Historical Romance Boxed Set (45 page)

Alexandra nudged him. “You didn’t do this to her,” she murmured.

Nathaniel nodded slowly. Lady Anne was gone now. There was nothing left to see but the gallows.

* * *

Inside a small rectangular cell, the Duke of Greystone paced back and forth. He couldn’t imagine more outrage than he felt, and wondered if he could bear it. All his life he had been able to take what he wanted, change the rules if need be, break them if they wouldn’t bend. And there had been no punishments. He had gotten away with murder, literally. Yet he could do nothing now, nothing to save his son—the one person in life whom he truly loved—despite his money, despite his power, despite it all.

“Just tell me why, Jake. Why did you do it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

The marquess sat in the corner of his cell, slumped against the bars, staring at the floor. His eyes, when they lifted, were filled with contempt. “You still don’t understand, do you? You probably never will. You gave me control of Greystone Shipping and assumed I’d run it expertly, like you always did. But I’m not like you. Or Nathaniel. I couldn’t do it any other way.” The bitterness in his voice deepened. “And I wanted you to be proud of me. Can you believe that? You, who cared no more for my mother than to bring her syphilis from your whores—strong and true, and she had a mind that knew what mattered”

The duke’s hand struck almost of its own accord. “How dare you—”

“What? Face you with the truth?” Jake touched his cheek where the blow had left a red mark. “Nathaniel, of all people, had to tell me. Yet I lived with you, nursed you when you were ill not two years past, and all the while my mother grew sicker, alone, in Scotland. That’s how gullible and trusting I was. Will you deny that it’s true?”

Greystone thought he heard a trace of hope in his son’s last question. For a moment he considered telling the boy what he wanted to hear. They couldn’t part this way forever.

But he knew Jake’s eyes had been opened. The boy could not ignore the steady decline of his mother’s health as if he didn’t finally understand the cause. Nor could he deny the cursed reason for Greystone’s own illness before the disease went into its latent stage.

Nathaniel had truly robbed them at last. “I don’t expect you to understand,” the duke said.

Jake’s lips twisted in a sneer. “There’s never been anything to understand but your own selfishness.” He laughed—a cold, humorless sound that reverberated in the cold cell. “I thought if I rebuilt Greystone Shipping into the giant it once was, you’d have to acknowledge me as a son worthy of your legacy. Montague claimed he knew how, and you provided the opportunity for the first shipment with the load of supplies you wanted to send to the Turks. It took a bit of doing, but it wasn’t a difficult matter to sell the stuff and use the money to purchase guns, from which we planned to achieve a high profit. An investor had to be brought in when Nathaniel interfered, but our banker made a healthy return, like Montague and myself. Perhaps you would have figured it all out, had you not been so busy bringing shame upon my mother and our family.”

As Jake’s words poured out, Greystone felt as though a knife turned in his gut. Nathaniel was to blame for this, and ironically enough, his own damn patriotism. If he’d never planned to send blankets, clothing, and medical supplies to the Turks, his son couldn’t have…

The duke cut off his thoughts, knowing they did little good now, and closed his eyes to shut out the vision of his son’s derision. Jake had been imprisoned twenty-four days since being sentenced to death. By law three Sundays had to pass between sentence and execution to give him time to repent, and every day had been an agony for them both.

But nothing like this. When he had thought Jake still respected him, he could be the doting, blameless father, and could believe, to an extent, the part he was playing. Now he felt utterly exposed, as if his son had peeled back the husks of an ear of corn to reveal nothing but crawling worms.

“Haven’t I given you everything?” he asked.

The marquess looked up. “Everything? You’ve abused my mother’s trust, cost her her life. You’ve ignored my sister, and for years I could garner only the smallest crumb of your attention. In a way, even Nathaniel had more of your respect and admiration than I.”

Greystone covered his face with his hands. The fact that he had somehow brought this calamity on himself, and Jake, seared him to his soul.

“It’s time.” The guard outside the cell moved closer. The duke knew the man had allowed them time together only because he had been ordered to do so from somewhere much higher in the chain of command. The Greystone title still held some weight, but it was getting late, and even a duke could stall the wheels of justice only so long.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now,” the guard told him.

