The Duke I'm Going to Marry(97)

“Your Grace, it isn’t wise,” Mr. Dumbley quietly said as Ian continued to take aim at Celestia.

Ian let out a mirthless laugh as he put away his pistol, not yet trusting himself. He wasn’t in control of his temper, for she’d finally done it, made him hate her as much she had always hated him. He understood the twisted workings of her mind. Damn. “I alone devised your punishment. That pleasure was all mine.”

Though he’d truly taken no pleasure in it. He would have given anything for one smile, one nod of approval from her or his father. “One of the Isles of Scilly is where you’ll spend the rest of your days. On St. Mary’s, in a little house on an isolated hill. Mr. Dumbley will provide the details. Mr. Matchett will escort you there.”

She curled her hands and raised them at him, like a cat with claws bared. “You can’t make me go there. I won’t stay.”

“Indeed you will, make no mistake. You’re not Napoleon and have no loyal minions to rouse. No one will come to your aid. There’ll be no escaping your new home.” He paused and shook his head. “You won’t find any of the haute monde in residence on the island, but you can make friends among the lesser society who will be your neighbors.”

She tipped her head up and sneered. “I’ll never stoop to that level. Still, I suppose I can manage for a few months. I’ll write to my friends, let them know I’ll return to Bath by Christmas. I’ll require a lady’s maid, of course. A cook and a housekeeper. A proper butler. I’ll need a large house with rooms enough for my sisters when they visit.” She stared at him, casting a cold, soulless smile. “I wish you ill, Ian. I hope your wife recoils from you in disgust. I hope she takes on other lovers and makes you the ton’s laughingstock. I hope your children hate you.”

“I get the point, Celestia. Oh, and if you do attempt to escape, I’ll have you confined to an asylum. So think on it, the Isles of Scilly or Bedlam? What’s it to be?”


***

The sun shone unbearably bright as Ian left London and rode to Swineshead the following day. He was in a foul, dark temper, his mind awhirl and the blood coursing through his body cold and thick. Nothing seemed to warm him. He felt strange. He felt soiled. He’d disowned his family, but it had been at great cost to his heart. He’d never see them again. There would never be a reconciliation. His cousins were now on a ship bound for Goa, on the western shore of India. His mother and Mr. Matchett were in a coach bound for Cornwall, and then a boat to the Isles of Scilly.

He ought to have felt elated, but he simply felt a terrible, hollow sadness. He was in part to blame for the family’s downfall. He couldn’t shake the thought, nor would he ever absolve himself of blame. At least Dumbley and Matchett were delighted by this turn of events. They had assured him all would be well from now on.

He knew they were right.

He would make damn certain of it.

He tapped a hand to his chest and felt along the inner pocket of his cloak. The special license was safely tucked inside, the little piece of paper resting against his heart, as though a blanket protecting him from the hailstorm of rage and sorrow swirling within him. Soon, he and Dillie would be married. The thought was like a tether, holding back his dark side, that empty part of him capable of violating most of the Ten Commandments. Honor thy mother and thy father.

That would never happen.

Dillie’s family, however, was something special. He’d stopped by the Farthingale residence earlier to speak to Dillie’s father, but was told he was already on his way to Coniston to meet his daughter. No doubt he’d stop at the Black Sail Inn and find her there. Ian considered riding straight to the inn to protect Dillie from her father’s wrath, but John Farthingale was nothing like Ian’s parents. John would sooner cut off his right arm than ever hurt one of his girls.

Ian rode for Swineshead instead, eager to visit Felicity and make certain she had not been harmed. He knew he was being overly cautious. His family didn’t give a fig about the infant, and probably assumed he didn’t either. However, they might have set a plan in motion, intending a bad end for the helpless innocent.

Once he’d seen to Felicity’s protection, he’d attend to the other pressing matter, marrying Dillie. Lord, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. Love and hate. It felt odd to harbor these dramatically different sensations within his heart, and odd how easily he was able to separate them. Hatred still dominated his heart... no, that wasn’t quite right. All his life he’d felt achingly empty. Emptiness wasn’t the same as hatred. His family hated him, to be sure. But he hadn’t reciprocated the feeling until now.