The Dark Duke

  The Dark Duke

  by Laura Landon

  CHAPTER 1

  Amanda stepped out of the carriage before the driver could descend to assist her. Her quick, angry steps ate up the short distance to the front door of the town house her brother, Harry Radburn, Viscount Mattenden, thought she didn’t know about.

  She didn’t expect anyone from the house to come to her aid. It was past midnight, far too late for any of the servants to still be up. Why would they be? With the hours her brother kept, even the most loyal of the staff would have learned long ago that their employer never returned home until dawn.

  If he returned even then.

  She didn’t care how long she had to wait. She would be here when Harry arrived. And when she finished with him, he’d wish she’d never come.

  This time her brother had gone too far.

  She reached up to lift the knocker. She’d no doubt have to wake someone. That suited her fine. She didn’t care if she woke half of London. The whole world deserved to suffer with her.

  How could her father have been so stupid as to leave Harry in charge of the finances? What on earth had possessed him to trust his spendthrift son with the money needed to run Mattenden Estate?

  Granted, the estate wasn’t large, nor was it overly profitable, but it was the only hope Amanda had to maintain her independence. Her quarterly allowance from the estate income was all that stood between being in control of her own life or being forced to marry. And she refused to live her life at the mercy of a man who would make every decision for her. A man who would tell her what she could and couldn’t do. A man who would force her to lead the kind of life he wanted her to lead.

  She wouldn’t have it. Just because her father had been blind to the fact that his heir was incapable of managing the estate didn’t mean she had to suffer the consequences.

  Her quarterly allowance was her sole earthly means, and she wanted every pound of what she’d been promised.

  Her temper rose another notch as she prepared to slam the brass knocker against the thick oak door.

  This was the last time she’d accept only a portion of her allowance. The last time she’d scrimp to cover yet another unexpected shortfall. How would she ever be able to set aside enough to buy a house of her own if her wastrel brother continued to spend more and more of the money she needed to secure a life of independence?

  The longer she mulled over the meager amount she’d received, the more furious she became. She began the downward thrust of the brass knocker, but jumped back a step when the knocker jerked out of her hand and the door opened.

  She blinked several times, then focused on the torn jacket and bloody lip of the man who’d once been the butler at her father’s town house. “Fillmore?”

  She seethed with a blazing anger fiery enough to scorch the green grass of the lush courtyard lawn. Fillmore? Here? Her reprobate brother had told her the reason their long-time butler left their employ was because he’d found a better position. It was stunningly clear that the position Fillmore found was running her deceitful brother’s own town house.

  She’d kill him. She didn’t care if Harry was the last male heir to the Mattenden title. She’d bloody kill him for what he’d done.

  “Oh, my lady. I’m so glad you’re here. How did you know?”

  “Know what, Fillmore?”

  “Oh, Lady Amanda. It was terrible. Terrible.”

  “Is Lord Mattenden here?” She rushed into the foyer and scanned the area.

  “He’s upstairs, miss. The doctor’s with him now.”

  “Doctor?”

  Anger gave way to concern and she headed toward the stairway at a run.

  “You can’t go up, my lady.”

  She stopped with her foot on the first step and looked back to where the butler stood with his hand braced against the table that stood in the center of the foyer.

  “The doctor’s not letting anyone in.”

  “Well, he’ll bloody well let me in!”

  She ignored Fillmore’s warning and raced up the stairs. When she reached the only room from which light spilled from beneath the door, she gripped the handle and entered the room. She took one look at the bloody figure on the bed and grasped onto the nearest piece of furniture to keep from sinking to her knees.

  “Get out,” a gray-haired man said without looking to see who’d entered the room.

  “I’m his sister.”

  “I don’t care if you’re the bloody Queen.”

  She turned to leave, but something stopped her. She needed to see Harry—just in case. He was her only brother and no matter how many scrapes he’d gotten himself into, he was family. No matter what he’d done, she loved him.

  “Will he live?” She stepped closer to the bed.

  “Doubtful.”

  The short, hopeless answer caused a painful knot to settle in her chest. She walked to the side of the bed opposite to where the doctor worked and reached for Harry’s hand.

  “I told you to leave.”

  “Do not order me about,” she answered, glaring at the doctor with the most hostile look she could muster. She hated when men issued orders they expected females to meekly obey.

  The doctor looked up for a brief second, then went back to work sewing a long gash on Harry’s chest. Another long, angry slash ran down Harry’s cheek. Both ugly wounds looked as though they’d been made by a knife.

  “Have it your way. But if you land in a heap on the floor, you’ll stay there.”

  “I’d expect no less,” she said and knelt at Harry’s side. She held Harry’s hand and imagined he squeezed her fingers, but knew that was unlikely. She was certain he’d been given something to make him sleep through the pain.

  She looked at the flesh hanging open down his left cheek. “Will he scar?” she asked, although she knew the answer before the doctor replied.

  “If you’re asking about his face, the answer’s yes. He’ll scar.”

  Amanda tried to visualize her brother’s handsome face, but knew it didn’t matter what he looked like as long as he was alive.

