Duke of Sorrow Read online

  Duke of

  Sorrow

  Dukes of Destiny, Book Two

  Whitney Blake

  Copyright © 2019 by Whitney Blake

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Dangerous Lords Series by Maggi Andersen

  The Baron’s Betrothal

  Seducing the Earl

  The Viscount’s Widowed Lady

  Governess to the Duke’s Heir

  Once a Wallflower Series by Maggi Andersen

  Presenting Miss Letitia

  Also from Maggi Andersen

  The Marquess Meets His Match

  The St. Clairs Series by Alexa Aston

  Devoted to the Duke

  Midnight with the Marquess

  Embracing the Earl

  Knights of Honor Series by Alexa Aston

  Word of Honor

  Marked by Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Bold in Honor

  Love and Honor

  Gift of Honor

  Path to Honor

  Return to Honor

  The King’s Cousins Series by Alexa Aston

  The Pawn

  The Heir

  The Bastard

  Beastly Lords Series by Sydney Jane Baily

  Lord Despair

  Lord Anguish

  Lord Vile

  Lord Corsair

  Dukes of Destiny Series by Whitney Blake

  Duke of Havoc

  Duke of Sorrow

  Legends of Love Series by Avril Borthiry

  The Wishing Well

  Isolated Hearts

  Sentinel

  The Lost Lords Series by Chasity Bowlin

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  The Vanishing of Lord Vale

  The Missing Marquess of Althorn

  The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

  The Mystery of Miss Mason

  The Awakening of Lord Ambrose

  By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Captive of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series

  Revenge of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series

  Shadow of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series

  Dark Heart

  Live and Let Spy, King’s Rogues Series

  Knight Everlasting Series by Cassidy Cayman

  Endearing

  Enchanted

  Evermore

  Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle

  Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4

  Second Chance Series by Jessica Jefferson

  Second Chance Marquess

  Imperial Season Series by Mary Lancaster

  Vienna Waltz

  Vienna Woods

  Vienna Dawn

  Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster

  The Wicked Baron

  The Wicked Lady

  The Wicked Rebel

  The Wicked Husband

  The Wicked Marquis

  The Wicked Governess

  The Wicked Spy

  The Wicked Gypsy

  The Wicked Wife

  Unmarriageable Series by Mary Lancaster

  The Deserted Heart

  The Sinister Heart

  The Vulgar Heart

  The Sinclair Jewels Series by Caroline Lee

  The Sinclair Hound

  The Mackenzie Regent

  The Sutherland Devil

  The MacLeod Pirate

  Highland Loves Series by Melissa Limoges

  My Reckless Love

  My Steadfast Love

  My Passionate Love

  Clash of the Tartans Series by Anna Markland

  Kilty Secrets

  Kilted at the Altar

  Kilty Pleasures

  Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin

  Child of the Night Guild

  Thief of the Night Guild

  Queen of the Night Guild

  The Book of Love Series by Meara Platt

  The Look of Love

  The Touch of Love

  The Taste of Love

  Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  Rulers of the Sky Series by Paula Quinn

  Scorched

  Ember

  White Hot

  Hearts of the Highlands Series by Paula Quinn

  Heart of Ashes

  Heart of Shadows

  Heart of Stone

  Highlands Forever Series by Violetta Rand

  Unbreakable

  Undeniable

  Unyielding

  Viking’s Fury Series by Violetta Rand

  Love’s Fury

  Desire’s Fury

  Passion’s Fury

  Also from Violetta Rand

  Viking Hearts

  The Sins and Scoundrels Series by Scarlett Scott

  Duke of Depravity

  Prince of Persuasion

  Marquess of Mayhem

  The Unconventional Ladies Series by Ellie St. Clair

  Lady of Mystery

  Lady of Fortune

  Lady of Providence

  Lady of Charade

  The Sons of Scotland Series by Victoria Vane

  Virtue

  Valor

  Men of Blood Series by Rosamund Winchester

  The Blood & the Bloom

  The Fire & the Sword

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Will awoke to full darkness. Utterly disarming, it felt like a weight on his face.

  Weight? He questioned that thought. He wasn’t imagining it. All of his knowledge of field medicine seeped back into his mind. No clear memories of what had happened to him, though. Flashes of bloodied grass, brains—not his, of course, but they belonged to someone he was rushing to treat—clinging on to the long stems like sludgy pink snails. Then a light so bright he couldn’t discern whether it represented excruciating pain or literal sunlight. He did recall laying on his back for some time, unable to make out anything around him as his eyes seemed to gradually fail, fading out the sky and clouds above, while his ears rang with a high-pitched whine.

