Page 17 of Her Tempestuous Duke

“That is because you have a good, kind heart.”

She mustn’t say such things when they were evidently untrue. Parys Pendorran’s heart was as black as a midwinter night—it had decayed over the months and years.

“You’d better take the food down, if you want them to eat it hot.” He turned his face away, trying not to regret the harshness in his tone.

She must have understood his need for silence; shortly thereafter, she was gone.

He moved around the room, collecting up his club and dagger, should they be needed. But if Anthony had any sense, he and his servants would accept the food and await developments. It was not in their interest to use Minerva as a bargaining counter. Surely, Anthony would never do anything so base? His chest hurt at the very idea of his brother threatening Minerva in order to win his own freedom.

His fist hit the table with a thump, grazing his knuckles. Enough of this stupidity! He had no heart—he’d made that plain enough. He had no conscience either, as far as Anthony was concerned. Removing Minerva from danger was of paramount importance—then, he could deal with the prisoners however he wished.

Ariel shuffled on his perch. “He’s a good man. Parys Pendorran. Parys Pendorran. He’s a good man.”

Parys froze. Where had Ariel learned that? He’d never said it before.

“Everything will come right in the end. Everything will come right. He’s a good man. You chowder-headed bilge rat.”

Parys rolled his eyes. No one would ever be able to cure Ariel of his swearing. Had Minerva been trying to teach him the phrases he’d just uttered, or were they words of comfort she’d repeated to herself as she worked? If so, she had more faith in him than he had in himself.

He sank onto a seat and pushed a hand through his hair. Foolhardy, irksome, disturbing woman! Her light footsteps on the stairs were eagerly awaited. He longed for the moment when she would be in the room with him again, flooding it with her breezy expectations of a successful outcome, and her misplaced faith in his better nature.

He recalled the feel of her lips against his as if it had happened an instant ago. No! Not irksome and disturbing—she was a lovely, precious creature, and he hated the idea of her being in Anthony’s power. Could he persuade his brother to relinquish her? What if he were to offer Anthony his freedom—and that of his servants—in exchange for Minerva?

Never! He’d rather she came to him of her own free will, with no thought of self-sacrifice. Why should she give up anything in exchange for the freedom of three men who didn’t deserve it?

Perhaps she’d accept his terms more readily when he took up the reins of power again. He would be Duke of Tremar once more, and could make her a duchess. The family name would be tainted, of course, because he’d have accused his own brother of attempted murder. Ah, but there was also the risk that Minerva would become the subject of gossip—he could remember how brutal the tabbies of the ton could be. Especially if they found out Minerva was born on the wrong side of the blanket.

No—this was the utmost folly. If Parys Pendorran fell victim to the shackles of love, that would make him weak and easy prey to his enemies.

By the time he heard Minerva returning, his mind was made up. Nobody was going to come out of this situation unscathed, but he knew exactly what he must do in order to protect her.

And himself.

Chapter Ten

Minerva collected the bowls and stacked them neatly in the empty cooking pot. Both Pascoe and George had picked at their food, but Lord Anthony had made a good meal of it. He gazed at her, sucking the end of one well-manicured finger.

“So, my dear—it seems you have been softening up this brother of mine. Well done, Child. At least we have a hot meal inside us now, which will give us strength for what’s to come.”

Her stomach churned. She didn’t like being called “Child”. And she didn’t like Lord Anthony’s tone.

“Far be it from me to speak against you, sir, but I sincerely hope that whatever happens won’t involve hurting Parys or his animals.”

Her guardian lifted an eyebrow. “Parys, is it? I can’t believe you’re calling him Parys after so brief an acquaintance.”

“I know it’s improper—” No. She wasn’t going to apologize. The rules had been rewritten to reflect life on this remote, rocky promontory. Things that seemed important at Tremar Park had no meaning here. Nothing mattered here but the basic requirements of human existence.

She chewed on her finger. Was love one of those basic needs? Feeling her cheeks heating, she busied herself reorganizing the dishes.

“I only mean that there is to be no violence. There must be no more talk of poisons or smashing in skulls, or any other vicious nonsense. You and Parys are both adults and gentlemen, and you can settle this feud sensibly.”

Lord Anthony’s jaw dropped, but before he could respond, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later, Parys strode in with Caliban at his heels.

The two servants stood straighter, pressing their backs against the wall. Lord Anthony put his hands on his hips but made no retreat. He stared at his brother—the only sign of his uncertainty was the muscle working in his jaw.

If it had been cold in the dungeon before, then it was freezing now. Minerva pulled her blanket tightly around her shoulders. Caliban nosed at her hand, and she comforted herself by stroking his head. He would never hurt her—she knew that now. They were friends. And maybe, if he were called upon to attack, she could counter his master’s command.

Everyone was staring at Parys. He didn’t even glance at Minerva—his gaze was focused on his brother. As she looked from one to the other, she was struck by the family resemblances she’d missed previously. Both men had inherited the eyes of the woman whose portrait she’d found in the beehive hut—their mother. The pale, intense blue marked them out from common Cornish stock.