Greystone could hardly believe that this horror was reality. Leave so they could kill Jake? His son? His heir? He hesitated. They couldn’t part like this.

“Your Grace?”

The duke tried to swallow the lump that threatened to choke him. He wanted one kind word from Jake, who had stood at the guard’s request and waited to be led out onto the gallows, one small sign of forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he said to his son, uttering the words so softly that at first he wasn’t sure if Jake had heard him.

The marquess’s gaze rose. “Not sorry enough.”

As the guard led Jake out of his cell, Greystone tried to do something he had never done before: he tried to take his son in his arms and hold him tightly for an instant. But Jake’s body was stiff and unresponsive.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and the duke turned away. He wouldn’t have a mere guard witness his humiliation. Besides, he couldn’t bear to watch his son pass through the door and enter the blinding light of day.

* * *

When the trapdoor dropped away, Nathaniel had to avert his gaze. He was sick at the sight of Lord Clifton’s body writhing as the life was wrung from it. His half brother had had everything—the money, the power, the family. And he had thrown it all away. For what?

Nathaniel stared at those privileged members of the aristocracy who watched at the fore. Somber and downcast, they murmured to each other. That one of their own could swing from a rope like any common man struck at the very heart of England’s social order. From what Nathaniel saw and read in the papers, they felt sorrier for themselves than they did Clifton.

He would have been one of them, had his life taken a different path. There had been a time when he had wanted to take his place among the gentry, but now they seemed more like the living dead. Worried over a crease in their clothes, or a pudding that lacked a little spice, they were not alive in the same way Alexandra was. Her heart beat.

Nathaniel’s gaze came to rest on the woman he loved. Her head was bent; he couldn’t see her enormous green eyes, but he knew what he would find in them. Pity. Despite everything Clifton had tried to do to them both, she knew what the marquess did not: that he had never truly lived.

As Nathaniel led Alexandra away, she instinctively buried her face into his coat. They had both seen enough.

Though the crowd resisted his efforts to get through, so enthralled were they in watching Lord Clifton’s body swing, Nathaniel insisted. He physically removed those from their path who would not bend to his words until they were finally free and hurrying toward their rented carriage.

Before Nathaniel handed Alexandra inside, he put his arms around her and held her close. She was crying. “How brave you are, my love,” he soothed. “It’s over now.”

They clung to each other until the pounding of his heart slowed with the spasms of her tears. Now that his father’s title and lands were not forfeit, Nathaniel knew he would inherit them someday. And his sons after him. But they wouldn’t do so in England. No, he would take Alexandra to America and have a family there. And he would teach his sons what it truly meant to be of noble birth.

Epilogue

Three years later a letter arrived at Bridlewood Manor. Addressed simply to the Duke of Greystone, it had come all the way from Virginia. The duke studied the return address as he sat alone at his desk, but he knew who the letter was from.

Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he broke the seal. The delicate script of a woman’s hand covered a single page, wrapped around the portrait of a chubby baby.

Greystone set the picture gently to the side as he read.

Your Grace,

It goes against my better judgment to write. Nathaniel would tell me that some things never change, but I cannot help but hope they can and sometimes do. Nathaniel and I were married shortly before we left England. He has been heavily involved in shipping since then, and while his empire may never rival your own, he has been very successful. He is a son to be proud of. I have enclosed a portrait of our first child, a boy named Theodore Nathaniel, born nearly a year ago. I felt it only right that you should know.

Sincerely,

Alexandra Kent

Setting down the letter, Greystone lifted the photograph he had placed to one side. He donned his glasses and held the picture close, though he’d grown sick and his hand shook with the effort of doing so. There was no denying that his first grandchild was a beautiful baby, with a ghostly resemblance to his first wife through the eyes, and a strong Kimbolten nose and chin.

His grandson. The heir of his heir.

At that moment, the duke wasn’t sure if Alexandra meant to be kind or cruel, but he stared at little Teddy for a long time.

And then he wept.

The End

HONOR BOUND

by

Brenda Novak

Electronic Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Brenda Novak

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