He would return. And when he did, he would be ready. As he had not been groomed to take over the role of duke, he wasn’t entirely certain what he would find when he returned to England. He had much to learn, and much to grieve for. The loss of his brother and father along with the loss of his career. He had a new life to learn and he prayed he was up to the task.
Leander took one last look around the room, letting his gaze linger on the sparse furnishings and the map-strewn table that had been the center of so many plans and escapes. Every mark and crease reminded him of the lives he had touched, the missions that had tested his skill and patience, and the friendships that had endured against impossible odds. He allowed himself a brief, almost imperceptible smile. The war had forged him, shaped him, and now it had given him the clarity he needed. England, his home, awaited, and with it, the life he had long avoided confronting.
Ravenwood’s words echoed in his mind. His advice had been wrapped in camaraderie, warnings tempered with affection. He had lost nearly everything that mattered yet could do as his father asked. He would go home and step into the role that destiny—and duty—had thrust upon him. The thought steadied his pulse and filled him with a measured determination.
He drew the long coat tighter around his shoulders, the leather worn and supple from years of travel, and slung the letters over his shoulder with deliberate care. Each step toward the door was firm, deliberate, a declaration to himself that he was leaving behind the shadows of the continent and the dangers that had once stalked him. Instead, he was stepping toward a future that demanded courage of a very different sort.
Ravenwood inclined his head in parting, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared. “Good luck, my friend I do think you may need it,” he said lightly, though there was an unspoken tension beneath the jest. “Lionston will be lucky to have you at its helm. Even with the darkness that brought you there.”
Leander’s lips twitched into a fleeting smirk, though the weight of the promise he carried was not lost on him. “Let us hope it is the right kind of luck,” he replied, voice steady and resolute. “I intend to do what is necessary—no matter what it demands of me.”
The candles flickered as he stepped into the night air, the chill biting through the warmth of the lodge. The wind carried with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and the distant promise of dawn, as if heralding the beginning of something new. Leander paused for only a heartbeat, letting the night settle around him and then moved swiftly to his next destination.
Soon he would be back at Lionston. Home. The word carried a weight that both steadied and unsettled him. England would be a place of reckoning, of expectations and obligations, but also a place where he could forge something new. Where he could honor the legacy of those he had lost, and perhaps, just perhaps, find a new purpose. There would be no room for hesitation, no tolerance for error. The Duke of Lionston would not be caught unprepared.
And Leander was never unprepared…
Two
The late afternoon sun slanted across the stone façade of Lionston Castle as Leander, the new Duke of Lionston, rode through the iron gates of his ancestral estate. The familiar creak of the gates, the scent of the manicured gardens, and the hush of the estate’s long corridors once might have brought comfort. Now, they pressed upon him with the weight of duty and expectation, a constant reminder of the life he had inherited but would never have chosen… The estate also permeated the suffocating loss he still had not come to terms with. There would be no Laith, no imposing figure of his father, to greet him once he stepped through those doors and entered Lionston’s hallowed halls.
He dismounted quietly, his boots striking the gravel with a soft clatter, and paused to take in the estate. The grandeur of the Lionston name, the legacy of generations past, all had demanded careful stewardship. Appearance, propriety, and adherence to every societal stricture that the ton deemed essential must be met. He may not have been the one groomed to the dukedom, but even he knew that much. One was not raised in such a household without absorbing some information. He could almost feel his father’s presence here at Lionston Castle. Yet, for the first time in years, Leander felt a restless disquiet as he stared at the castle. The pomp, the ceremonies, the endless eyes…they would all be watching and judging his every decision. The very idea of it chafed against him. He already longed, desperately, for the days when his actions were his own and he had barely been in England a mere week. On the continent, his loyalty had not been measured by the whispers of society but by the steadiness of his own deeds.
