Page 1 of His Enemy Duchess

PROLOGUE

“Has my brother arrived?” Thomas Pratt, the Duke of Heathcote, swept through the front door of his Mayfair townhouse with all the fury of a general on the warpath.

The butler lifted appeasing hands as if he might block his master’s campaign. “Yes, Your Grace, but please understand?—”

“The entire staff is excused for the day,” Thomas snapped. “Unless we summon you, don’t bother us.”

He stormed down the hall, his dark hair flying around his face, his coat flapping from the sheer speed of his steps, his face a stone mask of thinly disguised anger, wearing thinner with each step.

The servants barely had a moment to bow their heads in deference as the young Duke marched past them. There wouldbe a riot of shouting and screaming from the floor above soon enough, and no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

The Duke’s eyes, usually kind but strict, were now furious and tense. Nobody dared to meet his gaze.

At the top of the stairs, a young servant girl was standing at attention.

“Your Grace?—”

“Not now, Miss Miller. You are excused. Everyone’s excused.”

She leaped out of his way to avoid being flattened, as he thudded onward to reach the door to William’s room. He barged in, talking before the door was even half open.

“Do you have any?—”

The room was more populated than he had expected. Besides his brother William, who was lying in bed with an abundance of bandages wrapped around his torso, there was also his dear mother, Harriet, who was holding her youngest son’s hand. His uncle Gregory, the Viscount Bleasdale, was there too with his daughter Emily. There was also a man he didn’t know, who presumably had just finished bandaging William’s wound, on account of the physician’s bag next to him.

Thomas considered his words for a second and then slammed the door shut behind him. “Do you have any idea how idiotic what you just did was?”

“Brother, I—” William wheezed.

“The next words out of your mouth had better be a roaring good explanation for why I received an urgent letter telling me my brother was in mortal danger after an illegal duel.”

William struggled to sit up to face his brother, but the physician tried to stop him.

“My Lord, I’m afraid that it’s not prudent for you to stand up or talk—you need rest.”

“He can rest when he’s done explaining to me what wassoimportant for him to risk his life so stupidly,” demanded Thomas, and the air in the room froze.

The Dowager Duchess read the situation immediately and stood up. “Emily, dear, why don’t we escort the good physician here outside? His job is done, and we don’t need to bother him with our family troubles now, do we?”

“Yes, Auntie,” agreed Emily, once she realized she was being spoken to.

She walked towards the physician and bobbed a quick curtsy before Thomas, then she and Harriet led the physician outsidein a hurry. As they were leaving, Thomas noticed the subtle puffiness in his mother’s eyes.

Once the door was closed and the ladies were out of earshot of what was likely going to be very inappropriate language for feminine ears, he resumed his wrath.

“I hope you remember this day, Brother. I hope you remember Mother’s face. By God, I hope you were conscious and in pain for the whole thing while she was sitting by your bedside and crying her eyes out. I hope you remember it forever, or I swear to every Pratt alive and dead, youwillbe the death of her!” He felt a calm hand on his shoulder. Gregory’s. He had almost forgotten his uncle was in the room.

“Calm down, Nephew.”

Thomas jabbed a finger in the direction of his brother. “Calm down?! Be serious, man!”

“I feel your pain. Trust me.” Gregory let a moment pass between them as Thomas’s eyes softened a bit. “But shouting will not solve this issue. If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk in his place. It might not look like it, but I’m certain it hurts to talk in his position.”

“Good! I hope it does. It will teach him a better lesson.” Thomas breathed out and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course, Uncle. Go ahead.”

“Your brother challenged someone to a duel.”

“Not something I don’t already know,” Thomas retorted, his last thread of patience fraying.

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