The Duke's Revenge Read Free

the
footman.
    “ Where to, your grace?” a
footman asked.
    Max climbed into the carriage and said,
“Edington Mansion.”
    The footman nodded and closed the door.
    Max rested his head back and closed his eyes
as the carriage moved out of Belgrave Square. Before he knew it,
his thought--with its own free will--had drifted back to that
fateful day. It seemed that he could never stop thinking about what
had happened that dawn. Even now he could still remember seeing
blood oozing out from his brother’s chest and life fading away from
his brother’s body—and the thirst for revenge erupted in his blood
anew.
    It was not long when he realized that they
were moving through the familiar sight of Park Lane toward Edington
Mansion. Up at the mansion he instructed Evergreen, his butler, and
Mrs. Clairwater, his housekeeper, on the running of the household
during his absent. He informed them that they would be expecting
his return within three to four weeks. By then, he hoped,
parliament would have reached some form of agreement and stop
arguing on the merit of Prince George’s suitability as Regent
during the king’s illness.
    Leaving London’s West End for his country
estate, Max felt that he could breathe more easily: literary
because of the dull, smoky air, and metaphorically because of the
continuous tension in parliament.
    After a day and a half of ominous journey
because of the moody English sky that threatened to open up and
flood England with rain and snow again, he finally arrived at his
country estate.
    Westwood Castle was a
magnificent four stories imposing fortress that was made of dark,
grey stones built four hundred years ago. Simply
put— it was a place he despised. He merely bought it, along with the vast estate
that had taken him months to complete touring, to fulfill his
vengeance. He knew that the Earl of Westwood—the man who had shot
his brother dead--was up to his neck with debts. Therefore it was
only reasonable that the man must sell his humble home of many
generations to the highest bidder. Ah, it served him pleasure
knowing that the earl’s wife, Lady Grace
Westwood— his enemy —had nowhere to turn to.
    The carriage drew to a stop in the
courtyard. The footman jumped down from his seat and rushed to open
the door. Max stepped out and stared up at the castle looming over
him.
    “ Welcome home, your
grace,” the butler greeted breathlessly with his head bowed stiffly
at the door.
    “ Donald,” Max said with a
curt nod of his head.
    “ A surprise arrival, your
grace, we did not expect you until March.”
    “ I miss this place.” Max
turned and looked at the butler. He saw a fine sweat breaking out
on the man’s forehead. In this damn cold weather? And those grey
eyes were shifting from side to side, as if the man was trying to
avoid looking at him directly--it was as if he had something to
hide.
    “ I will inform the
staff immediately of your arrival, your grace.”
    Max nodded and made his way toward the
stairs.
    “ Would you like to visit
the stables, your grace?”
    He turned to look at the butler again, his
sharp eyes missing nothing.
    “ Err, to see your
thoroughbred, your grace,” the butler said
uncomfortably.
    “ I will see to them later.
I’m tired, Donald, tell Mrs. Price to prepare my luncheon,” Max
said over his shoulder.
    “ Very well, your
grace.”
    As he climbed the stairs, his mind was on
that of the past. He wondered what had happened to Lady Grace
Westwood after the death of her husband. Had she married again to
an old man with loads of money in his pocket? He had no doubt that
she had.
    He was turning the corner to the master
bedroom when he realized that the door was opened. He stalked in
and halted—
    All that he could do at that moment was to
stare at the woman in his room. What the hell was she doing there?
And why the hell was she touching his bed?
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 2
     
     
    Ivy sipped her tea, savoring the aromatic,
tasty liquid down her throat.