Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women

"You're looking for me, then?" Lord Brighton's voice echoed down the stairs as he emerged confident; Isobel smiled, hoping perhaps he could save her from whatever madness had begun to unfold down the stairs. "Cheers, Emily," he nodded to Lady Maryweather, who seemed rather nonplussed that he refer to her by her first name. "No run-ins with any bandits on the way here, I hope?"

"It was quite the pleasant trip, Ellery. I was having quite a giggle, reviewing all the information my little bird brought back to me," Lady Maryweather chirped. Lord Brighton's expression twisted, gripped with conflicted confusion.

"Little... bird," Isobel repeated, confounded. Her eyes shifted to Ellery, who stood defiant, but stammered for his words, something she had never seen from him.

"You hear any good stories? I might have a few to tell," he retorted brashly, though this only deepened Isobel's flustered bafflement.

"Quite a few, in fact. I think, perhaps, we ought to discuss them - don't you agree, Ellery?" Lady Maryweather's voice felt like sleet against a pane of glass, each word plunking harshly. "It would certainly give the Lady Duskwood a moment to speak with the Duke of Thrushmore... which might behoove the both of them. Wouldn't you agree, m'lord?" Isobel's stomach churned at the thought of a moment alone with the duke, who approached her with unperturbed, stomping steps.

"What have you done, you snake?" Lady Duskwood hissed at the duke as he approached. He responded with a hearty guffaw.

"What have I done, young lady? Did you think on perhaps the question is what have you done? It seems only fitting, though, that you'd blame your troubles on me," the duke snarled. "When I told you I'd have you... I mean what I say, and what I need, I get," he snarled churlishly.

"You... you, and her, you've simply come to cause trouble," Isobel replied. She looked up at Ellery, hopeful he could save her - but he stood firm at the top of the stairs, regret vexing his brow.

"What-what do you think you can do to us?" Isobel shouted. Lady Maryweather regarded the fiery lady with cool indifference.

"You've done it all yourself, m'lady. I'm simply the woman caught in the middle of your plots," she shrugged.

"My... my plots?" Isobel said in exasperation.

"Of course. To seduce the Lord Brighton, escape obligation to your debts, and plunder his fortune - all after attempting to do the same to the Duke of Thrushmore. What a wicked woman you are," Lady Maryweather quietly tapped her tongue against her lips, waggling her finger. "So wicked."

"I seduced—what? Ellery!" she glanced up, only to find him gone; the Lady Maryweather followed him up the stairs, as the gleefully sadistic Duke of Thrushmore grasped Isobel's wrist, pulling her to the privacy of the dining hall.

"And now, I'll need to explain to you the severity of your situation, and why I'm very quite generous in offering to you my hand," he snarled, slamming the door shut behind them over Isobel's screams of protest.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tears. They're all Isobel could manage - and it felt appropriate, as she heard thunder booming over the plains, threatening the green hills and rolling trees of the lands of ducal Norbury with a fearsome storm. Aside from those explosive rumbles, she sobbed in silence, a painful silence blanketing the whole of the estate - not even the sound of Lilian cleaning silverware, or Werner barking orders, to comfort her. The occasional muffled shout would issue down the stairs, with Lord Brighton and Lady Maryweather still locked in some manner of verbal war.

It hadn't been much of a war between Lady Duskwood and the wicked Duke of Thrushmore. He had thrown her into the chair at the end of the table and barked at her; loud, wild, and possessive, he had berated her for her past transgressions against him, and for her petulant dismissal of his presence in the estate today. She sat, and she listened, and she wept; but there, she wept silently, confident that her master would escape the steely clutches of the harpy Lady Maryweather and her nebulous control over him. Instead she simply listened, and suffered, as Lord Miller battered her with verbal abuse. When it all felt close to over, she stared at the door - only to hear icy words threaten her.

"You'll think, you'll feel, you'll do precisely as I tell you, to save your own scabrous hide," he had barked into her ear; she winced, teeth gritted, hands folded into white-knuckled fists. He had savored the sensation of watching her angry, but helpless. "You'll be in debts deeper than you already are - legal debts, social debts, if your little tale of seduction goes public, the Lady Maryweather and her little 'birds' have made sure of that," he said.

"I'd rather you throw me from the top of your manor, you cur," she had snarled. He grasped her by the hair; the pain ripped through her and she struggled, which only made it worse.

"Death won't help you - or Upton, or what remains of your pitiful family name. All of them will wind up buried along with you - and so would Lord Brighton. Lady Maryweather would see to it, and with what she knows - she has plenty to punish him on your behalf. Quite brilliant, isn't it?" the filthy bastard lauded himself for his behavior.

"I'll be waiting in my carriage for you. Say your goodbyes - particularly to Miss Lilian. She's been your friend, hasn't she?" the Duke of Thrushmore marched to the door and Isobel threw herself into the couch at the foot of the stairs, rage and pain exploding in sobs and cries. Now she waited - she waited for one last chance to make all this right.

"M... m'lady, if..." Isobel heard Lilian's voice creep into her ear; perhaps the only reprieve Lady Duskwood would have, she reached - begged, for comfort.

"Oh, Lilian, what can be done?..." Isobel sobbed.

"M... m'lady, if you'll take my word, the Duke of Thrushmore... he's a crass, disagreeable man, for certain, but... well," Lilian offered, her voice a gentle warble. "Well, Lady Maryweather... she's got quite the grip on the situation... and I worry for Lord Brighton, should anything rash happen, if you take my meaning." Isobel blinked through her tears.

"Are... are you suggesting I... I surrender myself, to... to this?" Isobel asked in disbelief.

"I've not a judgmental bone in my whole body, m'lady, but... I did sense it, between you and Lord Brighton, and I did... see you, in his bedroom. Hear you, more than once," Lilian admitted. "I can't help it but see and hear w

hat happens, m'lady, and I wanted to support you. And now, I am, by giving you advice. The scandal, it could ruin you! It may very well still ruin Lord Brighton," she whispered. "I worry for you. And I worry for him. And as dearly as it seemed you had fallen into his graces, m'lady, I—"

"Wait a moment," Isobel silenced the maidservant. She had given little thought to the duke's comment - about saying goodbye to Lilian. But slowly, a dreaded realization settled into Isobel's bones. The talk of a little bird had not truly meant anything to the young heiress until this very moment. "...What exactly are you suggesting?" Isobel needled at Lilian.

"I'm far from brilliant, I'm but a maidservant," Lilian held her hands up defensively. "But, I think, it'd be in the best interest of everyone, if—"

"You're far from brilliant perhaps," Isobel seethed, her cheeks blazing red, "but you're far more cunning than you let on. Because you're not 'but a maidservant'. You're a spy, you little viper," she hissed. "A spy!" Startled, Lilian's eyes blinked, her lips parted; she stumbled over her words.