  He brought gentle fingers to the planes of his face, which he suspected were completely covered. His mouth and his chin were not. And he could breathe through his nostrils. This feels like… like a dressing of some kind… no. Lord, have I been… have I been that badly injured? That’s too terrible to even consider.

  He wasn’t in any pain, particularly, though he supposed his head did hurt somewhat.

  Where was he?

  What had happened?

  Weakly, he brought his hands to his face again and was horrified to feel the slight scratchiness of a different, hardier dressing over his eyes. He stopped poking at it. Fearing the worst, he called for the last person he recalled seeing, a fellow physician who was looking after men
in the lulls they could exploit for such a purpose.

  “Peter,” he croaked. Somewhere in the oppressive and tactile dark that surrounded Will, he heard light footsteps rushing toward him and tried to imagine seeing the tall, ginger lad who had just seen his twenty-fourth year.

  “Thank God you are awake, Your Grace,” Peter said fervently.

  “Peter, we’ve been through that enough. Just… Will.”

  “You are the Duke of Ravenwood,” said Peter. “I won’t always be allowed such familiarity.” He was a commoner, albeit one who was reasonably well-off and had studied the healing arts thoroughly. He and Will had served together in battle, tending to the wounded or giving comfort to those who would not ever recover.

  “Only comparatively recently,” Will said dismissively. “Peter, tell me. Why can’t I see?” As he adjusted to his surroundings, he realized he was on a cot. He couldn’t hear much.

  Though he could not see him, he could sense Peter’s disquiet. Something about the way his breath caught and his limbs shuffled. Will felt the air shift around him.

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  “Just the red grass. Slick. Going to poor Livingstone. He had half of his brain poking out of his skull. I knew I couldn’t save him. I thought, maybe if I gave him some…” Will sighed, frowning. “Some of the opiates… it might ease his passing. He could not have said nor done much, but I’m sure he was in pain.” Abruptly, he sat bolt upright on the cot and Peter’s hands gently forced him back down by his lean shoulders. “The battle. Salamanca. I can’t hear a thing. Is it done?”

  “It is. Our victory. You are in a tent waiting to be sent home.”

  Will only breathed a shallow sigh of relief. “Good. Now. What have I suffered?”

  He only gathered Peter knelt because he heard the young man’s left knee pop. It always did when he squatted. Then Peter’s face was near his ear. “What I am going to tell you won’t be pleasant. Please be calm.”

  That’s the last thing you should tell a man when you want him to be calm, thought Will, wryly. But his heart started to palpitate and he swallowed. Will was generally a very calm man, calm almost to the point of docility. He knew Peter wouldn’t say what he had just said unless he had to.

  For him to caution Will to stay calm could only mean that whatever these bandages signified, it was a few large steps past bad.

  “Very well, I shall try.”

  “You were within range of an exploding shell. Something nasty.”

  “And?”

  “While you were tending to Livingstone, it struck you.”

  “I assume it did so in my face,” said Will, attempting for the life of him to remain as clinical as possible.

  “Yes,” said Peter, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Shall I be able to see when these are removed?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  Will fought the acute urge to vomit. He thought of everything waiting for him at home. He was betrothed—what woman would want him like this? He imagined that even if he regained some of his sight, which was not promised, his face was probably disfigured. He nodded. “I see.” Bitterly, he amended, “Well, I don’t, but… you know what I mean.”

  *

  In the end, Diana did not want him. He supposed that this did not surprise him because she herself was perfect in nearly every manner, from her physical presence to her diction. She gazed at him almost sadly, but Will couldn’t mistake well-bred, polite pity for actual regret. He couldn’t see her as well as he used to, but he read her tone of voice and what he could witness in her face. Even if he was unable to find a new candidate for a wife, she could always find another man. They had been acquaintances long before their betrothal and almost friends after that, but Will always sensed a mercenary streak in her.

  He got proof of that now, witnessing her quick mind work through her current predicament. There was little use in pretending he was the same man who had left for Spain, so he did not make excuses or try to barter.

  “Just to be clear, Diana,” said Will. He was a little hoarse. He had received few visitors save for his aunt, thus his voice was rather disused. “You do wish to end our engagement.”

  She ducked her head. “I do, Your Grace.”

  Your Grace? She hasn’t bothered with that for months.

  But Lady Diana Abbington was clearly reconstructing boundaries between them that had eroded through familiarity and a shared goal. Marriage. Now, he offered less to her than she to him. Although the Ravenwood estate was very wealthy, it was rural, and Diana was decidedly an urban creature. She loved London and all its diversions. Conversely, even under the best of circumstances, Will preferred to spend his time wandering his own lands, musing and, perhaps, hunting or fishing. He shuddered to think how the ton would gawk at him, now.

