Page 69 of The Duke's Only Desire

Chapter Twenty

Shay reined hishorse to a stop in Ravenscroft Manor’s stable yard, dropped to the frozen ground, and tossed the reins to the young groom who jogged from the stables to meet him. A tired Simmons did the same beside him. The man had been a good companion, not complaining once as Shay pushed them through long days of travel in the cold and snow, taking only short breaks whenever necessary, and sometimes sleeping on floors of crowded inns.

The black sky overhead was void of moon and stars, and he was certain the clocks had long ago passed midnight. But he’d wanted to push on for home through the night, trusting that no highwayman or robber would be mad enough to be out in this bitter cold.

The only madman along their route had been him.

Shay muttered his thanks, then strode toward the house. It was as dark and silent as the winter night, with Henley, Pearson, and Sophie surely all tucked into their beds and long asleep. Not wanting to wake any of them, he let himself into the dark house and made his way silently toward the banquet hall. Its towering hearth would be the only fireplace in the house that wouldn’t have been banked for the night, save for the kitchens. The dining hall hearth formed the heart of the house, and during the winter,it burned around the clock, its heat radiating through the central rooms. Tonight, he sought out its comfort.

He tossed his unwanted hat and gloves onto the end of the massive dining table that extended the length of the room and could seat over sixty guests and approached the fire, still wearing his greatcoat. He leaned a shoulder against the carved stone opening that reached well over his head and did his best to ignore the ostentatious show of the massive coat of arms hanging against the chimney overhead, the soaring wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling three stories above, and the banners lining both sides of the hall. It all belonged in a castle, not in a respectable country manor house.

But that was Ravenscroft Manor, after all. Nothing if not always…wrong.

Blowing out a defeated breath, he stared down into the crackling fire. It might warm his frozen body, but even its heat wouldn’t be enough to thaw his heart. Not tonight.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” Sophie called out softly. Shay didn’t look up from the biting glow of the red flames as he heard her close the heavy door after herself and approach him across the huge stone hall.

He couldn’t bring himself to face her and hold open his arms in greeting. Because he’d failed her.

“Shay?” Concern thickened her voice as she came up behind him and placed her hand on his back.

His shoulders slumped. “There was no orphaned child in Scotland,” he told her. Best to be blunt and get it over with. “No woman who might have married John.” He bit back a curse. “Not even a priest who sent that message asking for help.”

He felt her hand slid away in stunned silence.

“There is no Father Bradford in Culross and never has been,” he said quietly into the fire. “The priest who serves the village has been there for over fifteen years, and he has never heard ofthe priest who wrote that letter nor any woman who died and gave her child to the parish for care.” He paused, then confessed hoarsely, “I wanted it to be true so I could unburden myself of the dukedom.”

“I know.”

“But it was a fraud, some kind of terrible joke.” He shook his head. “Who would do something like that?”

“I know that, too,” she answered softly.

His head jerked up, and he turned around, fearing the worst. He raked his eyes over her, at that moment wanting more than anything to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her sweet softness. Her blond hair was braided loosely for bed, her body clad in a plain nightgown beneath the warm dressing grown cinched around her waist. All of her was soft and bed-rumpled, right down to her toes, which were snuggled warmly into embroidered pink slippers…except for the troubled expression darkening her beautiful face.

“Who?” he asked, his gut clenching with dread.

“Your uncle. He paid me a visit while you were gone.”

All the warmth he’d just gotten from the fire vanished. “What did he want?”

“To threaten me.” Her eyes glistened in the firelight, not with tears but anger. “He’s going to accuse you of murder.”

He carefully kept his face inscrutable, not letting a trace show of the growing anger inside him. “He tried that before and failed.”

“This time he has more proof to twist into motive.” Her voice became impossibly small. “Me.”

Pulling in a deep breath, her gaze focused on the fire at his feet, she told him about Malcolm’s visit and his threats.

Shay listened silently, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. If he hadn’t just spent the past three days riding hard to return home in the icy weather, he would have gotten right backon his horse and ridden to Halston House to have it out with Malcolm, once and for all. Nor would he leave Sophie tonight. The pallor of her face and the trembling of her hands, even as she tried to keep them from his sight by folding them behind her back, proved how upset she was at the confrontation with his uncle, and he would never leave her when she needed him.

When she finally fell silent, all the threats revealed, Shay silently held open his arms.

Sophie rushed forward into his embrace.

He folded his arms around her and held her tightly against him, lowered his head, and nuzzled his mouth against her hair. Holding her supple body in his arms nearly undid him, and her presence panged deep inside his chest. Sweet Lucifer, how much he’d missed her! He hadn’t realized until she wasn’t with him how much she had filled the emptiness in his life. How had he managed to live all those years without her? He hadn’tlived, that was the crux of it. He’d been an empty shell, existing apart from the world. She had pulled him back from the abyss, yet he would never be able to express to her how much she meant to him.

“We will survive his attacks,” he promised her. “The authorities will see his accusation for what it is—a desperate attack by a greedy old man.”