Page 2 of Duke in Darkness

Hobbs’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I took the liberty of bringing it with me, sir.”

A half hour later, Gabriel made his way to the front room that served as a parlor of sorts. The two men standing by the window looked extremely ill at ease, peering about the small and shabby area as though they expected footpads to leap out and attack them at any moment. One was of average height and slender, with gray-flecked hair and spectacles. The other younger, short, and rotund. Both had the pasty hue of those who rarely ventured outdoors.

“Gentlemen,” he said coldly. If he let them do the talking, he might be able to mask the worst of his affliction.

Both stared back, looks of abject horror on their faces, and Gabriel nearly turned around and left again. Years in the harsh, relentless heat of Spain and later France had burnished his skin bronze, and with his jet-black hair and equally dark eyes, plus the vicious scar on the right side of his face that traveled from jaw to hairline, he hardly needed further evidence that he looked like some sort of purgatory-spawned demon.

Then abruptly, as though turning a page, both faces went blank and they bowed very low.

“Sir,” said Spectacles. “You are Colonel Gabriel Jordan-Ives? First cousin to His Grace Quentin, Duke of Exton, and Lord Simon Jordan-Ives?”

Who else would he be? “I am.”

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I am Ormsby, of Ormsby, Kane, and Vesper. This is my junior associate, Jacobs. The firm has served the Exton dukedom in all legal matters for many generations. It is with the greatest of sorrow that I deliver this news to you.”

Gabriel froze. “News?”

“His Grace and Lord Simon were attending a house party in Sussex. Despite inclement weather, they decided to return to London together after receiving word their mother the duchess wished to see them…”

Foreboding clawed at his belly, and the damp-marked parlor walls began to close in on him. Stay calm. Breathe in. Breathe out. “And?”

“It was raining. The carriage took a corner too fast and overturned, down a steep bank and into a stream. Alas, His Grace and his lordship did not survive the accident. So it is my duty to inform you, as the sole surviving blood male of the Jordan-Ives line, you sir, are the fourteenth Duke of Exton. My deepest condolences for your loss.”

Black dots danced in Gabriel’s vision, a roaring sound filled his ears, and for a long moment he thought he might pass out. No. NO! Impossible. This just had to be another nightmare. His cousins couldn’t be dead. There was no way in hell he could be a fucking duke. “When? Who knows?”

Jacobs dabbed at his temples with a crisp handkerchief. “Four days ago, sir. It took a while to find them, you see. And then find you. We have tried to be discreet, but your aunt is not taking the news very well.”

Gabriel barely refrained from unleashing a snort of derision. What mother in the world would take the news of both her children’s deaths, well? “To be expected.”

“Naturally, naturally,” said Ormsby in a gratingly soothing voice. “Her Grace is but a woman, without the fortitude to manage by herself. She asks, nay, begs, sir, for you to attend her in London. To do your duty and take on the responsibilities of the dukedom as you did on the battlefield for king and country. There will be no impediment. You are the rightful heir, and are of sound mind.”

The sound mind was highly debatable. Even the thought of returning to London and being part of the ton, of dressing like a dandy, appearing in public, and drinking tea like he wasn’t a monster made sweat drip down his back and his scars itch even worse. But…duty. And Aunt Imogen had always been kind to him as a child, though he hadn’t seen her in person for many years. “Wait. Lady Lilian?”

“Do not worry. She is with her family.”

“Will you continue…to see to matters?”

Ormsby exchanged a look with Jacobs, then bowed. “It would be my honor, sir. Beg pardon, Your Grace. I will petition parliament at once for you to be recognized as legal heir, and then invested as duke. But I must humbly request you return to the capital with great urgency.”

Taking a deep, slow breath, Gabriel rubbed his aching jaw and glanced around at his unkempt and unfashionable, but safe and familiar surroundings. He didn’t actually have a choice, no matter how the lawyer termed it. And he could only imagine how many ton vultures were currently circling his good-hearted aunt, pretending to care about her loss so they could extract money, favors or gossip.

He would have to be Duke of Exton.

Without doubt the worst in history.

“Very well. To London.”

CHAPTER 1

K ingsford House, London, March 1815

“IT IS with the heaviest of hearts that I inform you…after suffering several heavy investment losses, I am on the brink of total ruin.”

Sounds filled the library at the Earl of Kingsford’s words—gasps and cries and a growl of rage bouncing between the dark wood panels, unread books, and woven rugs—but Lady Lilian Nash remained still and quiet. Not by so much as a twitch would her father, grandmother, two younger sisters Pippa and Georgiana, and brother Xavier know the jumble of chaotic emotions currently coursing through her body. She’d worked far too hard to transform herself into the ton lady that Grandmother demanded and her late fiancé Exton had desired: gracious, calm and proper.

Even in times of great trial, ladies did not show anything other than smiling politeness. They didn’t show frustration, even if their amiable but weak and too-trusting father had made a series of catastrophic investment decisions compounded by large loans. They didn’t show anger at the number of innocent people who would be affected, servants and tenants alongside the Nash family. And they certainly didn’t show anxiety as their world turned upside down.

“Oh dear,” murmured Lilian, rather than shouting ‘you damned fool.’