The Love of a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #3)(7)

A seething rage thrummed through Alex as he stared at the bent head, black hair so similar to his own, that many had often said the two men could be mirrors of one another. Their bond had once been that close, forged by years of their father’s abuse. How easily Gabriel had forgotten. Everything. Every lash. Every thwack of the birch wood as it was applied to their buttocks. An old familiar fury and pain roiled in his gut. May his father’s dark soul burn in hell for his sins. Alex would never forgive his long-departed sire. But Gabriel’s crimes were far greater. For Alex and Gabriel had been more than friends—they’d been brothers, and yet how easily the other man had forgotten all they’d suffered through.

Alex downed the contents of his glass in a long, slow swallow and grimaced at the fiery trail it blazed. Knowing it would infuriate the stiffly proper marquess, he swiped the half-empty decanter from the Chippendale sideboard and started for the door, needing to be free of the other man’s sight. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, Gabriel?”

His brother paused; pen poised over the ledger and glanced up with a question in his eyes.

Alex inclined his head. “Congratulations. You would make Father proud with the man you’ve become.”

Those words had the intended effect. Gabriel recoiled and sat unblinking; the lines of his face a hard, unmovable mask.

Yet, that small victory left Alex hollow as he took his leave. “Chaperone.” He suppressed a groan. Then, it could be a good deal worse. Alex stomped his way down the red-carpeted corridors, his boots noiseless in the wide halls. At least he enjoyed Chloe’s company. If he were being totally truthful, with her tendency to seek out and find trouble, she was the most entertaining of his siblings. Philippa had always been the proper, polite one. No wonder she’d wed a stodgy bore handpicked by their brother.

Alex reached the end of the hall and continued onward to the library. As much as he abhorred this room for the memories here, it had become a sanctuary of sorts. Largely because not a single servant or sibling would dare look for him there. That understanding had proven quite beneficial through the years. He pressed the handle and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Chaperone,” he muttered. “Sooner lob off my arm than act as a chaperone.” And Gabriel knew that and was likely why he’d given him the honor. Alex claimed a seat on one of the leather sofas and set down the brandy and glass. He splashed several fingerfuls into the crystal snifter, and then thought better of it. “Chaperone.” With a wry shake of his head, he filled the glass to the brim.

The floorboard creaked and he stiffened. He passed his gaze about the empty room and then returned his attention to the task doled out by his bastard of a brother. How difficult could it be to wed Chloe off? To a man who was not a stodgy bore, as Gabriel would have seen her wedded to? With her spirit, she at least deserved a fun chap. Alex frowned into the contents of his glass. Not one of the rakish sorts who visited the notorious hells that Alex himself frequented. Perhaps a stodgy bore might be better for her, after all.

He nursed the amber contents of his drink. With each sip, the hot fury burning his chest eased. He’d always known his father had despised him and Alex had scars enough for proof. Gabriel, on the other hand, hadn’t always been filled with this antipathy for him. No, at one time he and Gabriel had shared such a bond. Alex would have gladly given his life for Gabriel. Back when he’d been hopelessly na?ve, he’d thought those sentiments returned. Everything had changed the day their cold bastard of a sire had noted his heir was no longer a child and had taken him under his heartless wing, instilling on him all those necessary lessons for a future marquess.

From then on, Alex had ceased to exist. To both of them. He swirled the contents of his glass. Which was, in a way, a favor done him, if an unwitting one, by Gabriel. For then, the beatings had stopped. He tightened his hands reflexively about the glass. His one regret had been that his evil sire had not known the man he’d become because by God, laws of nature be damned, he’d have gladly traded blow for blow with the other man.

Seated in the quiet of his brother’s library, he recognized there were certainly things a good deal worse than chaperoning Chloe for the remainder of the Season. His father had taught him that.





Chapter 3

The next day, after Chloe had concocted her desperate scheme to reintroduce Imogen into polite Society, Imogen found herself with her back pressed against the Marquess of Waverly’s leather sofa. With her friend’s head bent over one scandal sheet or another, Imogen appreciated just how far she herself had fallen.

Imogen sighed. Three days, just thirty-six hours away from being a duchess in love with her husband, and not even five months later—this. Copies of papers lay spread out before them in messy piles and two dull pencils rested atop them. Imogen gave her head a pathetic shake. As though any strategy could silence the gossips. Wherever the ton was, so too would be the story of her and the Duke of Montrose and the sister he really loved.

The DofM forsakes all for love.





Had a lesser lord, or any other gentleman for that matter, thrown Imogen over for her sister, the cad would have been held in the ranks of Boney himself. But it was a duke and somehow Society had made his betrayal into something romantic. She’d never understand the ton. Nor did she care to understand a people so callous as to delight in another person’s woes.