“I’ve run myself ragged all over the country seeking you, lass,” Ben returned with equal ill humor. “I’ve been to London and to at least a dozen of this bastard’s estates. The bugger’s got his mucky paws on half the kingdom.”
“Mind your language, sirrah!” Kylemore growled. “You’re in the presence of a lady.”
“I know that. But you’ve treated her nowt better than some trull you picked up at Covent Garden for a shilling.”
“Shut your mouth, man, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“The lass has been in my charge for the last four years. There’s nowt you can teach me about how to look after her,” Ben sneered.
“Yes, I know all about Ben Ahbood, the famous Arabian eunuch,” Kylemore said with equal snideness.
“I was there to keep her safe from self-serving pretty boys like you, Your Grace.” Ben made the formal address sound more of an insult than the unflattering description.
“Well, you did a remarkably poor job, then, didn’t you?” Kylemore said coolly.
“Oh, stop it! Please, stop it!” Verity cried in distress. The possibility of violence simmered closer to the surface. She decided to cut in before it exploded into another fight. The memory of her brother attacking her lover still plagued her. “Ben, I’m fine. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
The question summoned her brother’s familiar smile, perhaps a little reluctant but indubitably there. “Aye, lass. I am that. It’s grand.”
“And is that all the welcome I get?” she asked and laughed brokenly as he leaned across the carriage to crush her in a long embrace.
Verity closed her eyes and basked in her brother’s familiar presence. For so long, he’d been her only bastion against the world, the one person who had known the truth behind Soraya. She’d missed him so much, and now he was here. She stifled a grateful sob against his dark coat.
Eventually, Ben pulled away and gazed at her, his black eyes bright with unshed tears. “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. What did he do to you, lass? Where have you been? I’ve heard nowt from you. Couldn’t you have got word to me somehow? I’ve been that worried about you.”
“Oh, Ben, it’s a long story.” Most of it, she was aware, unfit for a brother’s ears. “But the main thing is we can leave and forget this ever happened.”
Kylemore shifted next to her in silent protest, but what else could she say? That he’d kidnapped her, forced himself on her and now she loved him so much that she thought she’d die of it? Even to her, it hardly made sense.
They rolled through an ornate gateway and into a spacious courtyard. What seemed an army of servants flooded out of the massive arch
ed entrance to hold the horses, open the coach’s doors and line the steps to greet their master.
The castle’s gray stone walls glistened in the sunlight. When Verity stepped out of the carriage, they towered above her, mocking her presumption to love so great a personage as their master.
Kylemore stood at her side, seemingly oblivious to the magnificence. Even with his bruised face and dirty clothes, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
She thought she’d inured herself to leaving him. After all, she’d learned to endure her life as a whore when every shred of her had revolted at the idea. But each time she looked at him, the pain of parting sliced deeper.
Blind with tears she struggled not to shed, she accepted Kylemore’s arm. She dashed her gloved hand across her eyes to clear her vision and looked up past the serried ranks lining the sweeping stone staircase. At the top, imposing double doors stood open to admit Kylemore Castle’s long-absent lord.
An exquisite woman glided across the entrance. She was slender and uncommonly tall and wore a dizzyingly expensive gown cut to emphasize her height and fine figure.
Even at the distance, one couldn’t mistake her air of confident possession. Or her incandescent outrage as she glared down at the newcomers.
“Justin, good God! Are you so utterly lost to propriety that you bring your doxy here? Send the slut away at once!”
Verity was close enough to Kylemore to feel him stiffen in reaction.
“Mother,” he said flatly.
Chapter 23
Although Verity had never seen her in the flesh, she immediately recognized the warrior queen who faced them down as the Duchess of Kylemore.
Even if a thousand sketches and portraits hadn’t immortalized her famous beauty, she bore a notable resemblance to the duke. Strange to see Kylemore’s uncompromisingly masculine features mirrored in his mother’s delicate face. And the chilly arrogance of expression was familiar after years’ acquaintance with the son.
“Your Grace,” she said shakily as Ben emerged from the carriage behind her. Kylemore’s uncompromising grip on her arm made escape impossible, so she sank into a deep curtsey.