Rules for Heiresses by Amalie Howard

Twenty-Two

“He left?” Ravenna’s voice was shrill enough to break glass as she advanced on the poor butler. She’d only just returned from a much-needed visit with Sarani and Anu, who were heading back to Hastings later that afternoon, only to be told by the butler that her husband had left the country. “To go back to Antigua,” she said.

Morgan flinched. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“And he told you to tell me.”

He shook his head. “No, it was Mr. Rawley. He’ll be back soon. There was a fire, Your Grace. Several fires. He had to go. There was no time to waste.”

Ravenna fought the urge to scream. It wasn’t Morgan’s fault; it was her rotten husband’s fault. She belonged at his side, not stuck here in England. He could have waited to tell her, but he’d chosen to leave, like a bloody coward. She was going to throttle the man. But first, she was going to hire the first passenger ship out of here.

“Colleen, pack our bags!” she hollered like a fishwife on the wharf. “Morgan, I need my carriage.”

“Your Grace.” The butler was begging now. “Please don’t do anything rash.”

Was murder rash?

She ignored him, but froze as her very quarry strode through the doors, followed by Waterstone and Rawley. Her husband looked…tense and angry, his hard features hard. Something had happened! Concern crept into her mind, but she shoved it aside.

Upon seeing her, Courtland stopped and stared as she crossed her arms, not even trying to disguise her wrath. “Back so soon? How was the weather on the sea?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, before scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, Ravenna. I should have.”

She blinked. “Yes, you should have.” Frowning, she noticed the policemen who had followed before Morgan shut the door behind the others. “What’s going on?”

“Sommers happened,” he said. “He planted crates on the Glory full of goods and claimed I stole them from him. He also put Stinson up to the piece in the scandal rags. I’m being held by Waterstone, confined to this house until my trial.”

“A trial? For what? You’re a peer and his claims are false.”

“Guilty until proven otherwise.”

“But you are innocent.” Her mouth fell open. Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not it. She glanced at Waterstone, the earl’s solemn expression making her stomach sour. “He’ll be cleared, won’t he?”

“There’s chatter of a forthcoming petition in court by Stinson that Courtland is not the true Duke of Ashvale because of illegitimacy. It might lead to a trial, and if he’s stripped of his title, things could get ugly.”

“But he is the duke.”

Waterstone exhaled. “We know that. Our hope rests on a man who has not awoken. Who might not awaken.”

“Bingham.” This was catastrophic. “What do we do now?”

“Sommers is wanted for questioning, but I suspect he’s gone to ground. We will find him and get a confession out of him.”

She frowned. “How?”

“I have ways and means.” At the deadly look in his eyes, Ravenna didn’t doubt that in the least. “In the meantime, I’ll avail myself of your cook’s fine talent.”

When he headed for the kitchens, she turned her attention back to her duke, and all her anger drained away. He needed her, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and there was no way in hell she was going to walk away now. In silence, she followed him up to his bedchamber, where he poured himself a liberal glass of brandy from the decanter on the mantel.

He gave her a tight smile. “Still want to be my duchess?”

“You’d have to pry my cold, dead hands away from you.”

“That sounds dirty,” he said.

“You prefer my hands warm and alive.”

Courtland stared at her, his handsome face somber. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. I want you to know that.”

“Why are you talking as though it’s all over?”

“Because it is,” he said. “I was never meant to be duke.”

She shrugged. “And I was never meant to be a married duchess, but here we are—a reluctant duke and his hoyden bride. To tell you the truth, I’ve gotten used to us. I’ve gotten used to this. We make sense in a way that nothing ever has before. Tell me you don’t agree with that, and I will walk out that door.”

“I can’t tell you that.” He set down the glass and walked toward her. A lifetime swirled in those gorgeous dark eyes—showing glimpses of the boy he’d been and the man he’d become, and all the faces he’d worn in between. But above that, she saw raw honesty…the man she adored stripped down to his basic self. “I love you, Ravenna. I’ve loved you since I was ten and you wept over a baby bird in the woods.”

