The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) by Elisa Braden

father. Daughters who would be doted on and
spoiled. A family.
    “Then that is my answer.”
    His eyes widened and he grew intent, seeking
a confirmation in her face.
    “Yes, my lord, I will marry you.”
     
    *~*~*

 
     
    Chapter Five
    “ Clever battle strategy often resembles madness.
Knowing the difference … ah, well, the victors have the privilege
of defining that, do they not?” —The Dowager Marchioness of
Wallingham upon news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba.
     
    “Is marrying the chit really necessary, Luc?”
James Kilbrenner, the Earl of Tannenbrook, muttered from where he
sat slumped in a leather chair near the hearth in Lucien’s library.
A glass of brandy dangled negligently from his long fingers, and
the firelight played sinister games with his craggy features.
    Lucien placed the stopper back in the bottle
with a clink after pouring a glass of his own, then walked back to
the fireplace to stand with an elbow propped on the mantel. “I
thought we agreed it was the only way to achieve a measure of
justice.”
    James waved his free hand in the air as
though to sweep aside Lucien’s statement. “I know what we said.
It’s just … she is an innocent. Seems unsporting.”
    Lucien frowned. He did not like James echoing
his own doubts. With a plan such as this, and an enemy such as the
Duke of Blackmore, doubt led to mistakes, which meant failure. He
refused to fail. “She will be well cared for. As my wife, she will
enjoy every comfort. It is clear she desires children. She will
have that, as well. Eventually.”
    A look of skepticism came over his friend’s
face. “The original plan was to punish Blackmore, not his
sister.”
    It was true: Lucien had not intended to
involve Victoria at all. At least, not at first. “We tried. The law
stops at the ducal crest, it seems. The only place Blackmore is
vulnerable is his family. His brother is … well, there is nothing
we could do to Colin Lacey that he hasn’t already done to himself.
That leaves the sister.”
    James sighed and took a drink. “If only he
had called you out over the Gattingford incident. You could have
shot him, and the scales would have been balanced.”
    Shaking his head, Lucien moved to sit in the
chair opposite James, sinking down into its well-worn comfort and
draining the last of his brandy in a quick motion. He felt its mild
sting as it slid down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach.
He had never been much for drink, but right now, he was willing to
try many uncharacteristic things to dampen the rage that had burned
inside for the better part of a year.
    Inside of a blink, his mind flashed back
nearly nine months. He stood at the graves of his brother and
sister on a sodden, strangely chilled August morning, wondering how
it could have happened, how they could have both died within days
of one another. He recalled glancing over to where his parents were
buried and thinking he was cursed to survive while all those around
him died. It had happened on the battlefield, and now here. The
stark truth of it was an endless black pit. No air, no light, no
escape.
    He squeezed his eyes shut against the
memories. James had been there, bullying, nudging. What could
possibly be worth living for without so much as a cousin left for
kin? Lucien had asked. It was then, perhaps in desperation,
that James had offered him a torch for his darkness: vengeance.
    Brought back to the present when his friend
rose to stare down at the fire, Lucien picked up the thread of
their conversation. “Blackmore loathes scandal. The odds of him
escalating matters by calling me out were always rather slim.” He
sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, the scales can
never be truly balanced. Taking his sister from him is the best I
can do, under the circumstances.”
    “Yes, but haven’t you already done that? The
scandal means she will have to be shipped off to some distant
estate or sent abroad. Let it be enough, Luc.”
    The fury that rose