Awakening His Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

down his book. “This crest
belongs to the Duke of Newkirk.”
    The need for sleep flew away, but her brain was sluggish as
if she could no longer take anything in. She stared at him, not comprehending.
“My husband’s surname was Havendish.”
    “Yes, the family name of the Dukes of Newkirk is Havendish.”
    Beau was the son of a duke?
    “So you’ll want to book passage to England.”
    She grabbed the ring from his fingers and the metal warmed
in her hand as if Beau had reached from beyond the grave to give her a place to
go.
    *~*~*
    Five months later, March, 1792
    County Durham, England
     
    Thump-thump-thump. Please, not the drums, again. No
more blood and killing, no more fires and running. Yvette moaned.
Thump-thump-thump.
    She bolted upright, her heart racing. Images of her family
lying in pools of blood, eyes unseeing, tumbled through her mind. The pounding
drums, the screams of terror, the heat of the rampaging fires, the smell of
blood, sweat, and death jolted her heart.
    Thump-thump-thump. “Maman, p uis-je entrer , s'il vous plait?”
    She sat in a bed in a room with an ornate plasterwork ceiling
and luxurious carpets. Grape and acanthus carvings crept up around the
fireplace containing a controlled fire. To quiet her racing heart, she drew in
a deep breath. She’d been woken, not by the drums but by her almost
six-year-old son pounding on her door.
    “Oui. Yes, Etienne, you may enter.” She pushed back
the covers and put her feet on the floor. The danger was long past, the drums a
memory. Etienne was safe here, and she could breathe again. Although it would
take a long time before either of them felt secure again, if ever.
    Long before she reached halfway across the room that made
her feel small and an interloper, her son opened the door and pattered across
the floor as if fleeing for his life.
    He dove against her, and she cradled his sturdy frame and
bent down to inhale the little-boy scent. All she wanted to do was hold him
tight and never allow anything to threaten him ever again, which was why she’d
brought him here. Even without knowing what kind of reception she’d receive,
she knew England was far safer than war-torn France or Saint-Domingue in the
midst of a bloody slave revolt.
    Stroking her son's tawny hair, she asked, “Did you have a
bad dream?”
    She feared Etienne was haunted by the things he’d seen.
Perhaps in time his memories of the uprising would be dimmed as memories of
youth often are. She prayed every day to the Mother Mary to deliver him from
the horrors he’d witnessed.
    “Maman, Porquoi—”
    “English, please. You must speak the language of here.”
    Etienne climbed into her bed. “I take forever to find your
room. Why are you so far?”
    Because this house was monstrously large. She didn’t want to
be so far away that Etienne couldn’t find her. Tomorrow she would suggest that
a room closer to her son would be better. She guided Etienne toward the large
bed. Lying back down, she curled around him and smoothed the covers over them
as she murmured soothing sounds.
    Etienne snuggled closer to her and asked, his young voice
earnest, “Why do they call me, my lord?”
    How in heaven’s name could she explain this to a young child
in a way that he could comprehend? Yvette hadn’t wanted to tell him anything
until she knew the reception they’d get. The last thing she wanted was Etienne
resenting Beau’s family, if they were turned away at the door. But they hadn’t
been turned away. “Well, Pere wasn’t your papa. I was married before to
a boy” —she could only think of Beau as a boy— “the son of the man we met
today, the duke.”
    Etienne twisted to see her face. His little face crinkled.
Until she’d arrived here, she’d always thought Etienne resembled her, but other
than the slight tilt to his blue eyes, he was the spitting image of Beau.
    The transformation from unformed baby features to mirroring
Beau had happened so gradually she’d failed to