Page 22 of A Duke Changes Everything
You’re dead.Nick refused to allot the man another thought. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stare at his image for however long he remained in this bloody house.
He turned to face his father’s portrait, strode to a delicate wood table, kicked the edge with his boot, and sent it slamming into the wall. After climbing atop, he knocked the portrait from the wall. The frame split with a satisfying crack when it hit the floor.
Nick jumped down and poured himself a finger of whiskey, contemplating how best to rid himself of the thing. The frame would never fit into the fireplace, or even the kitchen hearth, which was crowded with pots and racks.
Through the open window, smoke curled up into the clear night sky.
Nick smiled.
Mina bolted awake as if she’d been shaken from a dream, yet her chamber was empty and quiet. She held her breath, straining to hear an errant sound or some portent of trouble.
A man’s voice filtered up from downstairs. Not Wilder. Not Tobias.
Deeper. Richer.Angrier.
She pulled on her dressing gown and stepped into her tall boots. A terrible scraping noise made the hairs on her nape quiver, and she rushed toward the stairs without lighting the candle she kept by her bed.
As she descended, she heard the duke shout once more.
“Get out!”
Good grief, had the cat crossed his path?
Mina broke into a run. The ruckus seemed to be coming from the ducal study. She burst into the room and found chaos. Glass lay in broken shards on the carpet, the cherry table sat dusty and scratched against the wall, and the window sash had been thrown up as wide as it would go. Drapery swept past the sill and fluttered in the breeze.
Mina glimpsed movement through the open window. The Duke of Tremayne strode across the grass. His white shirt stood out in the moonglow and an object trailed behind him in the grass.
Scanning the room, Mina noted another empty patch of plaster. He’d ripped down the old duke’s portrait.
But where on earth was he going with it?
Mina climbed over the low sill as the duke continued on, dragging the enormous portrait behind him. Her nose burned at the smell of smoke in the air and she knew. The burn pile of leaves the groundskeeper had assembled midday still flickered with a few hot embers. He was going to banish his father to the flames.
She didn’t blame him. That portrait had always sent shivers down her spine. But the duke couldn’t take to wandering the fields at night, burning whatever displeased him. What piece of the estate would he choose to destroy next?
She strode quickly through the grass, stepping close enough to hear him grunt as he heaved the massive frame, nearly as tall as his considerable height, into the smoldering pile of leaves. He planted one hand on his hip and watched, unmoving, as a few sparks leaped into flame. Then he let out a bitter, deep-throated chuckle.
Had the man gone mad?
“Your Grace?”
He whipped around to face her, his expression bemused but not shocked. As if he fully expected her to find him burning furnishings at the witching hour. “It’s quite late. You should go back to bed.”
Mina’s reply got stuck in her throat.
The man looked dangerous. Wild. Tangled waves of black hair framed his face. A few messy strands crisscrossed his forehead. His shirt, unbuttoned low on his chest, revealed hard planes and shadowed muscles.
She tried not to gawk but wasn’t quite sure where to fix her gaze.
The painting. She pointed past him toward the spot where flames licked up into the night sky. “It is indeed late, Your Grace. Why are you stomping around the grounds half-dressed, burning art in the leaf pile?”
The duke stared at her finger a moment, crossed his arms, and arched one dark brow. “It’s my painting. My grounds. My bloody leaf pile.”
Mina gritted her teeth. “We don’t generally spend our evenings at Enderley tossing portraits into the flames. The staff will think you’ve gone dotty.”
“The staff are all tucked in their beds. Why aren’t you, Miss Thorne?”
“Because I’m too worried about which piece of Enderley you plan to burn next.”