  With a determined movement, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Don’t you dare die on me, Harry,” she said. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.” Then, she leaned forward and kissed his bruised right cheek.

  Amanda stayed at Harry’s side until the doctor finished sewing the gash on his chest, then held her brother’s hand while the doctor sewed a deep cut on Harry’s arm, and another on his shoulder. When the doctor finished, he slowly stood and rolled his shoulders.

  “That’s all the good I can do him.” The physician reached for his jacket and shoved his arms into the sleeves. “Send for me if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Amanda said, then walked the doctor to the door. A footman stood outside Harry’s room and escorted the doctor down the stairs. When the front door closed behind him, Amanda returned to Harry’s bedside and sat.

  She watched his breathing for several long minutes, then when she was certain he hadn’t stopped breathing, she rose and left the room.

  Twice her legs nearly gave out from beneath her, but she stayed on her feet until she reached the hallway. Two chairs sat on either side of a small table against the wall and she sank onto the one nearest.

  A fine pickle her brother had gotten into this time.

  She propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands.

  Her mother would have the vapors at the unladylike way she sat, but then, her mother wasn’t here to reprimand her. Or give her advice. Nor was her father. Nor was anyone.

  Her sisters had washed their hands of Harry’s antics long ago. They refused to concern themselves with what he got himself into. They had husbands to provide for them, to take care of thei
r needs. She didn’t. She was alone to clean up after Harry.

  A river of tears wanted to flow but it was no use. Crying had never helped before, and it certainly wouldn’t in this case.

  With a determined push, she sat upright in her chair, then rose to her feet. She needed to find out what Harry was involved in. And who would know that better than the staff.

  At a gait far steadier than she felt, she went back down the stairs to where Harry’s butler waited for her. “What happened, Fillmore?”

  “Lord Mattenden was attacked.”

  “That much is obvious.”

  She took a closer look at Fillmore’s torn coat and bruised face and realized Fillmore, too, had been injured. She opened her mouth to ask the first of a dozen questions she wanted answered when Fillmore swayed on his feet.

  She reached for the aging butler and clasped her fingers around his arms to hold him steady. “Are you all right, Fillmore?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he answered, although his face now seemed unnaturally pale. “It’s just that the evening has been quite...eventful.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No, my lady. Jenkins is here. And some of the staff.”

  “Jenkins?”

  Her anger resurfaced. Jenkins was another trusted Mattenden employee who’d found a “better” position the same time as Fillmore.

  “Jenkins!” Amanda hollered.

  The footman who’d worked for her father since before Amanda was born hobbled into the foyer, a bloody rag wound around his hand and an ugly bruise darkening his eye.

  “Oh, Jenkins. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, my lady. But glad I am that you’re here.”

  Jenkins rushed to Fillmore’s side and helped her lead the butler to a chair in what she guessed passed for Harry’s study, although she doubted Harry ever used it. Certainly not to do any work related to the estate.

  When she was sure Fillmore and Jenkins were steady enough to stay upright in their chairs, she raced to the sideboard to pour the butler a glass of brandy. She poured a second glass and handed it to Jenkins. “Drink this,” she said to both of them, “then tell me what happened.”

  She waited while the two men took long swallows from their glasses. She knew they were both badly shaken but she was impatient to find out what had happened. Her only hope of discovering the facts was from the servants who’d been here. Even if Harry were well enough to talk, she wouldn’t find out anything from him. Nothing that was close to the truth, anyway.

  “There were six of them, my lady,” Jenkins said, lowering his empty glass to his knee. “They pushed their way into the house and went right for Lord Mattenden.”

  “Was my brother home?”

  “He’d just arrived. He was terribly upset.”

  This didn’t bode well. Harry was never upset. Amanda doubted he had enough common sense to worry about things that other, more responsible men of his position would realize they needed to worry about. “Tell me everything. What did Lord Mattenden do when he came home?”

  “He came in here,” Fillmore said, pointing to Harry’s desk.

  “Do you know why?”

  “No, my lady. Not for sure. But this is where the intruders found him.”

  For the first time Amanda took stock of the room’s condition. It hadn’t been demolished. In fact, only one chair and a small table near the wall were overturned. The rest of the room looked unscathed, except for the door, which she noticed hung at an odd angle from its hinges.

  She turned back to the large oak desk that showed little sign of ever having been used. Behind the desk on the wall was a safe. Its door stood ajar. On the floor below it lay a portrait of her family that had been painted a year before her parents were killed in the fire. A long gash separated the precious canvas.

  She rushed across the room and knelt beside the painting. She blinked the wetness from her eyes before brushing her fingertips over her mother’s torn features. It was lost to her. The last picture she had of her mother was gone.

  She pushed herself to her feet. “Do you know what the intruders wanted with my brother?”

  She glanced up, first to the empty safe, then to the servants.

  When neither one answered her question, she repeated it. “Do you?”

  The look the two exchanged told her they knew something, but were debating whether or not to say anything.

  “If you know anything, it’s important that I know it, too.”

