Page 13 of Her Tempestuous Duke

“I can’t do that. I’ve waited too long for this.” His tone was as hard as Cornish granite.

She glared at him, no longer coy. He returned her look directly—any guilt he felt for kissing her was clearly gone.

Her heart beat harder. “So, what do you intend to do with them?” Surely, he had no intention of killing Lord Anthony? But a storm raged in those dark eyes, and she could imagine him capable of almost anything. How was she to tame the beast?

“Your servants? I merely wish to frighten them. Their loyalty is to Anthony, not to me, and I can’t risk them freeing my brother before justice has been served. As for Anthony—I will, for your sake, attempt to be the better man. I won’t tear him limb from limb—at least, not in your presence.”

He strode across to the fire, then turned to face her. “They say revenge is a dish best served cold, and I understand that. So, ultimately, I mean to retrieve everything that he stole from me. I have decided to reclaim the duchy, the lands, my tenants, and the title. Anthony’s servants will be cast into the street while he faces justice. His sentence will be harsh—be prepared to lose your guardian.”

What would happen to her, then? Would he throw her into the street as well? Saints alive! This man was as easy to hate as he would be to love!

Her cheeks flushed. Where had that thought come from? She quenched her embarrassment with a flood of anger.

“I’m not accustomed to arguing with anyone, but you’ve pushed me beyond the pale, sir. If all you want is revenge and to hurt people because you have been hurt, you’re less of a man than I imagined. I might be able to forgive you that foolish kiss, but I can’t forgive your intractability. Your brother may have been a scapegrace when he was young, but in all the time I’ve known him, he’s been above reproach.”

Not only that, but she had sometimes noted a lack of warmth in Lord Anthony. Was it due to the guilt he carried?

Parys was looming over her now, but she refused to flinch.

“How can you say this to me? You know nothing of the matter but what I’ve just told you.”

Had he no respect for her point of view? She prodded at his chest. “That’s exactly it. I only know what you have told me. I don’t know what he’d say, and nor do you. If you send him to trial, how can you be certain of the outcome when you don’t know the circumstances that drove him? And you never will unless you talk to him. Without locked doors, cells, and guard animals.”

She gnawed at the inside of her cheek—her words must be carefully chosen. “If you’re not prepared to go down to him, let me. He’ll talk to me, especially if he knows there’s no point in concealing what happened between you. I’ll use the utmost diplomacy and ensure both of you are apprised of all the facts.”

To her surprise and puzzlement, his chest quivered beneath her pressing fingers. The next instant, he burst out laughing. It was an awkward, strangled laugh—like his smile, it was rusty from lack of use.

She bristled indignantly. She’d just presented what she considered a very reasonable solution, and all he could do was mock her.

“Are you like this with Anthony? Do you try to wrap him around your little finger, too?”

Objectionable fellow. How dare he!

“On the contrary. He’s a very strict guardian.” Strict but fair—and doubtless too protective now that she was a grown woman. But there was no point in praising Lord Anthony in the hearing of his brother.

She sucked in a breath and lowered her shoulders. “Let me go down to them—that’s all I ask. I won’t undermine your authority or attempt to free them.”

“Caliban won’t let you. He has orders to let no one open that door but me.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m simply offering to ask Lord Anthony what happened that night and bring his confession back to you. You may do with it what you will. I shan’t judge the matter—only put the facts before you.”

Parys shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. But I doubt he’ll admit any wrongdoing in front of the servants. If he bargains with you, or tries to trick you, call Caliban down upon him.”

Resting his fists on his hips, he regarded her with a look that sent skitters of awareness up her back. “You may be small and delicate, but you’re quietly determined, Miss Harte. If I don’t accede to your demands, you’ll wear away at me like the waves on the rocks below. Let’s get this over with—carting people up cliff paths and down the stairs, and disputing with you, has wearied me.”

He sank back into his chair and he did, indeed, look exhausted all of a sudden. He reached for a small glass bottle, uncorked it and swallowed some of the murky liquid within.

“Go down to the men,” he told her, returning the bottle to its shelf. “I’ll give you a blanket or two for them. No—don’t think that I’ve softened toward them. I appreciate that no man can be put on trial if I let him freeze to death in the dungeons. Don’t concern yourself about tonight—you may keep my bed, and I’ll take Caliban’s usual place by the fire. You must be weary, too.”

A breakthrough! A small one, but it was a beginning. Now there was hope for the prisoners below. She seized the blankets Parys indicated, took up a candle, and left.

It was with great relief that she reached the final turn of the spiral stairs to hear the sound of voices from behind the heavy oak door. Lord Anthony sounded well—God be praised! The servants were mumbling, but perhaps that was from the drink.

She went down another step. Caliban raised his head, examined her, then settled his chin on his paws again, glaring. She hesitated—was she truly safe from the great dog?

“Hush! The hound may not understand your words, but if the bird is about, he could easily relate them back to his master.”

Her ears pricked up. What matter were the prisoners discussing that Parys mustn’t know about? It was only to be expected that they’d be plotting their escape, but it would make it harder to resolve matters between the brothers. What if harm should come to either one? The thought was unbearable.