Page 70 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
With a sigh, Sebastian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the letter he carried with him always, close to his heart. He unfolded the parchment, soft from wear, and read it again though he knew the words perfectly. There was at least one thing Edward Sinclair had not worked out—the real Duke of Ravenswood was still very much alive.
Dearest Sebastian,the letter read,
Having you in my life these past years has been a great pleasure, and I know my wife has enjoyed it equally. You have become like a son to us, so I hope you won’t be too disappointed when I tell you we have gone away for a while. We’re going to travel the world before age catches up to us and we’re no longer able.
Please do not think that we have abandoned you, though. I have spoken to my solicitor and ensured you are named the legal heir to my little empire here in Ravenswood. When I die, all this will be yours, and I do hope that while we’re gone, you’ll care for the place greatly. I know how much you desire revenge for your mother’s death, but please, Sebastian, it is time to move on and let it go.
Edward Sinclair is not worth your time nor the risk you face in hunting him down. You can be the person I know you are with the help of my wealth and background. Look forward, always, dear boy, and if you cannot do that, then at least stay safe.
Had he been right? Sebastian didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. Rightly or wrongly, Sebastian had had no choice in following this path, and though he felt immeasurable guilt at ignoring Hector’s advice, he knew he would not let the matter lie. Not until it was over.
He looked around the sparse tavern room, thinking about all that had gone wrong in his life and all that had been good. His mother, his life of crime, his relationship with the duke. Arabella.
Beautiful Arabella.
His life had been defined by escape, he realized. First, from his mother’s dead body, next from the Bow Street Runners, then from The Gentlemen.
“And now from Edward Sinclair.”
He sat up, perching on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor. No, he wouldn’t escape. He just needed time to think, to come up with a new plan. He was determined to destroy Sinclair, but even more than that, he knew he could not lose Arabella in the process.
Whatever he did next, he would have to be careful and clever, using the means he’d learned in both extremes of society—from the desperate clambering of the streets to the amused trickery of theton.
Chapter 34
Arabella paced the length of the drawing room, from thepianoforteto the fireplace and back again.
“Honestly, Arabella,” Priscilla said, looking up from her needlecraft, “you’re going to wear a hole in the Turkish rug!”
“What do you think he’s doing, Grandmother? Where is he?”
“Your father? He’s in his study, no doubt replying to correspondences.”
“Rallying his troops more like,” Arabella muttered, stopping at the card table and leaning on it. “But I didn’t mean him, anyway. I meant the Duke of Ravenswood.”
Priscilla tutted loudly. “He is not a duke, remember? You need to forget about him, Arabella. He is a liar and a thief, just like your father.”
Arabella winced at her words and resumed her pacing. Her grandmother was right, of course. Her father had told them everything—with great delight, it seemed to her—but that didn’t stop her loving him. She loved Sebastian, the man, not his title nor his wealth, and no matter how angry she was at his lies, her heart would always win.
It had been almost twenty-four hours since he had stormed out of the house, and at Westment Manor, time had seemed to stand still. Arabella felt somehow lost in the ether like she wasn’t tied to the real world, which terrified her almost as much as her father did.
Edward, for his part, seemed to be almost enjoying himself. He was angry at Sebastian; that much was clear, but he always did have something of a thrill for the hunt, be it deer or human, and he seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in hurting Arabella in the process. She’d lost count of how many times he’d called her stupid and reminded her of her place.
She had no idea what would come next or what she wanted to do. She was overwhelmingly infuriated at Sebastian, but he washerSebastian. She was terrified that her father and his lackies would catch up to him and hurt him—or, more likely, kill him.
And she was terrified for herself, too. Her father would find a way to make her pay for her recent actions; there was no doubt about that. If she thought herself locked in a cage until now, she would soon realize how lucky she had been.
“I know,” she replied to Priscilla. “I know everything you say is the truth, but that doesn’t stop how Ifeel. And regardless of who he is or isn’t, he doesn’t deserve to die at my father’s hands.”
“That, at least, we can agree on,” Priscilla said with a nod. “And I know it hurts, but I promise, in time, it will get easier. Perhaps, one day, you’ll meet another man, fall in love, marry, and have some children.”
Priscilla looked off into the distance, a bittersweet smile on her lips. But Arabella snorted incredulously. “How am I ever to meet anyone with my father at my side?”
“Well, yes, indeed.” Priscilla frowned, returning her attention to her work. “But that won’t always be the case. Your father won’t be around forever.”
“I have no doubt Father has vampiric qualities,” Arabella muttered. “He’ll live forever if only to punish me.”
“No, he won’t.”
