The door opened, then shut behind him.
It was much, much later and she’d fallen into a disturbed sleep when the first tortured cry woke her.
Chapter 12
At first, Verity thought that the strangled sound was part of her confused dreams, but as she raised eyelids still heavy and swollen with tears, the cry came again.
Somewhere in the house, a man called out in inconsolable agony.
One of the servants must be troubled or sick, although she’d thought that all the people in the valley, apart from Kylemore and herself, slept in the cottages.
Without consciously deciding to act, she was on her feet and pulling on the first piece of clothing her hand lighted on in the armoire—a silk robe. Habits instilled through years of looking after her brother and sister had never left her. She couldn’t ignore the terrible need in those hoarse screams.
Fumbling, she lit a candle, then let herself out of the room. She paused in the hallway, unsure which direction to take.
The man cried out again, a long keen that faded away into broken sobs. It came from down the corridor. Clutching the robe around her naked body, she went toward the room where she’d sought refuge from the duke last night.
She quietly pushed open the door to the simple chamber with its narrow bed only to discover no servant broke the silence of the night.
Instead, it was the Duke of Kylemore.
She stood in the doorway as hatred rose in a black tide to choke her. Nightmares should plague a man with such evil on his soul. In any just universe, he’d never enjoy a peaceful moment. No other revenge lay open to her, but at least knowing he battled night demons was something.
The long, lean body in the bed thrashed wildly, as if he fought some invisible assailant. Twisted sheets tangled around him, mute testimony to his struggles. His chest was bare, and sweat shimmered on his white skin under the light covering of black hair.
The duke had bad dreams. What was it to her? He’d kidnapped and abused her. His conscience should trouble him.
She turned to go. Let him rot in his misery. Let pains in this world give him a foretaste of the pains of hell that surely awaited him.
Behind her, he gave a low moan. She paused, not wanting to hear the bone-deep grief in the sound but unable to help herself.
She straightened her spine. No, she must be ruthless, as Kylemore was ruthless. Her fear and entreaties and resistance had never kept him from taking what he wanted. So why should she care if his sins returned to haunt his sleep?
Her enemy’s agony was her only vengeance.
He writhed again in the grip of his dream, so violently that the bed creaked loudly in the small room. She tried to rejoice in his anguish, but something stronger than her futile dreams of retribution prevented her leaving.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned back.
This time, she couldn’t help edging closer. He’d rolled to lie spread-eagled on his back, braced for imaginary attack. She told herself she wanted to luxuriate in his distress while he was too lost in his fantasies to threaten her.
But when the light of her candle spilled across the sleeping duke—for all his turmoil, he was still fast asleep—she didn’t feel remotely like laughing.
No trace now of the supercilious aristocrat she’d known in London, or even the ruthless tyrant who had abducted her. Instead, the man stretched out before her was tormented to the edge of sanity.
He tossed his head with its sweat-dampened dark hair from side to side as if in violent denial. His breathing was loud, and his powerful chest heaved with each difficult inhalation.
In spite of everything he’d done to her, in spite of how she wanted to react, Verity’s heart contracted with pity. She couldn’t abandon any fellow creature, however despicable, to suffer as the duke so obviously suffered.
“Your Grace,” she said softly, leaning over and hesitantly touching his bare shoulder.
The smooth skin was clammy beneath her hand. Some monumental crisis gripped him.
“Your Grace, you’re having a bad dream. Wake up.”
He jerked away as though her touch scorched him. The marks of tears on his cheeks shocked her. He was still deeply asleep, lost in his nightmare.
She curled her fingers around his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Your Grace, wake up.”