He sighed as he glanced up at his ancestral home once more. He should go inside but he was reluctant. Once he stepped inside his duties as the new Duke of Lionston would truly begin. He would be obliged to answer to that title. The servants would have expectations and questions. Some of which he would not have an answer to. Leander would be learning much as he went. Sure, he had been privy to some of his brother’s tutelage, but the majority had been private lessons. Leander had not been meant to be duke. He had been happy with his role. He enjoyed being a spy. That was what he knew, what he wanted. He would never have wished such a tragedy to befall his family. He would much rather his father and brother be inside Lionston Castle to greet him upon his return. Though he never would have been in England now if not for their loss…it was a conundrum he never wished to face. He did not want to experience any of it. But he had no choice. This was his life now.
He sighed and stepped inside. He was immediately greeted by Lionston’s longtime butler. “Your Grace,” Bates greeted him.
Leander would never become accustomed to being referred to as ‘Your Grace’… He sighed. “Good day, Bates,” he said in a somber tone.
“It is good you are home,” the butler said. “The staff has prepared everything for your arrival.”
The servants moved efficiently around them. Most did not meet his gaze. Leander hated every second of it. “Thank you, Bates,” he said. “I think I will retire. It has been a long journey, and I need to rest.” What he needed was space to grieve and some time alone to acclimate to his new role.
Bates nodded. “Very well, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “The master suite is ready for you to occupy it. Please let me know if I can be of service. Your father’s valet is available to help you as well.” He cleared his throat. “Unless you would like to hire someone new to see to your needs.”
Bloody hell… He had no use for a valet. He had been dressing himself and taking care of his own clothing for years now. He couldn’t sack the man though. He supposed he would have to suffer through having a valet. “I don’t need anything right now. What is the man’s name?”
“Spencer, Your Grace,” the butler answered.
“Tell him that he may inquire about having a new wardrobe readied for me. I have nothing proper currently that would befit my new station.” That was truer than he wanted to admit. He had one small valise with everything he had carried with him on the continent. It held one change of clothing.
“I will pass on your instructions,” Bates told him. “Will there be anything else, Your Grace? Perhaps you would like a specific meal for this evening?”
“Whatever the cook prepares will be adequate,” he said. “I do not have anything particular in mind.” How drab his life had become… “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must rest.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Bates bowed and left Leander alone in the corridor.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was home. It did not seem real, and yet, how could it not be? He shook his head and headed toward the grand staircase. He already hated his new life. This was not what he wanted. A thought that passed through his mind on repeat ever since he had gotten those two missives.
As he passed through the familiar halls of Lionston Castle a thought came unbidden and irresistible. He could not abandon the war effort entirely, nor could he relinquish the subtle power he had once wielded. Though the corridors of Lionston were lined with portraits of solemn ancestors, he would not be bound solely to their expectations. Quietly, deliberately, Leander began to consider how he might dabble once more in his former life—the life that had made him formidable and had granted him freedom in the shadows and given him a purpose beyond balls and banquets.
There would be no grand announcement. He would not merely be the Duke of Lionston. That was not the life he had intended for himself. He wanted much more than that. So, there would be no spectacle to satisfy the gossip of the ton. Leander would not become the society gentleman they all expected. No, he would continue to make moves in silence, as he always had, letting the machinery of intelligence and the careful management of information unfold in his hands. Lionston’s legacy demanded loyalty and duty—but he would define for himself the means of protecting it. In doing so, he would reclaim a part of himself that society and duty had long tried to suppress.
Leander drew a deep breath, letting the scent of polished wood fill his lungs. The duke could play the part of the proper nobleman, when necessary, but the man he truly was…the one who had walked many unseen paths, the one who had borne burdens in the shadows… That man would not be denied. The game, as it always had, was quietly, dangerously, and was about to begin again.
Soon Dash would be back in England, and when he returned, they would have a long talk. Leander had an idea and to implement it he would need the earl’s help. With the Earl of Ravenwood at his side he believed he could make his plan into reality. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. There were plenty of men—even women that would be interested in what he had in mind. The two of them could create something special—something lasting.
He reached his new bedchamber. The rooms that had previously been occupied by his father and he stilled. He did not want to enter them. Instead, he turned away from them and went down the hall to his bedchamber. The one he had occupied his entire life. He wasn’t ready to claim the ducal suite. He would one day, but that day was not this one.