His declaration wrapped around her like the softest silk. “You love me?”

“Since forever, it seems.”

She frowned. “Then why would you try to push me away?”

“If your childhood nemesis stole your heart without your permission, wouldn’t you do everything to get it back?”

“Maybe. Very well, fine. I can see your point.”

Her duke gathered her in his arms, holding her close, and she reveled in the feel of his strong, lean, beautiful body encasing hers. She felt his lips against her hair and her eyes fluttered closed. Standing in his embrace was heaven. Courtland took her hand and placed it over the left side of his chest. “The truth is this heart has always been yours. What I didn’t realize was that one cannot steal something that has already been gifted.”

Ravenna stared up at him, her own heart filling to bursting. “So we’re doing this, then? No more games. No more running?”

Her gorgeous husband laughed, the rich sound sinking into her nerve endings like honey, as his cheeky palm slid down to cup her bottom with a wicked squeeze. “Well, I’m not going to say no to games. They can be fun.”

“You say this as if I know these things. I require detailed instruction, Your Grace.” She tugged his head down to hers with a smile. “Now shut up and ravage me, Duke, before I expire from all this sexual frustration.”

“Say that again,” he rasped, skimming his mouth over hers in a move that had her panting and her nipples standing at attention. She knew exactly what he wanted her to say.

“Sexual.”

His pupils dilated, his voice like gravel. “Again for good measure.”

“Sex—”

The Duke of Ashvale swallowed the rest of the word and took her lips in the most erotic kiss known to man. Or woman. Or anyone with a working pulse.

And all she could do was succumb.

* * *

Courtland had never felt freer in his life, considering that he was incarcerated in his own home. Who would have thought that confessing a decade and a half of feelings would be so liberating? He was terrified and a part of him still wanted to protect Ravenna from the gossip storm he knew would come, but she was a grown woman with her own mind. She would choose the battles she wanted to fight, and she’d chosen to stand up with him.

He still couldn’t quite believe it. Any sensible person would have run.

She had not.

He glanced over to where his wife sat reading a book curled up in an armchair near the fireplace. A tendril of auburn hair curled onto her cheek, her full mouth pursed in deep thought. She was beautiful. Over the past few nights, he’d made love to her until dawn broke over the skies, until they were nothing but limp sated bodies and whispered nothings.

Last night had been no exception. Nor this morning’s invigorating ride that his lusty duchess initiated. His cock perked up at the image of her above him—breasts on display, lips parted in pleasure, all that riotous red hair spilling like a silken cloud atop her shoulders—but Courtland sent it a stern message to behave. It would not do to ravage his wife in the library.

“Your Grace,” Morgan announced at the door. “Lady Bronwyn and Lord Stinson to see you.”

His sister and brother. Why were they here? Ravenna met his eyes with a quizzical look. While the scandal caused by the account in the papers had not died down, Embry’s lawyers had been successful in shutting down the scandal sheets that had published the sordid tale. The battle for the dukedom was still ongoing, and Bingham showed no signs of awakening. Doctors had said that some men remained in such a state for months. On top of that, Sommers had not been found, though Waterstone was confident he hadn’t left London.

“Show them in,” Courtland said.

Bronwyn entered first, to Courtland’s surprise, and the determined look on her face as well as the pinched look on his brother’s gave him pause. She held a sheaf of parchment in her hands. “Your Graces,” his sister said with a curtsy. “Apologies for the intrusion. My brother has something he wishes to say to you.”

A brooding Stinson glowered at her before stepping forward. “It was untrue. What was printed in the paper.”

“And?” Bronwyn prodded.

“And I apologize,” he gritted out.

Ravenna gaped at him, but it wasn’t unlike the thread of surprise coursing through Courtland’s own veins. What did his younger sister have on Stinson that would make him confess such a thing or apologize? The answer was revealed when Bronwyn’s smug blue gaze met his. “Stinson has a mistress who’s fleecing him by threatening to expose their child to Mama.”

