The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (2 page)

“You’re back at last!” she cried.

Dom was as different from George as peas from pears. He’d been a childhood playmate
to Tristan while George was off at school. As Lisette had grown older and begun trailing
about after them, he’d been kind to her even though the villagers weren’t—and she
adored him for that.

But today he didn’t look happy to be here. “May I come in?”

Her heart faltered as she noticed his bloodshot eyes, his colorless lips . . . the
way he held himself as if he were made of porcelain. Something bad had happened. Oh,
Lord.

“Tristan!” she whispered. “Is he hurt?”

“Where is he?” Dom countered.

The question confused her. “I don’t know. He’s been gone since yesterday. You should
talk to Papa; they went out hunting together.”

He muttered a curse, then squared his shoulders. “Father is dead, Lisette.”

The bald words were a slap to her face. As she gaped at Dom, wondering if she’d misheard,
a choked gasp came from behind them.

Maman stood frozen, the blood draining from her features. “Dead?
C’est impossible!
How can that be?”

Dom ran a gloved hand through his thick black
locks. “I can’t tell you much, Mrs. Bonnaud. I’m still piecing together what happened
while I was in York. As best I can make out, while Tristan and Father were hunting,
Father’s gun misfired and exploded in his chest. Tristan and the groom got Father
back home and into his bedchamber, where George joined them. The groom fetched a doctor;
George and Tristan stayed by Father’s side. They were both there when Father died
shortly after sundown last evening.”

As the truth of Dom’s words started to sink in, tears stung Lisette’s eyes, then slipped
down her cheeks. Behind her Mama was quietly weeping, too, and Lisette went to her
side. They stood there crying, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Papa couldn’t be dead. She’d seen him just yesterday, when he’d come to fetch Tristan.

Oh, Lord, Tristan!

She shot Dom an accusing glance. “If Tristan was there when Papa died, why hasn’t
he come home to tell us?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t arrive at the manor myself until a couple of hours ago. But . . .”

At his hesitation, Maman stiffened. “B-but what?”

“We have to find him. George will be here any minute looking for him.”

A horrible chill struck Lisette. “Why would George come here? He doesn’t think Tristan
killed
Papa, does he?”

“No,” Dom said tersely, “though he probably would have tried to claim that if the
groom hadn’t witnessed
what happened.” Dom rubbed a hand over his weary features. “But George does think
that Tristan stole Blue Blazes last night.”

Shock made her gasp. Blue Blazes was Papa’s—and Tristan’s—favorite Thoroughbred. Papa
had promised to give the horse to her brother one day. “You don’t think Tristan would
do such a thing, do you?”

“I don’t know. None of the servants is very clear on what happened after Father died.
They said that Tristan eventually left, but George claims he returned in the dead
of night to steal Blue Blazes. He’s gathering up men as we speak to capture Tristan
so he can be charged with the crime.”

Her blood ran to ice. “Oh, Dom, no! How can he?”

“You know how George resents Tristan. He’ll do anything to ruin his life.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Tristan strode forward from the end of the hall nearest
the cottage’s back entrance, his blue eyes fierce upon Dom. His coat was torn as if
he’d been running through the woods, and his trousers had mud caked up to the knees.
“Have you come to witness my ruin?”

“Tristan!” Lisette cried. “Don’t speak to him like that!”

“I’m here to warn you,” Dom put in, his voice even. “If you did take Blue Blazes,
you have to give him back.”

A flush darkened Tristan’s cheeks as he marched inexorably forward. “Why? He’s mine.
Father willed him to me, a fact that your arse of a brother could confirm if he weren’t
determined to deny me my birthright.”

“What are you talking about?” Maman whispered.

Tristan laid his arm about Maman’s shoulder, then shot Dom a belligerent glance. “On
his deathbed, Father wrote a codicil to his will. He left the horse to me, the cottage
to Maman, and his collection of gewgaws to Lisette. He also provided an annuity for
the three of us. George and I both witnessed him signing the document.”

“Oh, Papa,” Lisette whispered as tears slid down the back of her raw throat. He
had
cared about them, enough to think of them in the end. And he knew how much she loved
the small artifacts he’d bought in the various countries he’d visited, his tales intoxicating
her with heady glimpses into what it might be like to travel the world.

