The Duke’s Sinful Bride (Vows of Sin #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ S top!” Yvette’s voice rang out across the misty field, trembling yet commanding, her hand pressed tightly against her chest as she struggled to steady her breath.

The cold morning air burned her lungs, and her fingers stung from gripping the reins during her reckless ride through the night.

She squinted into the darkness, just barely able to make out the two figures standing opposite each other—both of them with their pistols raised, ready to fire.

Even in the darkness, she recognized one of them immediately.

“Yvette? What are you doing here?” Edward’s voice was sharp with disbelief, his head turning sharply toward her as she approached.

Reckless Edward.

Of course, her older brother would drag himself into something as ludicrous as a duel at this hour.

His shock was clear, but Yvette ignored him, her boots sinking slightly into the damp ground as she lifted the hem of her dress, determination radiating from her every step.

She marched straight between the two men, her pulse pounding in her ears, but she refused to look at her brother.

Instead, her eyes locked onto the other man—the Duke of Braemore.

“This is madness!” she declared, her words aimed squarely at the duke.

Yvette had never met the duke before, but his reputation had preceded him; she’d heard him whispered about in the halls of St. Catherine’s Nunnery. She had imagined what he might look like, but the man standing before her was even more striking than she’d imagined.

He was dressed entirely in black, the long tails of his coat catching the cold wind. His dark hair, a shade of deep auburn, was slightly tousled and it looked as though he’d raked his hands through it one too many times—an unconscious habit shared by her fool of a brother.

The duke’s broad shoulders and towering height were as intimidating as the pistol he held with ease. His beard framed a face that she imagined, underneath the hair, was unbearably smooth.

Yvette gulped, her stomach fluttering in a way that frustrated her.

Focus, she told herself, a reminder that she had come for something entirely different.

The duke’s frown deepened instantly, a furrow forming between his dark brows as he slowly, and reluctantly, lowered his pistol. His sharp gaze locked onto her, assessing, scrutinizing.

“This is a matter of honor that does not concern ye, my lady,” he said, his deep voice laced with a Scottish accent so thick it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

His words, rough and gravelly, held the weight of someone accustomed to being in command.

“Step aside,” he added.

Yvette inhaled deeply, willing her frantically beating heart to calm itself. The defiance in her eyes flared brighter as she stood her ground.

“I shall not,” she replied, her voice steady despite her fear.

The journey to the field had been perilous—sneaking out of the nunnery, riding alone across desolate roads on horseback—but she hadn’t come this far to let the duke kill her brother.

Edward groaned audibly behind her. “What in the devil are you doing, Yvette? Get out of the way!”

Ignoring her brother’s protest, Yvette stared up at the duke, refusing to waver. The icy wind nipped at her cheeks, but her resolve burned like fire.

“Yvette, I mean it! You’ve no business here!” Edward stepped forward, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off sharply, spinning to glare at him with fire in her eyes.

“And you have no sense, Edward!” she snapped. “Did you think I would allow you to get yourself killed?”

“Yvette!” Edward shot back, his tone showing his annoyance. “You know nothing of this matter?—”

“Oh, I know enough,” Yvette interrupted, her voice biting as she turned her gaze back to the duke. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, but I cannot allow you to kill my brother.”

The duke’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise stoic features. She wasn’t sure if it was her audacity or her words that had startled him, but either way, she pressed on.

“This matter does not concern ye, as the marquess has said,” the duke said firmly, his brogue thickening with his frustration. “I will not be lectured by a lass who knows nothing of this situation.”

Yvette’s jaw tightened at his dismissal, though something in the way he spoke stirred an unwelcome warmth in her chest. His accent was far more pronounced now, slipping fully into the Scottish that softened his consonants and elongated his vowels.

She pushed the distraction aside, narrowing her eyes.

“I know of the situation,” she snapped, her tone sharp, “And I can assure you, Your Grace, this certainly is not the way to settle it.”

“Yvette—” Edward began, but she silenced him with a withering glare.

“How could you drag our family name into such disgrace? Do you have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused?” Her voice rose with her fury, and Edward took an uneasy step back, clearly unnerved by her outrage.

The duke, however, remained still, watching her with an unreadable expression. There was something—almost amusement—in his hazel eyes, though his frown remained firmly in place.

“My lady,” he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave, “ye’ve got more courage than sense. I’ll grant ye that.” His lips twitched slightly, as though he were suppressing a smile, but his tone remained grave. “But this isnae a game. Step aside, or I’ll have no choice but to move ye meself.”

Yvette’s breath hitched at his words, her pulse quickening for reasons she refused to acknowledge. She straightened her spine, and lifted her chin defiantly.

“Then you shall have to move me, Your Grace,” she replied evenly, daring him to make good on his threat.

Edward groaned again, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, Yvette, do not provoke him!”

But she ignored her brother entirely. Her focus remained on the duke, her gaze steady and unwavering. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized the absurdity of her position—defying a man of his rank and stature, a man known for his ruthless reputation. And yet, she refused to yield.

