Page 85 of The Duke of Pain

But it would no longer rule his life or his selfish actions.

On that, Gideon swore a vow.

Going forward, he would live his life in peaceful contentment in the arms of the woman he loved fiercely. The woman he longed to kiss so passionately; he’d take her breath away.

For she had already taken his.

* * *

“Hyah!” Sanford yelled as he slapped the reins against the side of the horse’s neck.

The animal whinnied in response but did pick up the pace somewhat.

Blast Watford and his stubborn pride. And his persistent pursuit. How dare he bring coppers?

Face it, it was a reckless plan, stealing the furniture and other bits. He already had Bisby sell several paintings, and Sanford had the two hundred and thirty pounds safely tucked away in his money belt.

He honestly thought his indolent stepson wouldn’t care at all about Foxmont and its belongings. When had he ever shown any interest? It was a gamble that Sanford lost.

Sandford, over the past two years, had Bisby sell a painting here, a figurine there. Enough to give him pocket money to buy a few extras like bottles of expensive brandy and scotch.

That miserable butler had noticed, and wrote the steward more than once. But for the past several months, Sandford had Bisby make a monetary deal with the local postmaster to ensure the letters were never delivered.

Watford showing up unannounced at Foxmont had changed everything.

Thankfully, he was not there long enough to speak to the staff, but he had seen the neglect, the empty walls and shelves. Sanford knew his time of staying at the estate rent-free would soon come to an end.

Which is why he forged ahead with his reckless plan of stripping the place clean.

The horse was already laboring, for Watford had also neglected his stables. The horses were old, only good for pulling a wagon or a small carriage. This nag will never make it to London at full gallop, not thirty miles.

What could he do? Steal a horse at a farm along the way? Sanford didn’t even know if there were farms on the route.

But there was more horses at Foxmont.

A fresh mount and continue on his way.

And do what, exactly?

He left Annabella, and his unborn child, behind. With the money in his belt, he could ride straight to London, catch a train to the coast and take a steamer to North America.

But what if the child was a boy? His heir.

It was the only reason he tolerated Annabella’s presence.

Just as money was the only motivating factor he tolerated his lady wife’s company.

Sanford would hand it to Christina, his duchess. She readily agreed to the divorce so he could marry and have his heir.

Perhaps she loved him, after all.

She had always claimed such through the years, but Sanford brushed such sickening emotional declarations aside.

Regardless, it is not as if the unborn baby was his only progeny. He had other offspring and maybe more children he was not aware of. His bloodline would carry on one way or another. Illegitimate perhaps, but his descendants nonetheless.

Sanford glanced behind him at the long stretch of the dark road. He could swear that off in the distance, that there was a single light.

Damn it, they were in pursuit. Sanford was sure of it.