Stinson cursed under his breath. “Damn it, you promised you wouldn’t say a word!”

“Yes, to Mama,” she replied calmly. “This is our brother. We can trust him.”

“He’s no—” He cut off, lips pursed, as though he’d swallowed a bug, both Courtland and Ravenna watching in bemused silence as he snapped his mouth shut. His face turned dull red.

Bronwyn gave an approving nod. “Now the rest, Stinson.”

Stinson glared at her high-handedness, but met Courtland’s eyes, shame lurking in them. “Sommers approached me at my club and expressed interest in Bronwyn. If I were to arrange an agreement, in exchange, I’d be rid of you.”

Bronwyn sniffed. “As if I would ever look at that overgrown toad.”

“What did Sommers offer you?” Courtland asked, alert and eyes narrowed.

“He said if I agreed to the match as her guardian, he would give me Bronwyn’s dowry as he had no need of it.”

“That woman is the mother of your child, you imbecile,” Bronwyn said, blue eyes rolling upward. “A baby is your responsibility. Good Lord, you’d think that we women shoulder all the burden for men’s complete lack of brains. If you didn’t want your ladybird to get pregnant, you should have worn a French letter.”

“Bronwyn!” he snapped.

“What? I’m a modern woman. I have to know these things. How else will I protect myself from unscrupulous gentlemen? This body is the only one I have.”

Courtland was sure that Ravenna’s dumbfounded expression mirrored his. He’d never been prouder to call anyone family than he was at that moment. Underneath all the layers of feminine politesse, Bronwyn’s spine was made of pure steel.

He cleared his throat, motioning for Stinson to continue. “Go on.”

“As you can guess, the stubborn chit refused to even see the man, and had the audacity to say that as duke, you were the only one who could approve her marriage.”

“I didn’t lie,” she pointed out.

“I called her names I’m not proud of.” Stinson swallowed hard, lines of misery and shame making his face droop. “I begged her to reconsider, telling her that it would solve all our problems. If she would only agree to Sommers’s suit, you wouldn’t be a problem anymore—that he knew how to get rid of you for good. She told me that she’d never thought of you as a problem, but as a long-lost sibling, and that she wanted to get to know you.”

Stinson let out a shuddering breath as though all the fight and anger had been leached out of him. With a groan that came from the lowest depths of his body, he sat heavily in the nearest chair. “I was so angry, and I was well in my cups when I went to Sommers and told him everything. He paid for the exposé in that gossip rag. He told me not to worry, that he had a plan to deal with you, and I could have back my life, if I told the world what my mother has always told me—that you were illegitimate and that you were of mixed blood. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t think twice. I wanted you gone.”

“Why?”

His brother gave a hollow laugh. “You were always so…good at everything. Even Grandfather was Cordy this and Cordy that. Why can’t you be more like that Cordy lad?” Courtland’s eyes widened as Stinson dropped his head into his hands. “It drove me insane how sodding perfect you were. You were the brilliant heir and I was the nothing spare. Mama was the one who told me your mother was nothing but an island commoner. It’s no excuse, but it was one I latched onto that you didn’t deserve what you had. By default of my bloodline, I was better.”

Courtland felt all his muscles lock as years and years of anger and bitterness descended on him. He’d always felt unworthy because of the way his own brother and stepmother had treated him. No child deserved that. No one deserved that.

“But I’m not better,” Stinson whispered. “I’m worse. I blamed you for my shortcomings then, just as I blamed you for everything now. I convinced myself that if you went away again, it would all be better.”

“You and your mother gave me no choice but to leave England,” Courtland bit out.

