The Duke's Revenge

The Duke’s Revenge

Alexia Praks

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Alexia Praks Media on Smashwords

Copyright © Alexia Praks, 2012

All rights reserved

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*****

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

*****

CHAPTER 1

England

Lady Ivy Michaels stood stiffly at the door,
gazing out at the blanket of snow stretching far into the darkness.
From behind she could almost blend into obscurity if not for the
candlelight that illuminated the silhouette of her slender
figure.

She hesitantly stepped outside and then
forced her way through the slippery, treacherous pathway. A flurry
of wind wafted around her—its cry humming loud in her ears. She
clutched the satchel against her chest and scurried across the
courtyard. By the time she arrived at the stables her boots and
stockings were soaking wet. Ignoring her messy state, she left the
satchel by the door and rushed up the stairs toward one of the
bedrooms. She jerked the door open and went to the man sleeping
there. She kneeled beside the bed and tucked his arm.

“
Uncle John, wake up!” she
whispered. “Uncle John!”

John stirred and turned to look at her,
rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“
Uncle John, please wake
up.”

He widened his eyes in surprise when he saw
her and bolted up.

“
I need your help,” she
whispered.

He stared at her and then shook his head
frantically, waving his hands in the air as if to shoo her away,
for her to get out of his sanctuary.

Ivy knew her uncle wanted her to leave
because he was afraid her mother might find out that she had come
into his place in the middle of the night. She had never done
anything so reckless before, but this was important. She knew she
could trust him. She needed his help, for he was the only person in
the manor who knew how to drive a carriage.

“
Uncle John, please get
dress and get the carriage ready, I’m running away.”

He widened his eyes and opened his mouth as
though to speak but no sound came out. He turned to look at the
window, pointing his finger in the direction of the manor,
indicating that her mother would be displeased.

“
I have to run away, Uncle
John,” she began. “I’m not going to become Lord McNeil’s wife.
Please, will you not help me?”

He turned to look deep into her eyes. He
hesitated for some moment, in a dilemma. Then he nodded and
scrambled off the bed.

Ivy sighed with relief. “Thank you, Uncle
John, I will wait downstairs. Please hurry.” Then she ran out the
room.

There was a change in the air as she rushed
down the stairs. Lightning flashed, the clouds rumbled, and rain
started to fall. Anxiously, she turned to look at the window of a
room her mother was occupying. She hoped the noise would not wake
her. Her nerve was at its peak as she stood there waiting for her
uncle. When he finally came round with the landau, she picked up
the satchel and rushed to him.

John jumped down from his high seat and
looked worriedly at the sky.

“
I know you’re worried,
but I would rather brave the weather than Mama.” She handed him the
oil lamp and turned to open the carriage door. “Please take me to
Westwood Castle,” she said as she climbed into the
vehicle.

He widened his eyes and opened his mouth to
protest.

“
Lisa is working there as
a parlourmaid now, and Donald and Mrs. Price will take me in. I
will stay there for a few days and then—” She paused, staring at
the thick droplets of rain slashing against the window. “We better
make haste,” she said.

He reluctantly nodded and closed the
door.

As the carriage moved toward the front gate,
the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves and the splashing of rain were
loud in her ears. Ivy turned to look at the manor. All the windows
were dark. Thank God, she thought, no one had awakened because of
the noise.

It was ten minutes later, when they were far
away from the mansion that she was able to relax. The rocking
motion of the carriage and the sound of rain caused her eyes to
drop. She moved, lied across the seat, and rested her head on her
arm. She closed her eyes--just for a little while, she told
herself. Instantly, she fell asleep.

She felt that it was only a few minutes
later when somebody woke her up. She fluttered her eyes open to see
her uncle’s shadowy face looming over her. She sat up and looked
around in confusion.

“
We are here?”

He nodded.

She grabbed for her bag and moved out of the
carriage.

The moment she stepped outside, droplets of
rain pounded down on her, and her clothing started to get wet in an
instant. She shivered.

John touched her arm as he looked at her.
She touched his arm, too. His coat was cold and damp against her
palm. She knew she was a bit self-centered tonight, waking him up
and dragging him into her trouble. She only hoped that her mother
would not suspect that he had helped her escape.

“
Tell Mrs. Johnson that I
will be all right,” she said.

He patted her head a few times like he
always did when she had accomplished an important feat, to show her
that he was proud of her.

“
Thank you, Uncle John,”
she said and turned away.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky
as she made her way across the courtyard toward the back entrance.
Halfway, she turned and saw the hazy shadow of the landau moving
away.

What was she doing?
For a moment she felt paralyzed. For a moment she
wanted to shout for her uncle to stop the landau. She hardened
herself against the urge.

She turned and continued her way toward the
castle. She ran to the door and started pounding. When no one
answered her after numerous attempts, she clamped her lips in
frustration and continued pounding until she was exhausted. And
still no one answered her.

Hopelessness engulfed her. She dropped her
bag and sat down by the door. She hugged herself into a ball and
started whimpering.

