Page 56 of Her Rake Fiancé

“‘Do dukes have hands like that?’ I asked.

“‘Of course not,’ said Atticus. ‘Mr. Blackmore doesn’t. Janie doesn’t. Why would a duke have hands like that?’

“‘So it isn’t the duke?’ I asked.

“Atticus didn’t say anything for a long time. And then he said, ‘I don’t think it is the duke.’”

As Jane’s chest rose and fell quickly, Richard’s shadow moved, and now he was towering over Reuben, facing him. Reuben looked up at him, his frown going smooth in surprise.

“Lord Richard…” he said.

“So where is my brother?” asked Richard through gritted teeth, his voice strained.

Reuben swallowed visibly. “I do not know, my lord. But I’ll tell you what. We stayed and asked around what could have happened. If anyone saw a rich, posh man somewhere. A barmaid remembered a handsome black-haired man, clean and well-groomed, wearing only his smallclothes…unconscious…loaded into a boat bound for one of them navy ships.”

26

Richard felt a growl rumbling in his chest, an unending burst of fury that consumed him from within. It was a wildfire of rage, regret, and pain that threatened to engulf him whole.

His brother—unconscious and helpless—had been snatched against his will. Press-ganged onto a navy ship. He had been the duke; how could that have happened?

A veil of crimson descended before Richard’s eyes, blinding him to reason. This wasn’t him. He was usually calm, genteel, the picture of grace under pressure. This…this wild, fiery creature, consumed by fear for his brother, was alien to him. Yet, it had sprung from within him, a primal force hidden beneath years of polite society’s conditioning.

For months, they had all mourned Spencer, assuming he was gone forever. Only recently had they dared to hope, dared to move forward. Now, this devastating revelation set them back. Spencer had been sent to war, and Richard was left to wrestle with the injustice of it all.

He grabbed Reuben by the collar, lifted him up, and growled right into his surprised face. He didn’t think this was irrational. All he could think was…my brother is at war… My brother is at war! And Richard didn’t even know which one—the French war or the American one.

“Thorne will pay for this!” he yelled into Reuben’s face.

The music around them died. The clanking of cutlery against plates stilled. The murmurs, laughter, and ecstatic moans and groans from behind the curtains of the alcoves stopped. Gentlemen, whores, and servants all stood still and looked at him.

Something sharp and cold cut through his vest and his shirt and poked painfully at his stomach.

“Stand back, my lord,” said Reuben coolly, all drunkenness gone.

A hand lay on his biceps and gently tugged it back. “Come on, Richard,” said Jane. “Let Reuben go. You heard him, he didn’t do anything. It was the wrong man. And we don’t know for sure if your brother was press-ganged. He could have left the city.”

Richard breathed deeply, his head cooling at Jane’s words. She was right. The red-hot fury started to slowly dissipate, even though it still thundered in the pit of his gut. It was like her voice was the only thing that could calm him.

Still holding Reuben, he glanced at her, only to see her wide-eyed face staring at the other corner of the club. Pure horror registered on her face. “Thorne! Thorne’s here!”

Richard looked up. Indeed, as the activity in the room resumed—the musician playing more of Vivaldi’s repertoire, the servants continuing on their way with food and drinks, the men gambling—Thorne casually made his way through the hall, dressed immaculately, with his high cravat and the stiff-standing collars of his coat. Behind him, two tall men followed, identical, with wavy chestnut hair, looking dangerous and menacing.

With a casual, relaxed expression on his face, Thorne nodded here and there, greeting his guests. He looked around, his gaze landing on the tables, on his workers, on the panther, in the way of a master checking on the order of things.

He hadn’t seen them yet.

Richard let go of Reuben, panting hard.

“Let’s go,” Jane said, her grip around his biceps stronger as she pulled him after her. “Quick! Reuben, not a word!”

Richard was still struck from the shock of it all—the hope that Spencer was, after all, alive, the rage of hearing he was dragged onto a navy ship, the helpless fear for his brother.

Jane guided him through a door the same color as the dark teal wall behind the marula tree with the python, which stared at them, and they sank into the dark corridor behind it. Richard barely noticed where they were going as images of Spencer under exploding cannons, hurt and blown to pieces, tore at his mind.

As they passed through the now-familiar labyrinthine corridors, he saw the door to Thorne’s study—where he’d found Reuben’s letter…where he’d been suddenly betrothed to Jane…where he’d intended to find out the truth.

Rage, once again, scalded him from inside. He couldn’t think straight. “Thorne will pay. I’ll file a criminal case against him. He must pay!”