Page 78 of A Tale of Two Dukes

“It wouldn’t matter if I was gagged. It wouldn’t stop my thoughts about you. Despicable, horrible-”

“You know,” he murmurs, curling his fingers around even tighter, “you’re almost more trouble than it’s worth. You better thank whatever God you pray to that my thirst for revenge is not so easily quenched with your blood. I’d rather you suffer if it means driving Birchleigh into depths of madness.”

“What on earth could my mate have done that was so horrific as to cause all of this?” The strain in my voice as he cuts off my air buzzes in my ears.

“You mean besides killing my brother? That is not reason enough?” He releases me and leans back. “Shall I regale you then? We have some time before reaching our destination.”

Silent, I absorb everything, doing my best to relay it to William. Mr. Beaumont goes on about his childhood, extolling how the man who raised them implanted the desire to kill the Crown Prince. Some convoluted story about the King Alpha taking their mother during her heat.

Unfortunately, since he was King Alpha, all blame fell on their mother. It was dismissed as an Alpha succumbing to a rut. And so, their mother became pregnant with twins, keeping it all secret from the crown. Her husband, the man who raised them, in his maddening rage, decided that the King’s line must die, but not right away.

Oh no. He plotted and planned, waiting. And so, the madman separated the two sons, never allowing one to be seen with the other. That’s how the whole of society believed there was only one child.

It was all a ruse to give plausible deniability. The royal line expanded with a son, the new prince, and still, he waited until he could use the twins to exact his revenge.

But because his brother, the man I was engaged to, was either too kind-hearted or too inept to pull the coup off, Mr. Beaumont stepped in instead. He was the one who attempted to snuff out the life of the Crown Prince.

Though there’s no proof that the King Alpha is their father, the man who raised them took it as fact. It doesn’t help that they share some similarities with the man in question; though, in my mind, wouldn’t all Alphas share some similarities?

His story makes little sense. It’s laced with venom and vitriol, starting and stopping as if he’s both remembering and trying to figure out what happens next. It’s my only hope that William can untangle this web.

One thing is clear though, if not for my mate’s interference, the Prince would be dead, and no one would be the wiser. However, William did interfere, and as a result, the wrong man died, driving Mr. Beaumont into ever descending pits of madness. The crown giving my mate the title of Birchleigh, stripping their family of everything, was the final straw.

That made him decide to take me. I’m the recompense, the prize. He’s not content enough with bonding me. He wants to be my husband, my everything. It hurts to be a pawn in a bid for revenge, but nothing I do can make this better.

Struggle as I might, Mr. Beaumont is there, monitoring my thoughts, cutting me off before I can act. He’s rendered me helpless, weak, and a liability to my love. William doesn’t blame me for any of this, but it doesn’t help with the self-recrimination that claws at my insides.

It’s my plight that I’m seen as less than by the Ton. I’m soiled, a spoiled dove with no agency, no voice. Unfortunately, with how powerful Mr. Beaumont is in the merchant arena, it makes the situation even more hopeless.

I’m a whore, plain and simple. To be a wife would be seen by others as a salvation, even if to me it’s a living hell. They would expect me to graciously accept the nuptials, but I’ll be damned if I let this monster take me without a fight.

Powerful or not, I will refuse to be his bride when forced to the altar. Even if it costs me my life, I will never willingly align my name with his. The thought of leaving William cuts me to the core, but I cannot see any other way.

It will not come to that, love. You will not marry him, and you will not die.

The resolve in William’s voice shores me up, but there’s still that part of me that needs to plan for the what-ifs. What if he can’t make it in time? What if something else goes wrong? What if Mr. Beaumont decides he no longer wishes to wait for marriage and takes me in the carriage?

My mind bounces about, never landing. The only thing I see clearly is Gretna Green will be my last stand. Whatever the outcome, it will end there. Turning in on myself, I let my eyes drift close as William professes his love for me.

* * *

The carriage jerks to a halt, rousing me out of my stupor. All around us, quaint little buildings greet my gaze. Gretna Green. I’m sure of it. Dread drips into my gut as Mr. Beaumont exits and holds his hand out for me.

Stall, my kitten, William urges in my mind. We are nigh at hand, but you must stall.

I keep my mind blank, refusing to acknowledge his request for fear that Mr. Beaumont might know. Instead, I wrap my arms around my stomach, filling my thoughts with sickness and agony. With any luck, he won’t know I’m faking.

Though, to be honest, I don’t have to try very hard to make myself ill. The very idea of being forced into a marriage with this fiend is enough to make me nearly faint. One hand over my mouth and the other on my stomach, I pause at the edge of the opening.

“Might I have some privacy? I feel ill from our trip.”

Mr. Beaumont narrows his eyes as he looks me up and down. I feel him in my mind, his slimy tendrils probing and prodding, searching for any nefarious schemes on my part. Again, I put my discomfort in the forefront, nearly blasting it at him.

With a long-suffering sigh, he helps me out and takes me to a nearby inn. The clang of the anvil follows me as we go up the stairs. It pounds away in time with my heart.

Off to the side, he murmurs to the innkeeper’s daughter, no doubt urging her to monitor me. Clutching my stomach, I let out a pitiful moan, drawing their gazes to me. With a nod, she takes me to a room with an attached privy, a far cry fancier than the room we stayed in the other night.

Real revulsion twists my gut as I take in the pristine white of the sheets. Judging by the bright smile on the girl’s face, this is to be my bridal room. She doesn’t understand, and I cannot reveal anything that will put her in harm's way.