Aye, she was a pathetic
creature all right, trying to escape her mother’s plan for her
future.
But she did not want to become an
old man’s wife—a man she despised with all her being--a man who had
dried to force himself on her.

A hand touched her arm. She jerked and
cried, “No!”

She looked up to see a woman holding an oil
lamp looking down at her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Relief
swept through her, calming her turmoil emotions. She threw herself
into the woman’s arms.

“
M’ lady!”

“
I have to run away, Mrs.
Price, I have to.”

“
Aye, m’ lady,” the woman
said and helped her up. “Come with me.”

The housekeeper led her into the castle and
then through the maze of corridors and up to one of the guest rooms
on the third floor. “You will be comfortable here tonight.”

“
Thank you, Mrs. Price,”
Ivy said.

“
Now, now, m’ lady, ‘tis
all right. Why don’t you change into a nightshirt? I’m sure those
wet clothing will give you the chill if you do not take them off
soon.”

Ivy nodded and Mrs. Price went away. When
she came back, she was carrying bed sheets and blankets, and behind
her was a maid, carrying a jug of water, a towel, and a
nightshirt.

“
Lisa!” Ivy cried, her
voice shaking once she had seen the maid.

The maid rushed into the room, placed the
items on the table, and hugged Ivy. Lisa had been Ivy’s maid and
was her only friend and companion, and they had not seen each other
since the day of the incident when Lisa had saved Ivy from Lord
McNeil’s attempt at seduction.

After their hug, Lisa picked up the
nightshirt and held it up. “Oh dear, this is rather big for you, is
it not?”

“
I will manage,” Ivy said
and grabbed the nightshirt from the maid’s hands. She went to stand
behind the screen and started stripping herself naked from her wet,
dirty dress, chemise, and stockings. She quickly dried herself with
the towel and dressed into the dry nightshirt.

“
Are you hungry, m’ lady?
I could wake Mrs. Woods to make something for you,” Mrs. Price
suggested.

“
No, thank you,” Ivy said,
shivering and hugging herself as she came out from behind the
screen. She looked at the little flame of fire that had just born
under Lisa’s capable hands longingly.

Lisa looked at the young woman wearing a
nightshirt that was too large for her small frame. The neckline was
loose that it barely covered her breasts and was shagging over one
of her shoulders. The sleeves dropped over both her hands and the
hem dragged down to the floor.

“
Perhaps I should find you
another nightshirt, m’ lady.”

“
Nay, Lisa, I will be
fine.”

“
We will not bother you
until you wake up in the morning,” Mrs. Price said.

“
Mrs. Price,” Ivy said
hesitantly, “you won’t tell your master that I’m here, will
you?”

“
Nay, the duke is not
here. He is in London, m’ lady.”

“
That’s good. I won’t
bother you more than a few nights,” she promised.

“
M’ lady, you may stay
here as long as you like.”

“
Nay, I will leave as soon
as I can. I do not want to bother you. Besides, Mama might find
out, and I do not want you all to get involve with my
troubles.”

“
M’ lady, ‘tis no troubles
at all,” Mrs. Price said gently.

Ivy touched the woman’s plump hands. “Thank
you, Mrs. Price, you are an angel.”

“
Oh,” the housekeeper
mused.

“
Good night,” Ivy said
softly.

“
Aye, good night, m’
lady,” Mrs. Price said. Then she and Lisa left.

Ivy climbed into the cold bed. The moment
her head touched the soft pillow, she shut her eyes and drifted off
into a trouble sleep. Now and again her body shivered against the
coldness, and she hugged herself into a ball to keep warm.

***

London, England

Maximilian Devilyn—the powerful, infamous
Duke of Lynwood, rested his weight on his elbow as he looked at the
woman beside him. He shifted his gaze to her lips. They were
glistening red from the demand of his kisses. On impulse, he kissed
them again. They were soft and warm against his. When he moved his
head back, he saw that her eyes were bright with expectation as she
moved herself toward him, causing the silk bed sheet to slide from
her shoulders down to her waist.

“
Hmm, did I tell you just
how handsome you are?” she asked, caressing his firm, masculine
jaw.

“
Many times, my dear,” he
replied indifferently and caught her wrist to stop her stroking
him.

“
You do not believe
me?”

“
Aye, I believe you,” he
said, releasing her hand.

“
I know you don’t,” she
said.

He sat up, swung his legs over, and moved
off the bed. He felt the cold air against his skin and shivered. He
strolled toward his clothes lying in disarray on the sofa.

“
What do you think I
should wear if I were to be invited to the Count and Countess of
Huntingdon’s ball?”

“
Are they planning
one?”

“
Well, I have no idea. But
just supposing that they are?”

“
Sharon,” he said over his
shoulder, “the season will not be starting until April.”

“
I know, but just
supposing that they are planning a ball?” She sat up. “What do you
think I should wear? I will have to impress them and...” She
stopped her nattering and watched him picking up his trousers.
“You’re leaving?”