Chapter One
“If you think I shall allow you to rob me of my inheritance, then you may think again!” Hector had given his fortune to her freely. Had she not been through enough? She’d earned every penny of it, spending her life closeted away, body and soul, trapped in her dead husband’s private form of hell. She had earned her independence, and Hector had given it to her. She would not let his son take it away again!
Jane Grey, the young Dowager Duchess of Sutton, leaned backward, inwardly cursing herself for even this outward sign that her stepson’s intimidation was succeeding. The tenth Duke of Sutton, a man over twenty years her senior, loomed over her, applying the threat of his greater height and physical strength.
His eyes fixed on hers with a clear intent to intimidate and his hands gripped the arms of the delicate Chesterfield chair in which she sat. A chair in which she had been sitting, taking her afternoon tea in peace and solitude until his rude and uninvited intrusion.
“I am not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she hissed into his face, which was barely two inches from her own, lying through her teeth. Of course, she was, she was terrified, but she refused to let him have the upper hand. In answer, he merely growled, making her flinch and proving how fraudulent her brave words were.
He’d never actually raised a hand to her yet. However, that he was capable of it and willing to be physically violent she did not doubt. Until now, Hector had always been there. Hector had liked to play his little mind games and cared not a jot for her happiness or well-being, but out of sheer spite, he would not have let Joshua harm her. Now, there was no Hector, and no one to protect her from his arrogant, evil son.
“No, Jane?” Joshua mocked, laughing at her as he suddenly pulled away to stand before her, his hands sweeping back and opening his blue, superfine redingote to display the robin-redbreast colour of his waistcoat beneath. He rested his hands on his waist. She wished to stand, but his legs were still on either side of one of her knees; it would bring her body up against his, and he hardly needed that incitement. Instead, she was forced to tilt her head back to hold his gaze.
“Your father left me his fortune by choice. You have all that is entailed. If you had shown Hector this much interest during his life, I am sure he would have left it all to you. But as it is, Your Grace, he did not.”
Joshua stepped back, his hands falling to his sides and curling into fists.
Instantly, she stood, glad to be in a position to escape, if she had to. But whatever he did, she had no intention of bowing to his demands.
Tipping her chin up another notch, she glared at the man, her fingers curling into fists, too. “I will not give you what has been legally left to me.” She could not fight him physically but she would fight him in court, if she must, and with every ounce of blood flowing in her veins. It was not her fault his father had lusted after a young bride, and it was not her fault Hector had chosen to leave her the vast majority of his unentailed wealth. But now, she was not about to let his bully boy of a son take it away.
“Your Grace, did you call?”
Jane swiftly turned her gaze to her butler, knowing her discomfort must be visible. She was surely flushed, and a thundercloud probably flashed in her eyes. Undoubtedly, Garnett had heard their raised voices from the hall and had come to her rescue. Thank God.
“The Duke is just leaving, Garnett. Perhaps you could show him out.”
She met Joshua’s gaze again. His eyes were as Hector’s would have been in his youth, clear and dark brown. His tall stature was magnificent, imposing, and although she hated to admit it, he was handsome in his way. But there was nothing handsome in his character.
For nine years, she had suffered life as Hector’s wife and this man had helped make those years miserable. So while part of her could not blame Joshua for his anger over the money, another part could. It was not her fault, so why should she be the one to pay?
He did not move, didn’t budge an inch except for a muscle twitching at the edge of his mouth. His eyes told her he was assessing the situation and deciding his next move. After all, he could not force her to comply unless he was also prepared to force all of her staff, who would undoubtedly testify on her behalf that she had been coerced.
He must have drawn the same conclusion, for his brow furrowed, and he virtually spat his final words on the subject in her direction. “Very well, Jane, I shall leave, but I warn you, this is not the end. I shall have my father’s fortune.”
It was not even a statement; it was a decree.
Watching, she waited, still stiff with fear and irritation.
He spun about and strode from the room, the tension of his anger visible in every taut, muscular line of his body.