Chapter One
London was the last place Michael wanted to be…
He stared out of the bay window on the second floor of his stately London townhouse, surrounded by the recently refurbished and decorated private study. It had taken months of painstaking work to return the townhouse to its former glory and yet he was in no mood to enjoy the fruits of his labour. His mind was in a terrible state, all because of the city he had no choice but to return to.
The city wasn’t at fault, in truth. It was its occupants who bothered him. The people who traversed the cobblestoned street, parading in rouge and waistcoats, feigning respectability. The very same people who would willingly frame an innocent man for their own gain, destroying a family in the process. Those were the very individuals he would have to face now that he had returned to London, and he was not particularly keen on it.
But even though London was not where he wanted to be, it was where he had to be. In order to uncover the truth and clear his father’s name, he had to do whatever it took. Even if it meant diving into the den of snakes all over again.
Anger simmered deep in the pit of his stomach. It was never far from his grasp. In the past four years, he drew on it whenever he needed motivation to continue on his path of vengeance. And other times, it consumed him without thought, taking over every bit of his senses until he could focus on nothing else. The past reared its ugly head at the worst times and, on several occasions, he nearly turned from his path. The pain, anger, and sorrow were tearing him to shreds piece by piece.
But then he thought of his father and his dying moments.
He recalled his mother who withered away from grief after his father’s death.
He thought of his sister, who remained positive and vibrant despite the social disgrace foisted upon their family and the impact it had on her prospects for marriage.
And he remembered very clearly why he was doing this.
Michael turned away from the window, facing the mahogany desk littered with correspondence and documents. Everything—or nearly everything—he required to establish his father’s innocence lay scattered across the vast surface of the massive desk. He had spent countless hours poring over them, going through each and every one of them until he knew them by heart. He put the pieces together over and over again, in his mind and with the physical documents, but it was not enough. There was still one missing, one thing that would ensure he left this matter behind him with nothing but fulfilment.
He had to enact his vengeance. And Lady Elaine Sutton of Suthenshire was his key to doing exactly that.
Michael picked up a letter from an old country lord, whose estate he’d recently left before coming to London. It was one of many, of course. He’d gone from smoky coffeehouses to fabulous estates of retired officials all over England, gathering the evidence he needed to prove that the Earl of Suthenshire was guilty of deceit. That the convictions against Michael’s father, the late Duke of Ryewood, were false. Just looking at them was enough to stir familiar hatred in his heart.
“Michael?” A soft knock accompanied the gentle voice on the other end of the door. Michael dropped the letter, turning to face his sister as she slipped into the room.
Her small frown smoothed away the moment she looked at him, but Michael knew it was never far behind. He had not been home for very long and Clarissa had taken to following him around the house with worry written all over her face. It was a far cry from the little girl who had once followed him around inabsolute adoration. The person before him was a woman now and she could tell that something was wrong.
Michael had no intention of disclosing the truth of his obsession anytime soon, so he forced a smile. “Yes? Is anything amiss?”
“Oh, nothing is amiss,” she assured him as she came forward. “I am merely here to keep you company, that is all.”
“Oh? Did you think that my years away from this place have turned me into the sort of man who cannot bear solitude?”
“No, I believe it has made you the kind of man who appreciates the company of a sister he holds so dear.”
Michael felt his smile turn genuine at the sparkle of mischief in Clarissa’s blue eyes. They were so much like their late mother’s, from the hue to the shape to the vibrancy it was always filled with. She shared many things with the late Duchess of Ryewood—the same honey-blond hair that cascaded down the length of her back, its fullness an envy of many other ladies her age, the same slim figure, and the same beautifully, pouty lips. Michael always knew that his sister would have men lining up at her feet for a chance to marry her and, now that she’d debuted for her first Season, that assumption was easily confirmed. He wouldn’t be surprised to find a dozen more flowers waiting for her downstairs.
Michael draped an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the study, away from thedesk. “To think that you’ve turned one-and-twenty and you are still so attached to our companionship.”
“I am not attached,” Clarissa denied immediately. “You have been travelling all over London for four years and you have only returned three days ago. It is no fault of mine that I wish to spend time with you before the Ton catches wind that the Duke of Ryewood is in London.”
“So it is my fault then?”
“Will you not tell me why you were gone for so long?
Michael nearly darkened at her words and had to remind himself that she was innocent in all of this. “I was attending to business,” he lied.
Clarissa’s frown deepened, her bottom lip jutting in her signature pout. In her youth, that expression was all she needed to get her way. But it wouldn’t work so easily today.
“Pray, spare me such a glance,” Michael chastised easily, pulling away from her as they made their way down the hallway with no destination in mind. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know the position of a duke is no easy one.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But I do not want what happened to Papa to happen to you as well.”
“It shall not,” he replied firmly.
“Will you promise me?”