Tristan’s gaze blazed with unusual fervor. “But as soon as Father drew his last breath,
George burned the codicil in front of me. He said he’d die before he let us have one
penny.”

Lisette reeled from the same shock that lit Dom’s face. Why did George hate them so
much?

Dom scowled. “George said naught of it to me.”

“And that surprises you?” Tristan snapped.

A pained breath escaped Dom. “No.”

Tristan left Mother’s side to face down Dom. “So yes, I took the horse that belonged
to me.”

“You have to give it back,” Dom said. “Horse thieving is punishable by death. Somehow
we have to sneak it back into the stables or have it be found wandering the fields
or—”

“Too late for that,” Tristan said calmly. “I sold it to a gypsy horse trader to give
my family something to live on until I can find a way to provide for us.”

“You
sold
it?” Dom snapped. “Are you mad? George will have you hanged for certain!”

“Just let him try,” Tristan snarled. “I’ll tell the world what he did, what a lying,
duplicitous scoundrel he is, and—”

“No one will believe you,
mon cher,
” Maman said in a choked whisper. “They’ll say you have everything to gain by lying.
George is the heir. He will win, and you’ll be hanged.” She began to cry again.

Tristan crumbled in the face of her misery. “Aw, Mother, I won’t be hanged!” He went
to gather her up in his arms. “Shh, shh, don’t go on so.”

Lisette turned to Dom. “You have to do something. You can’t let George arrest Tristan!”

“Damn it to hell.” Dom squared his shoulders. “All right, this is what we’ll do. Tristan,
you’ve got to leave. Now. You can probably make it to the cave before George arrives.
I’ll meet you there as soon as I can get away tonight.”

“What cave?” Maman asked.

The three siblings exchanged a glance. It was their private playground, the place
where they’d always escaped parents and guardians—and George—kept secret by mutual
agreement all these years.

“Don’t worry, Mother, I know which cave he means.” Tristan glowered at Dom. “But I
don’t see why
I
should be the one to run when it is George—”

“Listen to your brother!” their mother cried. “I’m sure Dom will do what he can to
make this right, but if you stay here and George has you prosecuted, it will mean
ruin for all of us.”

Lisette held her breath. Maman had been wise to use guilt on Tristan. Otherwise, the
reckless fool would defy George up until the moment they put the noose around his
neck.

With a sullen glare, Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, Dom, suppose
I
do
flee to the cave. Then what?”

“I’ll try to convince George to do the right thing,” Dom said. “He’s more likely to
do it without you around provoking him.”

Hope sprang in Lisette’s heart. If anyone could convince George, it was Dom. “Listen
to Dom, Tristan.”

Tristan let out a long breath. “Fine. But if George persists in his lies—”

“You’ll go to France,” Maman said stoutly. “I have family in Toulon.” She turned a
pleading glance on Dom. “If it comes to that, can you get him there?”

“I can get him onto a fishing boat at Flamborough Head. He’ll have to make his way
to the port at Hull on his own. Then he can use some of the money he got for the horse
to buy passage to France.”

“Fine,” Maman said. “He will do it.”

“Now, see here, Mother—” Tristan began.

“No!” she cried. “I will not lose you
and
your papa! Do not ask it of me!”

Tristan gritted his teeth, then gave a terse nod.

“Come,” she said, taking his arm, “we’ll pack your things for the journey.”

“No time for that,” Dom bit out. “I can get his things to him tonight. But he’s got
to go
now
! George will be here any moment.”

“Yes, go, Tristan!” Lisette urged, pushing him toward the back door. “Before George
finds you.”

Tristan paused at the end of the hall. “One thing you should know, Dom. Father also
left money to
you
in that codicil that George burned. So if his actions go unpunished—”

“I understand,” Dom said. “Now leave, damn you!”

With a scowl, Tristan was gone.

“I’d best gather up what he’ll need for the journey.” Maman disappeared down the hall,
leaving Lisette alone with Dom.

Dom took her hands. “I’m sorry, dear girl. About George, about Father . . . about
all of it.”

