Awakening His Duchess by Katy Madison Read Free Book Online Page B

for life. “But you don’t have the license.”
    “No. Too many records were burnt.”
    “Convenient that most of the records have been destroyed.”
Did that mean she hadn’t come here until after the revolution?
    “I would sooner put about that you are a baseborn imposter
than I would deny she is my daughter-in-law.”
    The impact of his father’s words slammed Beau in the chest.
The years of dreaming of coming home hadn’t prepared him for this outrage.
    Nothing would have prepared him for being shunned in favor
of the scheming bitch who’d ruined his life.

Chapter Four
    Yvette stood rooted in place, paralyzed by Beau’s return
from the dead and his cruel words. What on earth had happened to him? His answer
echoed in her head, he’d been poisoned, buried alive, and turned into a
slave. Oh God, the stories of the horrible vodou spell were true.
    Raw rage flashed across Beau’s face—and sliced through her
with the destruction of a machete.
    Yvette jerked like a marionette with strings that had been
tugged. Her legs felt wobbly as if her knees had come unfastened and one wrong
move would send her clattering to the floor. The moment felt as unreal as if
she had been thrust into a puppet show. Staring at the man in front of her, she
reached out her free hand for support and was only vaguely aware that it landed
on the duke’s shoulder.
    Beau’s face was older and tanned like a laborer’s, his body
was that of a man—a solidly built, strong man—not the aristocratic young dandy
who had charmed her into sharing a night with him.
    When she’d first recognized him, something warm and bright
like the sun glinting on the water and turning it to sparkling silver grew inside
her. A thing so foreign to her she didn’t know what to make of it. But under
his hateful glare the brightness had shriveled and died before it had much of a
chance.
    His gaze landed on the hand the duke held and her other hand
resting on his shoulder as if they presented a united front against him when in
truth, the duke had just been the nearest thing to lean upon.
    He looked back at the duke. His mouth twisted, and he turned
his shoulder toward the man. But poor Beau, his father was all but saying he’d
rather his son was dead than interfering with the ducal plan for succession.
How could he think this? What kind of man wouldn't want another moment with a
child he'd thought dead?
    She wanted to jerk her hand away and smash it against the
duke’s cheek for saying such a thing—for thinking it—but she couldn’t give in
to emotional impulses now. She strictly modeled her behavior on that of her
mother-by-law and her fellow widows, but they weren’t around now to show her
the way.
    She needed to say something. Mitigate the cruelty of his
father.
    Beau shot icy anger her way. Those eyes had once looked at
her with tenderness, but they were so cold now shivers ran through her.
    She freed her hand and patted the duke’s shoulder. “That was
a cruel thing to say, and you do not mean it.”
    “He means it,” said Beau tightly. “He’s never had much use
for me.”
    She sucked in a deep breath and crossed the room. His icy
glare kept her from—what? Embracing him, touching her cheek to his. Searching
for composure, she picked up the duke’s blanket. Her hands shook so badly she
could scarcely get her fingers to grip the material. “No, he doesn’t mean it.
His legs bother him in the evening, and he is no doubt shocked by your return.”
    There, that was very English lady behavior. They were not
too demonstrative these English. She had only to make it through the next
minute and the one after that without falling apart.
    Beau’s eyes narrowed and glared at her. His expression was
the farthest thing from joy. Still her mind swirled, turning and churning.
    How was his being alive possible? If either of her dead
husbands had shown up, she would have expected Henri. She'd never actually seen
him dead, but Beau had been in a coffin. She'd