Devil at the Gates - Lauren Smith

Prologue

Dover, England - 1793

The Duke of Frostmore stirred fitfully in his bed. The sheets that clung to his skin were damp and fresh with terrible dreams that had jolted him awake. He’d never slept well when it rained, even as a boy when he’d simply been known as Redmond Barrington. There was something about the sound, the way it plinked against the windows as the wind whined through the cracks in the stones of the large old medieval manor house.

He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the darkened bedchamber. Something had awoken him, something outside his door. A soft cry came, echoing through the gloom. Redmond turned in his bed to see if his wife had been disturbed. But the bed was cold, empty.

The duchess was gone.

He shoved back the covers and pulled on his dressing gown.

“Millicent?” He wondered if she’d perhaps gone to her bedroom, which was next door. He’d agreed to the tradition of allowing his wife to have a separate room, but he’d told her from the start that he longed to share his bed each night with her. She’d been hesitant, like many a new bride, but he’d cajoled her into agreeing at last to share in the intimacy of remaining in his bed after they’d made love. Whatever had drawn her from his bed tonight? Had she fallen somewhere, gotten hurt while walking in the dark?

The stones beneath his feet were ice cold, but he didn’t mind. He liked the cold, liked the way it stirred his senses and kept him alert. He cracked open his bedchamber door and peered out into the corridor. The sound came again, but he saw nothing to indicate where it was coming from. He eased farther into the hall, still listening. Finally, he traced the sound to a bedchamber down the hall, the one belonging to his younger brother, Thomas.

“Thomas?” Redmond rapped at the door and pressed his ear to listen. There was a rush of hushed voices, followed by silence. Redmond’s heart fluttered as his mind made the terrible connection as to his missing wife and the voices coming from his brother’s room.

“Red?” Thomas finally asked as he opened the bedroom door. His hair was mussed, and he was only half-dressed. “What are you doing up? It’s late…”

“Are you alone? I heard a crying sound. I’m worried Millicent is hurt. She wasn’t in bed when I awoke. Will you help me find her?”

Thomas swallowed hard, and his gaze darted to the left as he began to craft a lie. Redmond had practically raised his younger brother and knew right away when Thomas wasn’t being truthful. Which meant…he knew where Millicent was.

Redmond’s heart hardened as he faced the betrayal by his own blood.

“She’s with you, isn’t she?” Redmond’s veins filled with ice as he spoke what he hadn’t wanted to admit had been true for months.

It hadn’t been a cry of pain he’d heard but one of passion. A sound he’d never been able to coax from his wife since they’d married six months ago. She’d remained gentle and still beneath him in bed, and each time he’d tried and failed to excite her. Most of the time, he’d given up and rolled away from her, his heart pained by his failure.

Thomas’s eyes refused to meet his. “She is.”

Redmond kept his rage reined in, but barely. He loved his brother, but Thomas was a fool who would follow his heart right into the bed of a married woman, even the wife of his own brother.

“Redmond, please…let me explain,” Thomas began again, but unable to find the words, he sighed and stepped back, letting Redmond enter the room.

Millicent peered around the edge of the changing screen in the corner of the room, her eyes wide with fear.

“Millicent.” Redmond spoke her name softly, and even that gave a stab of pain to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He saw the truth glimmering in her pretty blue eyes as they filled with tears. “I love him, Red. I think I’ve always loved him.”

“Yet you accepted my proposal?” Redmond rubbed at his temples as a headache began to pound the backs of his eyelids. How had he been so bloody blind to let this slip of a young woman fool him into thinking she cared about him? Because he’d wanted to be loved, to be cherished for himself and not his title.

“My father said I had to accept you…to have a duchess in the family. He…he was so proud of me.” The words trembled