  Jenkins gave Fillmore a nod of encouragement, then the butler rose and faced her. “I fear Lord Mattenden has gotten himself involved in something dangerous.”

  Amanda lifted her eyebrows in a gesture she hoped told Fillmore his assumption was a grave understatement. She waited for him to continue.

  “I believe,” Fillmore stammered slowly and cautiously, “that the men intended to do Lord Mattenden...grievous harm.”

  The knot in her stomach fell like a boulder. “That much is obvious, Fillmore. Do you know why?”

  Fillmore stammered a few seconds before taking a deep breath that lifted his shoulders. “I believe it’s possible they were instructed to kill Lord Mattenden.”

  The scene that surrounded her had given her cause for worry. Now she was terrified. Her brother was often reckless and more times than not, lacked the common sense and dedication needed to run the estate. This was why she made all of the business decisions. Why she’d taken over managing everything since the day her parents had been killed. Harry was a figurehead. All that was required of him was to sign his approval for the money she indicated needed to be spent.

  “Tell me everything you know. Every word you heard.”

  “The intruders didn’t say much,” Fillmore said. “It’s as if they knew Lord Mattenden was here. I believe they might have been waiting for him.”

  “What clothes did they wear?”

  “Clothes?”

  “Yes. How were they dressed? Were they dressed in finery?”

  “Oh, no, my lady. They were dressed like...” Fillmore’s features took on a puzzled look.

  “Like seamen, my lady,” Jenkins added.

  “Seamen?”

  “Yes,” Fillmore agreed. “I detected the smell of the wharf when the big bloke grabbed me from behind so the other one could pummel me.”

  Amanda tried to make sense of the information the two servants offered, but couldn’t. “Anything else?”

  Fillmore and Jenkins shook their heads. “Everything happened so fast.” The butler clutched his head. “The master raced through the doorway and into his study. A moment later, the six thugs burst into the house after him.

  “Jamie and Conway, the two outside servants, came when they heard the commotion. We kept the blackguards from taking the master like I think they intended, but there weren’t enough of us to prevent his lordship from getting hurt.”

  “Lord Mattenden owes you his life,” she said to Fillmore and Jenkins. “I owe you, too.” She took a deep breath.

  She walked to the empty safe and looked down. The money that had been in the safe lay scattered on the floor.

  It was obvious that the men hadn’t come to rob Harry. They’d come for something else.

  This wasn’t the first scrape Harry had gotten into, but it most certainly was the worst. When would he ever learn?

  She looked up at the two servants. “We need to get Lord Mattenden away from here.”

  Both men stared at her for a moment as if they wanted to warn her that Lord Mattenden might not survive, then changed their minds and nodded.

  Jenkins sat taller. “Yes, my lady. The men who attacked the master weren’t the kind to give up. I’m afraid they’ll be back. I don’t think they were keen to the idea of having to tell whoever had hired them that they’d failed.”

  “I think Jenkins is right, my lady. When the leader yelled for them to run, the man fighting me didn’t want to give up. He started to argue, saying that the earl wasn’t going to like this.”

  “The earl?�
��

  “That’s what the bloke said. He didn’t want to face some earl if they failed.”

  “Did he say a name? Give a clue as to who this earl might be?”

  “No, my lady. I’m sorry. That’s all I heard.”

  “Thank you, both of you.” She turned to go out the doorway and stopped with her hand braced on the door jam. “Gather the staff, Fillmore, and tell them to pack. Send them to Lord Haywood’s residence. They’ll be safe there.”

  “Are you sure the staff shouldn’t go to Mattenden House?”

  Her mind spun in confusion. She wasn’t at all sure what to do, but Mattenden House didn’t seem like the place where they’d be safe. “No, they’ll be watching Mattenden House. Take them to the Earl of Haywood’s residence. Tell them to make themselves useful.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Amanda thought of all the questions her best friend Celie would ask when she and Haywood returned from the country, but hopefully this whole mess would be over by then and she could explain the situation without making it seem extreme.

  “Jenkins, have a carriage brought round the back. Place enough quilts to make a soft bed for Lord Mattenden. We’ll want his journey to be as comfortable as possible.”

  Fillmore and Jenkins looked at each other as if they doubted her sanity.

  “Do you have an idea where to take Lord Mattenden that he’ll be safe?” Fillmore finally asked.

  Amanda nodded. She knew of only one place.

  “I’ll go with his lordship,” Fillmore said with a lift to his shoulders. “I’ll stay with him until he heals. And Cook will come with me. She won’t be needed at Lord Haywood’s and she’s better at nursing than anyone I know.”

  Amanda nodded. Harry couldn’t be in better hands.

  She started to leave, but Jenkins’s voice stopped her.

  “Is there someone you can call on to help you, my lady?”

  Jenkins’s words were innocent enough. His concern real enough. Even his question was logical. But the answer she was forced to give terrified her.

  “No, Jenkins. There is no one.”

  A cold shiver raced down her spine but pride forced her to lift her chin. She would not let fear rule her life. Fear was the end result when one foolishly put one’s trust in another person. Hadn’t she learned that over and over?