Page 91 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
And then, like a flash of lightning in the darkness, a memory surfaced. Beatrice’s words, her confession about Eastfold’s blackmail, his coercion and threats.
Cold fury washed over Kenneth, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Eastfold.
The name was a bitter curse on his tongue.
That snake, that vile, manipulative bastard. He’s the reason behind all of this, the reason Beatrice was forced to lie, to hide her meetings with him. He’s the reason I’ve lost her.
With a growl of rage, Kenneth pushed himself to his feet, his eyes burning with a fierce, desperate determination. He knew what he had to do, knew the only way to make this right.
He had to find Eastfold, had to make him pay for what he’d done. Had to end his hold over Beatrice, his twisted games and cruel machinations.
I’ll make him suffer. I’ll make him regret the day he ever dared to lay a hand on my wife, to threaten and blackmail her.I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Eastfold!”
Kenneth burst into Eastfold’s club, his eyes scanning the room with predatory intensity. He spotted his quarry lounging in a leather armchair, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sipped his brandy. The sight of him, so calm and self-satisfied, made his blood boil.
He crossed the room in three long strides, his hand shooting out to grab Eastfold by the lapels of his expensive jacket. With a forceful yank, he pulled the man to his feet, their faces mere inches apart.
“Eastfold,” Kenneth growled, his voice low and dangerous. “We need to talk.”
Eastfold’s eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in annoyance. “Your Grace,” he said, his tone dripping with falsepoliteness. “This is most unexpected. And might I add, most inappropriate. Unhand me at once.”
Kenneth’s grip only tightened. “Inappropriate?” he snarled. “You want to talk about inappropriate? How about blackmailing my wife? How about forcing her to paint for you under threat of exposure?”
A flicker of fear crossed Eastfold’s face before he schooled his features into a mask of innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink?”
Kenneth’s patience snapped. He shoved the man back into his chair, looming over him menacingly. “Don’t play games with me, Eastfold. Beatrice told me everything. How you discovered her secret, how you’ve been using it to control her.”
Eastfold’s composure cracked. He glanced around nervously, noticing the other club members watching the scene with avid interest. “Your Grace, please,” he said in a low voice. “This is hardly the place for such a discussion. Perhaps we could adjourn to a more private setting?”
“No,” Kenneth uttered flatly. “We’ll have this out here and now. I want witnesses to your shame, Eastfold. I want everyone to see what kind of man you really are.”
Eastfold’s face paled. “You’re making a scene, Your Grace. Think of your reputation, your standing in Society.”
Kenneth laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “My reputation? That’s rich, coming from you. A man who would stoop so low as to blackmail a woman, to threaten her with ruin if she doesn’t comply with your demands.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Tell me, Eastfold, how long did you think you could get away with this? Did you really believe I wouldn’t find out?”
Sweat beaded on Eastfold’s brow. “Your Grace, please,” he pleaded. “It wasn’t like that. I was merely trying to help Her Grace. To provide an outlet for her talent without risking scandal.”
Kenneth’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Help her? By threatening to expose her secret? By forcing her to paint on your schedule to your specifications?”
Eastfold squirmed under his gaze. “I… I may have been overzealous in my approach,” he admitted. “But surely you can see the benefit? Her paintings have been selling for unprecedented sums. I’ve made her famous!”
“You’ve made yourself rich,” Kenneth corrected, his tone icy. “At the expense of my wife’s peace of mind and her freedom to create as she chooses.” He straightened up, his voice rising so that everyone in the club could hear. “Well, it ends now, Eastfold. You will never contact Beatrice again. You will forget you ever knew the name Eric Westback. You will cease all dealings in her artwork immediately.”
Eastfold’s eyes widened in panic. “But… but the upcoming exhibition! The auction! I’ve already made arrangements, sent out invitations!”
“Cancel them,” Kenneth said flatly. “I don’t care how you do it, but you will end this charade. If I hear of a single painting by ‘Eric Westback’ being sold after today, I will hold you personally responsible.” He leaned in once more, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And believe me, Eastfold, you do not want to face the consequences of crossing me again. I will destroy you. I will use every ounce of my influence, every connection I have, to see you ruined. Do you understand?”
Eastfold nodded frantically, his face ashen. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand. It’s over, I swear it. You’ll never hear from me again regarding this matter.”
Kenneth held his gaze for a long moment, searching for any hint of deceit. Finally satisfied, he stepped back.
