Page 2 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Her tone mirrored Rowan’s from a few minutes before, and his pulse increased as his face reddened at the overt insult and lack of enthusiasm evident, as if his very presence bored her.

“Which means, I am also in control of his assets…” He allowed the words to hang in the air between them, noting Miss Davenport pale slightly.

“Which means?”

“Which means, this house and everything within, is the property of the Duke of Harwich. Me.” He stopped short of pointing a finger at his chest in case the woman feigned ignorance of whom he spoke.

Since his father’s sudden death a fortnight earlier, Rowan had longed for the news to be inaccurate—that he was not the new owner of Craven House, and that his father had not continued to forsake Rowan’s mother and the family for all these years. He wished to wash his hands of it all. Unfortunately, that was not to be. He suppressed the need to distance himself from his reality, allowing the pain and betrayal to once again ignite his anger as his lips pulled into a smug grin at the implications of the current conversation.

Miss Davenport slumped in her chair, and he could only hope the woman was struggling with even a small portion of the hurt and uncertainty Rowan had been dealing with since discovering his father’s infidelity.

If Rowan could not toss Sasha Davenport from his property, then her daughter would have to suffice. Craven House—the famed London brothel—belonged to the Duke of Harwich, not Miss Marce Davenport. Just as it hadn’t belonged to Sasha Davenport before her.

The image of his grieving mother had Rowan’s shoulders straightening with purpose, deepening his fury.

Allowing his anger at everyone and everything in Craven House to engulf him completely, Rowan’s control slipped. If he had his way, the entire structure would be torn down—leveled and demolished as if the offensive place had never existed. Perhaps then he could banish the images of that horrid night from his mind. The ones that seared Rowan so deeply, he relived them day in and day out. Not even sleep gave him complete solace and a rare few hours free from the sight of his father in the arms of another woman—a lady not his mother.

“I see,” she sighed, though Rowan suspected she didn’t understand the gravity of her situation at all. If she did, there was little possibility she’d keep her trepidation at bay with him present. “Though, it was my understanding the duke transferred the deed for Craven House to me upon my mother’s death. I would see what proof you have of your claim to my home.”

“You question my integrity?” he retorted.

“You can understand my hesitancy to believe a stranger, can you not?” Her brow rose, daring him to produce the document or depart.

He held up the envelope, addressed to the Duke of Harwich by his family solicitor, for Miss Davenport to see. “I can assure you, no such thing was done, nor is there any written statement to that effect. And now, with an outstanding debt of twenty thousand pounds against Craven House, this property belongs to me.”

“Twenty thousand pounds?” She stared over Rowan’s left shoulder once more, and he fought the urge to pivot and see what held her attention. What was more captivating than the possibility of losing her home and business? “You intend to collect on the note, I assume.”

Rowan was here to do more than merely collect on an overdue debt.

In fact, the money meant less than nothing to him. Thanks to his father and his sires before him, Rowan had more assets in his family coffers than he knew what to do with. It would take several lifetimes to even make the smallest dent in the Harwich fortune.

No, this woman before him—her entire family—had stolen something far more valuable than mere pounds and shillings from him.

They’d robbed Rowan of his father’s time, attention, and love.

Things Julian Delconti was not able to give Rowan.

All those years Rowan and his mother had spent alone—abandoned at the dukedom’s country estate—would be avenged. Someone must be held accountable for his father’s betrayal—and his mother’s heartbroken existence.

Rowan could not risk losing his focus by dwelling on his mother and all she’d lived through…especially the fact that the Duchess of Harwich wasn’t long for this world.

With both Julian Delconti and Sasha Davenport gone, that left only one person for Rowan to seek out for retribution.

He’d spent days wallowing, lamenting over the ruthless turn his life had taken, thus dragging his mother down despite her innocence in it all. Rowan was determined to have his due—vengeance being only a fraction of what he sought and expected from this unannounced visit to Craven House.

Although, bringing the culpable woman to task was now out of his reach, that did not mean his need for retribution had waned.

An eye for an eye.

Or, in this case, Miss Davenport’s future to make amends for his past.

His plans changing slightly, Rowan moved to the chair originally offered to him and sat, leaning back and setting ankle to knee as he slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket. He could have his retribution, and she, along with her family, could remain in their home.

Training his cold stare on Miss Marce Davenport, he noted the way her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white, the way the muscle under her left eye twitched with her nervousness, and how her smile, breathtaking as it was meant to be, did not quite reach her eyes.

The woman was not as poised as she’d first led Rowan to believe.

Without a doubt, this would work to his advantage.