Page 68 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
She had a thousand things she wanted to say to him, a thousand ways she wanted to punish him for the kind of life he had given her, but she found herself gagged by fear and insecurity.
She had been under her father’s control for so very long that his presence reduced her to a little girl again. If it weren’t for him and his horrid brotherhood, perhaps she would have found love by now. Perhaps she and Sebastian … But no, she stopped that thought in its tracks.
“It’s the Duke of Ravenswood I wanted to speak to you about actually. I know you and he have grown close, but you’re never to speak to him ever again. Am I understood?”
He raised his eyebrows at her—a warning and a question in one.
“But …” She looked around, confused by the turn of events. Something had happened that evening between them, something bad. Until this afternoon, the pair were thick as thieves. She only wished she knew what had gone wrong. Perhaps then she could fix it all. “Has something happened, Father?”
Edward threw his head back with a bark of laughter, continuing his way down the stairs. “All that matters is that you do as I say. Since when do you have the right to question me?”
Arabella pressed her lips together, forcing herself to think. She had to play her father’s game, even while her mind was awash with confusion and emotion. But at the same time, she needed answers. She needed to know the truth. She painted on a sweet smile and used the tone of voice she often selected for her father—childlike and innocent.
“I understand, Father, but why should I want to see him anyway? He is nothing to me except perhaps the subject of a painting or two.”
Edward reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the marble, his footstep overbearingly loud in the echoey space. Priscilla got up and hovered behind Arabella, her uncertainty and fear coming off her in waves.
“I am not the fool you take me for, Arabella,” her father said. His eyes had darkened, but his tone remained light. “I know something has been going on between the two of you. I have allowed it, up until now, for I wanted to keep the man in my favour, and you were a useful tool for that, but no more.”
Arabella resisted the urge to snarl at him for his crassness.
Did Sebastian tell him about us? Is that what caused Father to strike him?
She could feel her grandmother quaking beside her, the old woman terrified of the man her son had become. Arabella, though, felt her confidence rise out of her through the sadness and tears, fear, cold and damp. If Sebastian was brave enough to tell him, then so could she. She stood up straighter and looked her father in the eye, stepping in front of Priscilla as if to protect her.
“You’re right, there was something between us, but there is no more. We were in love. But now he and I are finished, and I would rather like to know what’s happening. I suspect you have had a hand in the harsh words he said to me.”
Edward laughed again, though Arabella could see the tension building in him. There was something behind the surface of amusement, something colder and far more dangerous. Something she had seen glimpses of once before—when he discovered the truth about her and George Heath.
“He has betrayed us all,” her father said. “Taken us all for fools! But worry not; I’ll have my men hunt him down and take everything away from him, even his own breath.”
He looked furious now, all traces of humour gone, and a ball of tension grew in Arabella’s throat.
“B-betrayed? If you knew about our relationship, then how—”
“It’s not about your silly little affair, you idiotic girl!” he roared.
Arabella forced herself not to cower, refusing to be frightened of him any longer. Sebastian was right—no one could ever love her while she was embroiled in her father’s schemes.
“Then what is it, Father?” she demanded. “You are talking in riddles!”
Edward took a step closer to her, so close that she could smell stale cigar smoke and too much brandy on his breath. She clenched her jaw, refusing to step backwards at the sight of his malicious grin.
“You think you know him, but you know nothing at all, child. TheDukeof Ravenswood is no such thing at all. He’s a commoner playing the role of a duke. He tricked an old man into giving him his possessions. The real Duke of Ravenswood had no son or heir, and Sebastian played on his misfortune to steal his wealth. He is nothing, Arabella—a street rat at best.”
As Arabella froze, the world around her faltering once more, Priscilla let out a cry of dismay, a hand to her forehead as her body swayed.
“Sit down,” Edward snapped at his mother. “Because if you fall, I won’t be here to pick you up.”
“But…”
Arabella searched the floor, the walls, anything that would give meaning to her life again. Was this just another of her father’s tricks? Was it all a lie? No, it couldn’t be. Edward Sinclair was a lot of things, but he was not a liar. If anything, he wastoohonest, enjoying the truth with a cruel humour.
“What are you finding so difficult to understand, girl?” he snarled, his breath across her cheeks. “That the man you have been cavorting with is nothing but a dirty commoner, a thief, and most probably a murderer? Or the fact that you were too stupid to see it?”
Despite herself, Arabella let out a sob, and then she pushed past her father and ran up the stairs, his callous laughter following her.
“Mark my words, we will find him, Arabella—and he will pay for his crimes with his life.”
