had judged him too harshly! He was going to take her away, and they would raise their child together.
He pushed her out the door in front of him, into the street.
She staggered and tripped, falling to her hands and knees on the cobblestones. Quickly, she picked herself up, wondering whether he would be angry at her clumsiness. She turned to look at him, anxious that she would see irritation in his face.
He was standing in the doorway and watching her coldly.
“Are you coming?” she asked him, and immediately regretted opening her mouth. He had asked her to be quiet.
He barked out a laugh. “Am I coming? Certainly not.”
She frowned, not understanding. “But…but I thought…”
“You thought that I would be going with you,” he said. “Is that it? You thought that we would be leaving together. Raising that bastard of yours together. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”
He was so obviously mocking her now that she didn’t dare to respond. She felt her cheeks grow red with shame, but she said nothing.
“I’m not going with you,” he said. “My place is here. I have my responsibilities to tend to. But you no longer have a place with us here. So go. Seek your fortune elsewhere. Find another place for yourself in the world. There’s no longer any room for you with us.”
A shudder ran down her spine. He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t.
“Where am I to go?” she implored.
“That’s hardly my concern, is it?” he said coldly. “After today, I never want to see you again.”
“But you can’t,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “You can’t do this. What about—what about us?”
“Us?” He laughed scornfully. “There’s no us. There was never any us. You and I are nothing. I never cared for you. How many times must I tell you that? And yet every time I say it, you come crawling back, determined to try again. Desperate for my affection. Like a dog that’s been kicked and yet keeps returning to its master. You’re pathetic.”
“But the baby,” she said. “You can’t turn away your own child.”
“That’s no child of mine,” he said. “I’m a Marquess. You and that child are nothing.”
“It is yours,” she insisted.
“You can’t expect me to believe that. That could be anybody’s child. You could have gotten it anywhere.”
It wasn’t true. She knew the truth. She had counted the days, and the baby could only be his. But she had told him that, and he hadn’t believed her.
Either that or he knows I’m telling the truth but he just doesn’t care.
“Please,” she said, not caring that she was begging in the street now. She was beyond dignity. “You can’t do this to us. You can’t throw us out like this.”
“I’ve had enough of you,” he said. “I don’t care where you go, but you can no longer stay here. Go on, now, and don’t come back. If you’re still about in the morning, I’ll summon the constable.”
He turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him.
She stood in the street, shivering with shock and cold.
Just moments ago, she had been asleep in her bed. And now she was without a home. No roof over her head, no food for herself or her unborn child. Nothing.
I have no money. What am I going to do?
She staggered down the street, looking left and right, wondering where to go. She knew the city well enough to know that nobody was going to help a woman like her. Not without money. She would have to find work.
But what kind of work could she possibly find? Her employer had just thrown her out in the street without so much as a good recommendation. Nobody would hire her. They would see her as a reject.
She found a boarded-up business and tucked herself into the doorway, sheltering herself a little from the wind. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she thought of the man she had allowed herself to fall in love with.
He had let her believe that she mattered to him. He had let her believe that she was important and special, the most favored of all his household staff. He had held her in his arms. He had told her she was beautiful.
He was a monster.
She had loved him. But he was an absolute monster. He had never deserved an ounce of her love.
She closed her eyes and imagined her little fantasy cottage, hoping that it would bring her some measure of peace. But it did her no good. The fantasy that usually warmed her so now felt cold and dismal. Her little cottage was farther away than it had ever been.
So she imagined it burning.
She imagined herself with a torch, throwing it at the wall of the cottage and watching it go up in flames. She imagined the blazing heat as the fantasy was utterly consumed. Huddled in her little doorway, she smiled at the thought. Anger and hatred filled her—hatred for him, hatred for the fantasy she had held onto for so long, hatred for everything that had led to her finding herself in this horrible position.
The baby shifted inside her again, but all the comfort that had once been associated with that little movement was gone.
She couldn’t imagine loving the little blue-eyed baby from her dreams. Not now. Not after what his father had done to her. When the child arrived, she knew that she would only hate and resent him.
It’s for the best. I can’t possibly care for a child now. I can’t bring up a child while I’m living on the streets, barely able to care for myself.
She would give the baby up. It was a much easier decision than she had ever dreamed it would be. The baby had been the brightest thing in her life from the moment she’d known she was pregnant.
But now she despised it.
If it hadn’t been for that baby, he would never have thrown her out. It was the pregnancy that had made him decide he didn’t want her around anymore. If the baby hadn’t come to exist, she would still be in the Manor, and perhaps he would have come to her tonight to take her to his bed instead of to throw her out onto the streets.
She gritted her teeth at the thought of it.
She hated him.
She hated the baby she was carrying.
She hated the whole, dark, dismal world.
Beyond the doorway, rain began to fall, and she allowed herself a small chuckle. Rain. It was perfect for a night such as this, when the whole world seemed to be falling apart.
She allowed the rain to soak her, not caring that she was getting wet. Liking that she was getting wet. Who cared about comfort or happiness? She wanted to see things destroyed.