“I know,” Stinson said with the first genuine and repentant look that Courtland had ever seen on his brother’s face. “I know. It only took my little sister to inform me of that fact. That I was angry at the wrong person. That I should be angry at me.” He drew a shuddering breath. “When I saw the newssheets and heard about the false arrest, I never expected to feel so bleak at what I’d done. I thought I would be happy, but I wasn’t. I was miserable.”

“Because deep down, you knew it was wrong, Stinson,” Ravenna murmured from her perch. “I won’t lie. That was a prick of a move.”

Courtland’s lips twitched at his wife’s candor even as his brother’s face crumpled. “You have no idea how much I regret it.”

She eyeballed him. “Well, I suppose that’s a start, and you’re here now, even if it was forced, and that counts for something. A very minuscule something.”

Courtland exchanged a look with her, one that led her to rise from her seat near the bookcase and came over to stand near him behind the table. It was as if she could sense that he needed her before he knew it himself. Her hand drifted to the top of his shoulder and squeezed, letting him know she was there, no matter what he decided: hear his brother out or have him hauled from the room.

He stared at Stinson and saw the face of the boy who had relished his pain, one who had destroyed any hope of brotherhood. An image of him expecting his younger brother to back him up at Harrow and watching Stinson laugh instead as he was nearly pummeled to death by his classmates filled his brain. He swallowed at the memory that had yet to heal. Those childhood wounds still festered and burned.

Hurt and resentment boiled like acid through his veins. His fingers clenched into fists. This latest betrayal was layered upon so many others from a decade ago, tangling and twisting into something that threatened to demolish the fortress he’d built around himself. But something new battled to be heard, too, tempering that ruthless, unfeeling, distant man he’d been for so many years: his wife’s compassion. Her fierce devotion.

Her love.

Ravenna squeezed her fingers again as if she could sense the chaos of his thoughts and sought to soothe the raging, wounded beast inside. At the heart of it, Stinson was a spoiled and overindulged man, but a part of Courtland understood that Ravenna was right. His brother wasn’t completely rotten if he was feeling any remorse at all. If he was here and the apology was sincere—still to be seen—that was something. It was the only redeemable thing saving his skin.

“You hated me that much?”

“No, I envied you.” Stinson did not look up. “Because clearly, you’re the better choice…the better duke. The better brother, son, everything.”

Courtland sighed. “I am neither better nor lesser, Stinson. I’m just a man, trying to exist on his own terms. Trying to survive. I’ve done ruthless things and I have some regrets, but even the worst missteps take us to where we need to be.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Stinson murmured.

“I do.” He frowned, staring at his brother as something occurred to him. “I have one question. Why didn’t you and the marchioness go to the courts after seven years? You could have declared me dead and that would have been the end of it.”

“Grandfather forbade it,” he said.

Surprise flooded Courtland as Stinson continued. “He didn’t care what I called myself, or the charades my mother insisted on, but she didn’t dare defy him. He was still powerful in the Lords. She’d hoped to do it somehow after he died.” He exhaled. “But then you came back.”

“He wouldn’t have if he hadn’t married me,” Ravenna said. “But everything happens for a reason. The dukedom was never yours, Stinson.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Courtland pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d have much preferred to have my brother”—he glanced at Bronwyn—“and my sisters than any empty title.”

Bronwyn’s eyes glittered with tears, and Courtland could feel his own eyes smarting. How was it that something like this could tear families apart? It was just like money, he supposed.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” Stinson’s strangled plea was barely audible.

Courtland clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt. Could he forgive Stinson? Could he let go of the hopelessness and anger that had driven him all these years? It had become such an ingrained part of him—the burning flame that had kept him soldiering on to build his fortune, to insulate himself from anyone who sought to tear him down. But things had changed. Courtland glanced up at his wife. He had changed.

“You destroyed my life once, and those actions are on you.” He let out a heavy exhale. “You have to come to terms with what you did. Those demons are yours, they were never mine, and you have to do the work to be a better man. That said, I wouldn’t be who I’ve become, the duke my wife believes me to be, if I didn’t try to lead by example. I’m your elder brother, after all.” He reached up to grasp Ravenna’s fingers. “Are you willing to swear your account to the police and incriminate Sommers for his part in the deception?”

