“I’d hoped to bring good news. To say you could finally rest in peace, that the debt was paid.” His throat tightened at the memory of her final breath. He had failed her again. “But my mission is far from over.”
A bitter vow pulsed beneath his ribs.
God help him, he would avenge her.
He took the single rosebud and said a prayer for his sister. He’d never met her. Never would. But his mother had been certain the child growing inside her was a girl, and he’d never doubted her word.
He left the churchyard, the chill of loneliness seeping into his bones.
It was the reminder he needed.
The coldness that gave him the will to fight on.
If only he’d known the truth years ago. But his mother had been secretive; Harland, cunning. Which begged the question: where had London’s finest enquiry agent found the information?
With a new sense of resolve, he returned to Shadowmere.
Some called his castle-like homeLucifer’s Palace. It certainly rose from the earth like a curse on the landscape. Its old stone walls had surely witnessed many sacrifices, none more so than his mother’s.
Had she not sold her soul to keep it, he would burn it to the ground.
He approached the great studded doors and tugged the iron bell crank, its peal echoing through the vast entrance hall, the belly of the underworld, some said. Shadowmerewas barred to visitors. Few came or went unless he was hosting an event. Even then, the doors were locked after the guests were patted down like common thieves, their fine leather luggage rifled through.
Ramsey opened the door hatch, suspicion giving way to relief when he eyed Dominic. “I was beginning to fear the fool had shot you.” He slid the heavy bolts with the ease of a man who enjoyed keeping enemies out. “Or you’d been tossed into Newgate to rot.”
Broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, with hair that held the amber depth of good cognac, Ramsey served as Dominic’s bodyguard, butler, and occasional second. In short, he was damned indispensable.
Dominic marched into the entrance hall, where the crimson walls drank what little light the day offered. One look at the gilt paintings of naked nymphs, and he thought of Miss Harland.
Bloody hell.
“Harland didn’t give a damn that I danced with his daughter.” Anger sparked at the memory. Perhaps insulting the lord’s paramour would have drawn a reaction. “I could have stripped the girl bare and he wouldn’t have batted an eye.”
Miss Harland was no mere girl.
She was every bit a woman. A devious one at that.
“He left me waiting at Mivart’s like a buck with a measly grudge.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry.” Ramsey closed the door and drew the locks, plunging the hall into shadow. “I’d rather not see you hanged for murder. Happen you must have been three sheets cut when you cooked up that plan.”
Humiliation had been the primary goal. Then isolation. Most would distance themselves from Harland now. He’d wanted him to feel the indignity of having doors slammed inhis face. Yes, he might have shot him, but only to maim, not kill.
“And it’s not like you to cause an innocent woman distress, even if sheisthe spawn of Satan. Did you tell her you’d see her right? Give her that windfall we discussed?”
“Not in so many words.”
If he’d had a cat-o’-nine-tails, he’d have whipped his own back. But the moment he’d entered the ballroom and seen arrogance worn like a buttonhole bloom, something inside him had snapped.
“I believe she wanted me to ruin her.” He should have phrased it differently, because all the ways he might deflower Miss Harland filled his head. “We danced, albeit too close for propriety, but she kissed me as the musicians struck the final notes.”
It was brief, closed mouths, so why could he still feel the hot press of her virtuous lips, seared like a brand?
Ramsey stepped back, his frown giving way to a mocking grin. “She kissed you? An innocent threw herself at the Prince of Darkness, in full view of the ton? Were you drinking?”
“A glass of champagne foul enough to sober a corpse.”
Ramsey laughed so hard he had to clutch his ribs and gasp for breath. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since you told Lord Burrows his wig needed a valet. I mean the kiss, not the drink.”
