Engaging the Enemy Read Online Free Page B

memories assailed him. He held his mount to a walk as he rode along the tree-lined drive. So many memories. Good, bad, and wavering in-between. The stream where he’d fished as a boy with his brothers, defying the old duke’s wishes, was choked with reeds. He gritted his teeth. Of all the old duke’s many edicts, presenting a formidable image to society at large was high on his list of expectations. Did the duchess have no sense of duty?
    He broke from the trees and pulled up sharply. Before him, the abbey rose like a sinister beast, glowing golden now in full sunlight with the imitation of purity. Leopold knew better. The home of the Dukes of Romsey was nothing short of evil.
    At least the forecourt was presentable to travelers. He rode up to the building and swung down from the saddle. His mount, no doubt frustrated by the less than energetic ride, pawed at the gravel drive until Leopold laid his gloved hand over his nose. “Steady. We’ll be free and run against the wind as soon as we’re done here.”
    When no groom arrived to take his horse, Leopold dropped the reins, stalked up the short flight of steps to pound upon the wide doors, and then returned to his horse to wait. The doors creaked open and he turned only his head to pin the butler with a stare designed to show his displeasure.
    The old man blinked. “Master Leopold?”
    “Wilcox.”
    Leopold continued to stroke his horse until the startled butler summoned grooms. Their mode of dress, when they finally arrived, fell so far below the expected standard of formality that he scowled at them.
    Although he could rebuke them aloud, he saved his breath. His silence would have a greater effect than voicing his displeasure. That was the only useful trait he had adopted from the Duke of Romsey. Word of his presence would spread like fire on dry parchment until every servant knew that a Randall had returned. One who, while known for his even temper, would expect the same standards as the past Dukes of Romsey themselves.
    As they led his horse away, Leopold turned to Wilcox. At least here was a man who held to familiar standards. And although the loss of Wilcox’s hairpiece was a departure from previous tradition, Leopold couldn’t be sorry for it. As boys, he and his brother, Oliver, had debated whether Wilcox had hair beneath his powdered wig. It was good to see Oliver’s obsessive calculations about hair loss in grown men had been proved wrong in this instance. Wilcox still had a good head of iron grey hair on display. Oliver had calculated that Wilcox had been bald.
    “Sir, it is good to see you return.” Wilcox ushered him inside with a wide grin. “Welcome home. Welcome home. No doubt you wish to pay your respects to the young duke and his mother.”
    Leopold glanced around the entrance hall, pleased that the space remained how he remembered. In the long years of his exile, this was the one part of the abbey featuring the last good memories he retained. It was the last place he’d seen his family all together before the old duke had separated them.
    “If I could request an audience with Her Grace I would be most obliged.”
    The butler took his hat, gloves, and greatcoat before leading him into the blue drawing room. “I will inform Her Grace that you have returned.”
    “Thank you, Wilcox.”
    The butler pulled the doors closed; leaving Leopold alone with the grandeur that was the Romsey’s formal drawing room. Leopold hated the chamber. Last time he’d stood here in near darkness he’d made a bargain with the devil himself. A bargain that, despite the sweetness of the moment, had sickened him for the deception he’d become a party to.
    He glanced up at the walls and let his gaze rest on the old Duke of Romsey. The portrait of his father’s cousin held pride of place above the grand hearth, smiling with deceptive smugness. How often had he seen that self-same smile aimed at him?
    More times than he cared to remember.
    At the far end of the room