Chapter One
January 1811
Dorchester
The raw wind pounded every inch of Alexander’s body and lashed at what little remained of his compassion. As Marquess of Pembrooke, Alex had fought for years to cultivate the fine art of patience. Today proved that to have been a waste of time.
He should have ignored the lessons of forbearance and studied the intricacies of inflicting vengeance. Never again would he take for granted the epithet of “friend”—not when friend meant betrayer. The barren, snow-packed field was a perfect stage for a duel. Mere feet separated him from Lord Paul Barstowe, the man who had destroyed his family.
Alex’s bay stallion edged closer to Lord Paul’s white gelding. From this distance, the weather-roughened face of Lord Paul, the second son of the Duke of Southart, failed to mar Alex’s childhood memories. In their youth they’d been inseparable. They’d witnessed each other’s milestones. They’d celebrated each other’s successes and suffered through the failures. Their friendship should have lasted until their deaths. Instead, it died instantly when Alex found his sister’s letter explaining her suicide.
“Alice is dead.” The bay stomped and blew out a breath of steam. By rote, Alex stilled the beast with a soft pat. Nothing good would come from delay. His eyes burned. The north wind’s fury strengthened, but he refused to turn away. “I buried her two days ago.”
Lord Paul tilted his head and flexed his gloved fingers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Alex attributed the numbness that had invaded his body to grief and the weeklong bitter cold. He pushed the misery aside and subdued the anger that nipped at his sanity. Even if his pursuit of justice caused his own blood to stain the snow, the sacrifice would bring some peace. Bile took refuge in his throat. He dismissed it with a hard swallow.
Alice Aubrey Hallworth, his youngest sister, lay in the Pembrooke family crypt. A week ago, she’d laughed and charmed the entire family at dinner. When they’d finished the evening meal, she had excused herself, then taken a tonic before bed.
She never woke.
Now, there was nothing left but Lord Paul. How one so dissolute could ruin one so young was a question Alex would never understand. He drew a gulp of air in a desperate attempt to keep his pain buried deep inside.
Alex tightened the reins. “She was carrying your child.”
In the distance, a disturbance arose, upsetting the desolate, snow-encrusted field. From the west, a man upon a black horse raced across the icy stretch of open land. Time was of the essence. Lord Paul had to agree to the duel before Nicholas St. Mauer, the Earl of Somerton, arrived. It had been a mistake to tell Somerton his plan.
“How do you know the child was mine?” Lord Paul’s voice rose in defiance.
“She left a note and told me not to blame you. But now, all those times I encountered you both together during the fall hunting party and the holidays—” The words and memories made Alex physically sick; the nausea churned in his belly. “She was happy. I thought it all above suspicion.”
Alex waited for Lord Paul to show some remorse, even if only to ask if Alice had suffered. As the silence lengthened, the weight of the two flintlock pistols in his pockets offered the only comfort he’d accept this day.
By this time, Somerton had closed the distance by half. Clouds of snow rose from the ground, the peace disrupted by the horse’s churning hooves.
“How unfortunate for all.” Lord Paul squinted toward the rider.
“Indeed.” Alex leaned forward as his entire body tensed. He fought the desire to reach inside his jacket for one of the pistols. Instead, he coaxed his horse to stand within inches of Lord Paul’s white gelding. “Do me the simple courtesy of looking at me.”
Lord Paul made no move in his direction.
The unrelenting need to hear the man’s betrayal and remorse firsthand spurred Alex to continue. “How could you seduce Alice, then abandon her like a piece of refuse on the street? How could you leave her with child?”
“I don’t suppose telling you I had nothing to do with it will change our situation.” Lord Paul finally looked at Alex. “She pursued me—”
“Damn you.” Alex’s voice rang out like a shot across the empty field. “Why didn’t you stay with her? You should have done the honorable thing and married her.”
As the last words faded, Lord Paul’s face paled. “Careful, Pembrooke. Don’t rush to a judgment you’ll regret.”
“We’ll settle it, here and now.” Before Alex uttered the rest of the challenge, the Earl of Somerton arrived on horseback and came to an abrupt stop.
Lord Paul held his hand away from his face to block the swirl of snow that engulfed him at the arrival of the earl.
Somerton brought his mount forward to separate the two men and their horses. The earl’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “Pembrooke, enough!”
“Dashing entrance, Somerton.” Lord Paul’s smile was pure provocation. “Come to save him? Too late. Your friend is well on his way to hell in a handcart.”
“You’d best leave.” Somerton’s voice thickened with emotion. “Now.”
Alex refused to acknowledge the interruption. Lord Paul was his sole concern. “You will pay for your treachery tonight.” He cared nothing about facing a trial in the House of Lords for killing the man in a duel of honor.
Somerton blocked Alex’s view and reached for the horse’s bridle. “Pembrooke.” The timbre of his friend’s voice turned mellow and even, as if trying to tame a wild animal. “Alex, come on, old man.”
Whatever he had done in the past to deserve Somerton’s loyalty was a curse today. In one tug of the reins, Alex coaxed the horse away from the earl’s grasp. “No. I will finish this one way or the other.” Resolved to deliver a day of reckoning for Lord Paul’s deception, he turned to face him. “We don’t need the luxury of surgeons or seconds.”
Somerton moved his horse forward and demanded, “Lord Paul, leave.” The snowfall stopped as if on command as the earl raised his hand to slap the hindquarters of the white gelding.
“Somerton, stay out of this!” Alex’s outcry caused a flutter of movement in the nearby trees as several birds fled.
Before the earl dropped his hand, the horse bolted. Lord Paul fled into the nearby woods and the oncoming night.
Alex reached with his right hand and grasped the handle of a pistol. As he pulled the heavy weight from his pocket, his conscience made a spontaneous and regrettable appearance. He bit off an oath, then slowly released his hold.
The fallen snow had deadened every sound except the subtle creaking of Somerton’s leather saddle as he shifted his weight. Alex’s grief, still raw, scored his every breath, his every thought, his every hope of future happiness.
He would not live this way. He’d find another way to force Lord Paul to atone for his sins. Memories of Alice, once bright and clear, were now stained a dirty umber.
Sleet replaced the snow. Raising his face to the gray sky, Alex embraced the razor-sharp pelt of ice against his skin. When he became accustomed to the stinging pain, he broke the silence in a steady voice. “I will take everything from him. I do not care the cost or sacrifice. Everything he holds dear will be mine.”
Copyright © 2017 by JLWR, LLC