“Yes, I will.”

Courtland’s relief was tangible.

“And there’s proof,” Stinson added. “Sommers told me where his warehouse is. You’ll find more of those crates with undeclared goods, enough to implicate him at least.”

“That’s good.” Courtland breathed out. “As far as my forgiveness, that will take time. I can’t promise anything, but I’m willing to try.”

“Thank you.” Stinson’s suspiciously bright gaze panned to his sister. “You were right. I am sorry.”

“I knew a better man was inside you somewhere.” Bronwyn nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “You can go now. I’ll finish up here, but when I return, we need to talk to Florence. Mama is probably a lost cause, but I refuse to stand by and let our younger sister become twisted by lies.”

Courtland watched in disbelief as his slip of a sister shot the brother that was several years her senior an uncompromising look, and hid his own proud smile. A dragon lurked beneath that demure exterior.

After Stinson took his leave, Bronwyn smiled at Ravenna. “Thank you for trusting me.” She held out the papers, closing the distance to the table. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“Consider it a belated wedding gift.” She gave a tiny shrug, her eyes meeting Ravenna’s and spiking Courtland’s curiosity. Why did it seem like they were conspiring? “Sorry it took so long. They were hidden away in Kettering, so I had to come up with a plausible story for my urgent return to Ashvale Park. As it turns out, one’s favorite pair of gloves is enough to convince my mother, apparently.” She wrinkled her nose with a disgusted look. “Anyway, this is a record of your birth, and your father’s marriage, given in trust to me by our grandfather before he died. He told me to keep them safe.”

In astonishment, Courtland glanced down at the documents, signed by the late duke and witnessed by several other names of peers he recognized as powerful men in the House of Lords. He sifted through them, spreading the pages out on the table’s surface. Beneath those was a portrait of…his mother. Ravenna’s fingers contracted on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she peered down.

Courtland’s heart expanded behind his ribs as his eyes took in the thick black hair he’d imagined—exactly like his only longer—the huge, dark eyes that shone with intensity and intelligence, and the full curve of the mouth he’d inherited. He’d always wondered what she looked like, and now, he knew. She was beautiful. Underneath the portrait was inscribed: Lady Annelise Chase, Marchioness of Borne. There were a few other letters and documents that seemed to be written in his father’s hand.

“I’m the damn duke,” Courtland murmured.

Bronwyn grinned. “You’re the damn duke.”

He opened his mouth to chide his little sister on her dreadful language but was drowned out by the sound of his wife’s earsplitting shriek. “Hell yes, he’s the damn duke!”

“Wonderful,” he said drily. “Now there are two of you.”

But he couldn’t hold back his laughter or the storm of emotions that filled him to the brim. He was bracketed by two absolute and unapologetic hellions, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He dragged a grinning Ravenna into his arms.

“Be my duchess forever?”

She kissed him and grinned. “As if you could get rid of me.”

“Eww, find a bedchamber, you two,” Bronwyn yelled out, covering her eyes and backing away. “A lady of quality does not need to witness her brother mauling his wife in public.”

“Then you better run for the hills, sister dear.” Courtland paused, swallowing hard against the unexpected tide of affection for a girl he hardly knew. He was responsible for that. Yes, he’d been chased away, but it’d been his choice to stay away. He hoped to change that for all their sakes, even Stinson’s. “Thank you, Bronwyn.”

“That’s what family is for,” she said and closed the door behind her.

Family. Courtland nodded to himself, throat thick. He had one, now, and it felt astonishingly, extraordinarily good. He turned his attention to the woman in his arms—the woman who had brought him back home, who had shown him that he didn’t have to keep running from his past…or who he was. That love wasn’t out of his reach.

Happiness was his—all he had to do was be brave enough to take it.