“It’s not
your
fault,” she mumbled. “We both know George does as he pleases, and as for Papa—”

When tears fell again, he drew her into his arms to comfort her. She couldn’t believe
Papa was dead. Just yesterday he’d given her a kiss and promised to take her riding
sometime soon. So many promises, and now he could never fulfill them.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into Dom’s fine blue coat as he murmured soft
words of comfort. She wasn’t sure how long they stood that way, but it seemed like
mere moments later when the noise of horses outside broke them apart. As she exchanged
glances with Dom, a hard rap at the door made her jump.

“We should fetch your mother to answer it,” Dom said in a low voice. “His seeing me
here might tip our hand too soon.”

“But the sight of Maman will infuriate George. Let me answer.”

“Lisette—”

“I can play dumb, and he might believe me. We have to stall him long enough to give
Tristan time to get away.”

Dom stared intently at her, then sighed and stepped back. “I’ll be right here if you
need me.”

Casting him a grateful smile, she opened the door.

Then she froze, taken off guard by the mob George had brought with him. There was
his nasty man of affairs, John Hucker, and two of the more brutish grooms, along with
several villagers who disliked that “French bastard,” as Tristan was often called
in town, all because he had the viscount’s favor.

She fought not to react to this show of strength, reminding herself that George was
still unaware that she knew about Papa. Or the Thoroughbred. “Good morning, my lord.
What brings you here so early?”

Though George possessed the sturdy build of a country laborer, his features and clothing
and manner were pure aristocracy. He had the fine pale brow of a lord who rarely ventured
into the sun, the perfectly tailored suit of a gentleman who never worried that work
might muss his clothes, and the sheer arrogance of a viscount’s heir.

Plenty of women would call him handsome, too, with his broad chest and wavy brown
hair and the toothsome smile he bestowed on those females who met his exacting standards.
But Lisette was immune. She knew the darkness lurking within that chest.

Typical of him, he didn’t even bother to climb down from his favorite gelding. “Where
is he?” he barked without preamble.

“Who?” she barked back. If he wouldn’t attempt civility, why should she?

“You know who. Your sly arse of a brother.”

Only with difficulty did she contain her temper. “He’s your brother, too.”

“Or so your mother claims,” Hucker drawled.

The cruel remark made her gasp, even as it set the other men laughing. How dare he?
And how dare George not only allow it but laugh at the remark?

She fought to hold her tongue, for Tristan’s life might depend upon it. Unfortunately,
her silence only fired up the men. They edged nearer on their horses to make crude
comments about her bosom, and to propose things she only dimly understood but which
sounded vile.

Within seconds, Dom appeared in the doorway. “Call off your dogs,” he snapped at his
brother. “She’s in mourning every bit as much as us. How can you let them insult her?
She’s your sister, for God’s sake!”

George raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing to that. “What are you doing here,
Dom?”

“I’m here to commiserate with my family—
our
family.”

A sneer crossed George’s face. “Are you sure you’re not just hoping to take up with
Mrs. Bonnaud where Father left off?”

Lisette blinked, then lunged forward. “Why, you beastly, awful man!” Only Dom’s iron
grip restrained her from jerking George off his gelding so she could slap his face.

“Enough,
monsieur
!” Maman cried from behind her. She came out to stare coolly at George. “Your quarrel
is with me. Leave them out of it.”

George’s expression chilled to ice. “My quarrel is with Tristan.”

Not for nothing had Maman been the toast of Toulon society when she was an actress.
Though she couldn’t hide her red eyes or her pale cheeks, she could play nonchalance
very well. “Oh? What has my son done now to annoy you?”

“Stolen my property. And we’re here to make sure he pays for it.”

She waved her hand. “I know nothing of that.” A disbelieving smile crossed her lips.
“Can you
prove
he stole your property?”

Hucker was the one to answer. “Witnesses saw him take Blue Blazes from the stables
last night.”

As Maman paled, Lisette went limp. Witnesses. That wasn’t good.

Yet Maman persevered. “Be that as it may, it has naught to do with me. I cannot control
my son. I’m sure he will return the horse soon. It may very well be back in the stables
now, if your lordship would just go—”