Page 5 of The Haunted Duke

“Winterbourne? Is he not the brother of the Duke of Ravenshaw?” Mary-Anne asked.

“The one and the same,” Helena agreed, and she barely got the words out before Mary-Anne crowed with happiness and threw her arms around her.

“Oh, we must celebrate, my darling!” Mary-Anne insisted.

Helena laughed softly as her mother’s words came out in an emphatic burst, even as something in her heart whispered this was not right. That there was someone else out there. Someone who wrote her the most beautiful letters. Someone who made her feel seen, appreciated, and adored.

Someone who disappeared four years ago.

“We will, Mama,” she assured her, pulling away from her tight embrace. “Tomorrow, perhaps. It is late now, and it has been quite an evening.”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” Mary-Anne readily agreed. “Tomorrow, of course. When your betrothed comes over to discuss your engagement. Little Alex will be so excited! Oh, we are saved!”

It took several more minutes, but after Helena finally untangled herself from her very excited mother and said their goodnights, she hurried to her rooms and scribbled out a quick message to Jeremy.

“Aggie, I am sorry it is so late, but this message must be taken to Mr. Winterbourne’s residence immediately.”

Chapter 1

“Take a break, old boy! Company has arrived!”

Evander Mason, the Duke of Redgrave, ignored the cheerful sound of his friends’ voices and kept his fists up. Toby, his valet, tried to take advantage of the distraction and threw a punch at his ribs. His lips twisting into a wicked grin, Evander sidestepped the hit with graceful speed and landed a blow to the younger man’s jaw for his troubles.

Toby let out a grunt as he pedaled backward, and with that, Evander called for a pause in their practice.

“Well met, Your Grace,” Toby panted, rubbing his jaw.

Through his own deep breaths, Evander gave him a nod of respect. It had taken far too long to get his body back into the shape it had been before he had been abducted and tortured, but once his strength had started to come back, he had returned to his daily practice with vigor.

His sweat-soaked muscles ticked with fatigue as he strode away from Toby, loosening the wraps around his knuckles as he went to his brother, Adrian, and friend, Damien. Both gave him happy, approving looks as he approached, still obviously elated that he had finally crawled out of his den of self-pity.

Then those expressions of happiness turned grim as their eyes settled on the fire scars around his naked neck, then to the ones on his wrists. To the lash marks across his chest and chiseled abdomen. They would never admit it, but he was certain his scars terrified them as much as they terrified everyone. A beast who crawled out of hell itself, people would say.

At least they have never fainted at the sight of me like that one maid.

“What brings you two scoundrels by?” he asked, running a drying sheet over his veined forearms and heaving chest and torso. Both men’s eyes snapped back up to his, and Adrian scowled.

“Hear that, Damien? The man still thinks we are scoundrels.”

Damien smirked.

“How very rude. We are married men now, old boy. Our days of scoundreling are far over.”

Evander chortled, his chiseled lips drawing up into his own smirk as his piercing blue eyes roved over his two friends. So much had changed about them. He had missed so much of their lives while he was abducted. Even more after, as he had spent nearly two years hiding in his old family estate outside of London, wallowing in his pain and shutting out the people who loved and had missed him the most.

It had been Damien who had jerked him from the shackles he had put on himself, and slowly, over the months, he began to work toward coming back to his old self. He had started with his body, nourishing it again after months of self-inflicted starvation and getting back to his boxing routine.

When he began to feel physically stronger, he moved on to healing his mind.

That had been by far the most difficult task. He still had nightmares; he still felt the burn of the rope that had been tied around his neck, wrists, and ankles for months at a stretch. He still experienced the phantom pain of painful fists and the stinging lashes of the whip whenever he let his mind rest for too long. Still, he fought through it and worked until he could leave the seclusion of his estate and return to London.

“You look well, brother,” Adrian said, his tone sincere as their matching blue eyes met. “Better every time I see you.”

Damien gave a nod of agreement.

Evander flinched. It was subtle. They meant well when they said such things. He knew they did, as did everyone who said them, but every time those words were spoken, he was reminded of when he did not look so well. When his ribs protruded through his flesh, and his eyes were those of a dead man. When his burn marks were fresh and agonizing. When his pain was…

“Well,” Evander huffed, waving a hand toward the seats surrounding the outdoor table as he took one for himself. “As much as I appreciate you two telling me how pretty I look, I would prefer that we move on to your reason for visiting.”