  Happily, he had regained more than half of his sight. He could not see well and he could not see much, but as long as his household staff did not move the furniture about, he could walk unaided and with relative grace. It seemed that his eyesight was continuing to improve even by the day, and he hoped that this was not wishful thinking.

  Will had not, however, regained any of his good looks. He had not been a vain man. And I am certainly not vain, now, he thought, but he had been aware that he was handsome, with elegant, nearly feminine features and curly dark hair. He took far more after his mother, who had been a legendary society beauty, than his father, who had held average looks at best.

  He’d broken the heart of more than one debutante simply by forgoing to ask her for a dance.

  All of that was well behind him.

  His churning mind took him back in time. He remembered Peter carefully removing his dressings and the moment they both realized he was forever changed.

  His friend literally held his breath. Will, who still couldn’t see anything at all, tried to lessen the tension by joking, “Come, now, Peter. I knew I was ugly before.”

  Peter did not appreciate the attempt at levity. For a long while after, Will had simply been enjoying the fresh air on his face and trying not to think about the future. Peter stayed quiet. Will did not rush him for his assessment. They were back in England, in London, and, specifically, in the smaller parlor of Will’s townhouse.

  Will had invited his friend to accompany him because he could not bear to be alone and, importantly, Peter was a doctor, too.

  “Your Grace,” Peter said evenly. If Will had not known him well to begin with, he might have missed the slight wobble in the two words. “I take it you cannot see?”

  “I cannot.”

  “There is still time for your mind and eyes to adjust,” said Peter. “We shouldn’t conclude that you’ll never be able to.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Will, reclining gingerly in the enormous armchair that had been near the fire since he was a little boy. He envisioned it in his mind’s eye; it was deep oxblood and the leather was so worn in places that patches of brown had appeared.

  “Do you want me to describe your face?”

  Will was devoutly trying to keep his arms and hands on the armrests. He did not wish to touch his face, though he knew that, by now, he could if he wanted. It was stupendous what even just a few weeks in darkness had done to his hearing, and he could hear every tiny gesture of nervousness that Peter gave.

  The hesitance in his breathing, the brush of his clothes as he fidgeted.

  “I do not, because I can tell that whatever you are going to describe will be quite horrible.”

  Peter just sighed and could not even muster an apology, not that Will wanted him to offer any trite platitudes.

  He finally saw what he could see of his face a few days after Peter removed his dressings for the last time. Oh, he had washed and, therefore, surmised by way of his fingers that things were in an awful state—he had both of his eyes, so he did have to thank God for small favors, but they now protruded slightly in a grotesque manner. His eyelids were not useless, but they were not quite where they
should have been, nor was his nose.

  Breathing, actually, was almost harder than seeing, once his sight started to return.

  Feeling the new arrangement of his face was far different from seeing it. Before he saw it, Will still had the illusion of himself that allowed him marriage, a family, and an existence that would not witness him branded a freak.

  Despite what he felt under his keen fingers, he could still imagine himself as he was.

  But the looking glass did not lie. He got almost nose-to-nose with it, inspecting, staring.

  Then he struck it.

  Will was not by nature a violent man. He had not gone onto the battlefield as a soldier, but rather as a healer. His older brothers were the ones who had fought, who were a little rough. This had played itself out in their early deaths and was how Will came into the dukedom. Samuel passed in an ill-advised duel over a doxy, then Bram was slaughtered in some deadly misunderstanding at the gambling tables. Will was almost prepared to swear that his mother actually had died of a broken heart, because she did not long outlive Bram. His father certainly had, because he did not outlive her for very long, either.

  Though, Father’s health was not the best. Perhaps something gave out.

  It was thus that quiet, unassuming Will found himself abruptly managing an enormous estate with his aunt as his only surviving blood relative.

  With his emotions bleeding into one another like a bloodied rag that tainted clean water, he took a step back from the mirror, readied his fist, and hit the old, dappled glass with enough force to shatter it into glittering, sharp pieces that scattered to the floor. Peter heard the commotion and came running, and Will did not have to explain the situation to him.

  He simply gazed at the shadowy form that was Peter and murmured, “I think that mirror has been in the family for quite some time.”

  Peter, bless him, helped clear out the broken glass.

  Will’s memories passed as he was brought back to the here and now. As Will stared at Diana impassively, or as impassively as a gargoyle could stare, he considered that his emotions were dangerously close to falling back into the category of tainted, bloodied waters. Nothing mattered to her but his face, it seemed. Not the commendation of Wellington himself, who had signed the papers saying Will was to be sent home. Not the respect of his comrades like Peter, who all sang his praises. Peter himself had told Diana how brave Will had been in the circumstances of suffering his irrevocable injury, but she had just sat across the table and watched Peter with all the interest of a bored cat.