Prologue
Pain. Torturous, searing pain. No other thoughts entered Edmund Marsham’s mind except the torment singeing the left side of his face.
Consumed by agony, he screamed, but no sound emerged from his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes. He was in hell. Absolute hell. Of that he was certain. The desire to run, to escape from the pit of the devil overwhelmed him, but there was no help for him. There never had been.
Desperate to alleviate the torture exploding on his cheek, he covered his face with his hand but quickly yanked it back. Simply touching the burning flesh intensified his torment. What had he done to deserve such suffering?
The eerily contented sound of his father’s condescending voice echoed in his mind. The thought of the vile man brought Edmund back to himself, and he fought off his tears. He was a sixteen-year-old man. The new Duke of Demoon. Not a child any longer.
Over the fury of the crackling flames and the embers still searing his flesh, a boy’s voice screamed for help, taking Edmund even further from his own pain.
He glanced around and cursed under his breath. How had he gotten here? Angry fire consumed the hunting cabin. Two boys lay pinned under a fallen timber while another stood with a horrified look on his face. Edmund wanted to help, but he sat, frozen in place. The fire had robbed him of the ability to command his unresponsive limbs.
An excruciating scream echoed in the room as the boy who had been standing lifted the great beam off his friends. It split under the strain with a loud crack. A sigh of relief escaped Edmund’s lips, but he coughed when he sucked in the smoke-filled air. The selfless act struck him, forcing his brain to engage while the two trapped boys scrambled to free themselves.
A temporary freedom, at least. Judging from the flames greedily consuming the walls and furniture, there was no hope for them. He could practically hear his father laughing at his predicament. Anger surged through him. This would not be the end. Not while he had breath in his body.
“We have to get out of here,” Edmund shouted, the effort of moving his lips shot searing pain through his face. His hand instinctively lifted to his injury as he gritted his teeth. “We can’t let the Devil win.”
At his words the boy who had sustained burns on his back dragged himself up, then grabbed the arm of the one who’d likely suffered a broken leg. Edmund hurried to take the boy’s other arm.
As they moved back to the bedroom, Edmund held his breath. He didn’t want to go back in there. He remembered his uncle insisting that as the duke’s son, Edmund, should be the one to sit vigil for the man. He hadn’t wanted to be stuck in the small space with his father, alive or dead, and although he couldn’t remember agreeing, he’d apparently done his duty. This was how he was repaid.
Forcing himself to put his father from him mind, Edmund focused on the task at hand and moved through the doorway. Tears welled in his eyes as the heat further inflamed his smoldering cheek. If he could survive life with his father, something as small as a fire couldn’t take him down.
“Give me your coat,” one boy demanded after they lowered his friend to the floor.
Shrugging out of the garment, he handed it over as his eyes strayed to the bed. His father was getting what he deserved. A fiery end fit for such an evil man. The burn on Edmund’s face throbbed, a parting gift from his worthless father.
Edmund tore his gaze away to see his coat lying over the jagged windowsill. Lifting the boy with the broken leg, he helped raise him to the ledge.
“Dear God, there are children in here!” a welcome voice exclaimed, barely audible over the roaring of the fire. “Quick! Help me!”
After assisting the three boys out of the window, Edmund cast one more glance at his father. This was the last time he would allow that man to hurt him. The fire consumed the body now, licking at the tailored suit his father had ordered not a week ago.
Taking the offered hand, Edmund climbed through the window. He gulped in the fresh air, only sullied with a hint of the acrid smoke. The wind on his face sent waves of agony through him, but he fought the tears pooling in his eyes and the nausea rolling in his stomach. Fists clenched against the incomparable pain, he took deep breaths as his fingernails dug into his palms.
The Duke of Demoon didn’t cry.
He clenched his teeth and surveyed the carnage before him. Two of the boys lay motionless in the grass. A crack sounded and the third boy’s leg was set. Edmund winced. He knew that feeling all-to-well. Broken bones had been a normal part of his life, up to this point.
“It’s the duke!” the man’s voice emerged full of surprise, and Edmund spun around, expecting his father. “Yer Grace, let’s get you to the castle.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled through tight lips when he realized the man had been speaking to him. He knew there was nothing he could do for the brave boys who had saved him. Perhaps one day he would be able to repay them.
As he climbed into the wagon and the horse began moving, he closed his eyes and barred his mind from the pain as he had done so many times over his life. When the wagon pulled to a stop, he offered a quick thank you before moving up the steps to his home. If he allowed himself to give in to his pain, it would be in the comforts of his bedchamber.
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Williams exclaimed. “What has happened to you?”
The housekeeper hurried him into the drawing room before he had a chance to respond. She ordered others around to collect supplies, as well as to fetch his mother. Putting all the noises and movement from his mind, he sat on the sofa and leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. He wished he could pass out like the other boys. To not feel anymore.
Cold water splashed over his face, and Edmund screamed. The housekeeper’s brow knitted as she dabbed his cheek with a cloth.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I need to cleanse your wound. Looks like a nasty burn,” she explained, her voice full of pity.
Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, he swallowed down his bile. The woman had patched him up too many times for him to repay her with anything less than cooperation, regardless of how much she was hurting him.
“Where is he? Where is the duke?”
Edmund felt a hint of relief at the high-pitched sound of his mother’s voice. “I’m here, Mother.”
The torments they both had endured at the duke’s hand had created an unusual bond between them. Knowing she rushed to his side brought him such hope. After all, his father had never given her the ability to tend to any of his wounds or to provide him comfort. However, now that the man was dead, Edmund hoped their relationship could morph into something normal. He could only imagine how it would be to have her hold him in her arms out of love, not of fright.
As she breezed into the room, the smell of her perfume overwhelmed his nostrils and his eyes sought hers. She was dressed in the brightest color he’d ever seen on her, and the sight made him cringe. Although his father didn’t deserve their deference, as he’d died two days ago, he wished she would make an effort to appear to be in mourning, even if only a façade. But, it really didn’t matter. She had come for him.
She gasped, and her mouth remained open until she covered it with her hand. Pain moved through her eyes, but she closed them from him. When she refocused upon him, resolve and anger paraded across her face.
“Dear God, Edmund. You look horrific, but clearly, you’re fine. So, I rushed for nothing.”
Shock kept him silent. He’d never expected such a reaction from her. Pain, having nothing to do with his face, echoed through his chest. He had managed to accept the hatred from his father, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to endure it from his mother. What had happened between them?
“Your Grace, the duke suffered through a fire,” Mrs. Williams chided. His mother winced, but didn’t stand down.
“I can see that, but he’s moving and responding just fine.” Her skirts spun around her legs as she turned to go, then she called over her shoulder. “Oh, Edmund, cover that up. Decent people don’t wish to see something so ghastly.”