The duke regarded her for a short moment, but said nothing, so she turned her attention to her brother.

“Edward,” Yvette’s voice trembled with anger as she glared at him, her chest heaving. “You ruined a lady, you dishonored your wife, and now you want to engage in a duel? What happens if you kill him? You’ll be a murderer—a man who not only ruined a duke’s sister, but also killed the duke himself!”

The duke cleared his throat, a deep sound that drew her attention. His gaze switched between Yvette and her brother.

It seemed her words had stirred something in him—not guilt, but a deep irritation at the audacity of her claim, as though he could not believe Edward could best him in a duel—as though the notion was laughable.

Even so, Yvette was well aware of the fact that her brother barely knew how to handle a pistol properly.

“Ye’re making a grave mistake, my lady,” the duke said. “If ye think meddling will save yer brother, ye couldn’t be more wrong.”

His tone was meant to send her scurrying, but instead of retreating, she glared at him, before returning her attention to her brother.

The duke cocked his head slightly, a flicker of amusement breaking through his irritation.

In that moment, the wind whipped through the field, causing the edges of her coat to shift. Yvette saw the duke’s eyes darting to her chest for a brief moment, as she huffed in frustration.

He quickly averted his gaze, swallowing hard.

“You know what it was like for me.” Yvette’s voice broke through his wayward thoughts, and Edward refocused on her. “All those years locked away at St. Catherine’s because a man ruined my life. And now you’ve done the same thing to another lady?”

Her lips trembled and she blinked rapidly.

“No, Yvette,” Edward interrupted, his voice tinged with desperation. “You don’t know the truth of what happened?—”

“Do not defend yourself!” she snapped, her fury now aimed squarely at her brother. She turned her attention back to the duke, her eyes pleading, yet defiant. “Do you truly think blood will cleanse your sister’s honor?”

The duke stepped closer, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. ‘

“Step. Aside,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The command hung heavy in the air. “This is between yer brother and me. Do not interfere.”

Yvette’s breathing quickened, but she didn’t step back. “You think blood will make the stain on her honor go away? What about the pain you’ll cause should you kill my brother, Your Grace? You’re going to orphan his son!”

The duke froze, her words striking a nerve he hadn’t anticipated. The grip on his pistol tightened, and he stared at her, his jaw clenched tightly.

“I won’t remind ye to step aside again,” the duke said, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “This duel will go on as intended.”

He raised his pistol once more, his eyes fixed on Edward, but Yvette moved again, placing herself directly in his line of sight. Her arms spread wide, shielding her brother completely.

“Isn’t your daughter motherless?” she cried, her voice trembling. “Do you wish to inflict that pain on another child?”

The duke froze once more.

For a brief, agonizing moment, he was silent.

He looked at her, then at Edward. Fury burned in his eyes, but it seemed as though the weight of her words had landed—and hard.

The tension between them was suffocating despite the vast space around them. Edward suddenly broke the silence, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke.

“Forgive my sister, Killian. She knows not of what she speaks. But I swear on my honor, I didn’t ruin Fiona.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed, a steely glare directed at the man standing behind his sister. The weight of his disbelief was palpable, his lips curling into a grimace.

“It’s too late for excuses,” he snapped, his voice thick with disdain. “Do ye take me for a fool? Ye think mere words will absolve ye of what ye’ve done?”

Edward’s jaw tightened, and he took a hesitant step forward. “I swear to you, Killian—I did not do what I’ve been accused of.”

Yvette whipped her head toward her brother, a deep frown settling on her face.

Her chest tightened as her mind raced back to her own past, to the day her fiancé had sworn he’d never wronged her. He had been so convincing, his lies wrapped in honeyed words, his pleas for understanding delivered with precision. And the world had believed him over her.

She’d been cast aside, her reputation shredded while he walked away unscathed. The mere memory made her stomach churn.

“Edward,” she said sharply, her voice dripping with disdain. “Stop this. Stop being like him .”

Edward flinched at her tone, but she pressed on.

“Take responsibility for what you’ve done and tell the truth.”

Edward seemed to struggle with her words, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world pressed down on him.

“I am telling the truth,” he said at last, his voice low but firm. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. “I swear on the life of my child—I did not do any of this.”

Yvette’s breath caught. Swearing on the life of his child was not something Edward would do lightly, but could she trust him? Her own experiences had taught her to doubt, to question every word spoken by a man defending himself.

She swallowed hard and shook her head, the lines between anger and confusion blurring.

“Then explain, brother,” she demanded, her voice trembling with frustration and desperation.

The duke let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his shoulders rising as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The look in his eyes was one of pure fury.

“I don’t care for explanations,” he said, his tone cutting like a blade. “No excuse changes what’s already been done. My sister’s name is ruined—irreparably so. That’s the truth of it, no matter what pretty lies ye spin.”

Edward’s eyes darted to Yvette, as if he searched for some sign of sympathy.

Yvette took a step back, folding her arms across her chest.

“If you didn’t do it,” she said quietly, “then make us understand how and why you’ve been accused.”