Page 8 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

I manage only a few bites before my stomach churns again.

The boat rocks and my mind spins. I place down my fork and cup my cheek.

‘Tis warm in here all of a sudden. Around me, the conversation continues, untouched by this sudden shift.

I ease the remaining beef onto my napkin, before offering it to the mastiff beneath the table.

His tail thumps against my slippers as he snatches it with his jaws.

Dorian catches me. The warning is unmistakable.

“Your Grace. What are you doing?”

I offer only a sheepish reply.

“He’s practically starved. Even beasts need to eat.”

He shakes his head at the comment and looks away.

Dessert is served next, consisting of dried fruit compote, sweet biscuits, gingerbread, and hard cheeses. It is paired with Madeira and spiced rum. I sip at the wine, and the room tilts, ever so slightly. The ship sways and I clamp my lips together to suppress the nausea.

Oh, dear. I am not usually this seasick.

The steward returns, his shadow falling across me as he serves the next course. His closeness stifles me enough that I grip my glass tighter. I lean toward Dorian and deliver the question in a low whisper.

“Your Grace, would the Captain be quite upset if I were to retire early?”

He lowers his head, brow creasing. “What’s the matter? You’ve hardly touched your meal. ”

I force a smile with a hand placed over a corded forearm. “A brief rest will do the trick. Lady Carrington says there will be parlour games, after.” I pat his arm as another wave of nausea arrives. “Stay, Your Grace, and finish your meal.“

Rising carefully from my chair, I steady myself against the polished wood and lift my chin. Dorian watches me, worry behind his pale eyes, but he does not stop me.

“I’ll be with you, soon,” he whispers back. “The conversation is dull, anyway.”

The Captain’s voice booms behind me, too loud, too jovial.

“Leaving already!”

But he lets me go.

“Steward!” he calls.

Mr. Cutter steps forward before I reach the door, his expression unreadable, and his eyes, sharp. He extends an arm. “Your Grace, allow me to escort you to your quarters.”

My spine stiffens. “I am perfectly capable of finding my way, thank you. ‘Tis only a few meters away.”

His jaw clenches, but he steps aside with a hand tucked behind him and his head bowed. “Your Grace.”

I waste no time. My steps quicken as I exit the captain's private dining room. And as I hurry back, the corridor stretches out longer than I remember.

It is suffocating inside these walls, inside this ship.

My body betrays me and I arrive halfway when the floor shifts beneath my feet. I look ahead and the walls stretch and bends.

Oh no.

My thoughts slow, tangled underneath an oppressive, invisible sheet. Perhaps, I’ve imbibed too freely. I press a hand to the cold, polished walls.

Only a bit further , I tell myself.

By the time I reach my door, my legs tremble. My hand hovers above the handle, fingers numb, breath shallow, until darkness leaps at the edges of my vision.

Movement .

I freeze.

A shape stands just beyond the reach of the lantern light. My voice, already slurred and confused, breaks the silence inside the hallway. “Nora? Is that you, darling?”

There is no response.

Yet, a figure lingers ahead.

The face moves, catching a sliver of light.

Dread pools at my belly.

Mr. Cutter?

My knees buckle. My shoulder slams into the doorframe, now the only thing keeping me upright. The steward steps forward, and his hands close around my shoulders.

“Your Grace, let me help you inside. ”

But his hands don’t guide me forward. No. They pull me back.

“Stop,” I breathe. My arms push against him. ‘Tis a feeble attempt. Enough for him to ignore.

His voice slithers against my ear, all sweet and coy.

“A lovely, exotic thing like you…no wonder the Captain wants you for his collection. Your husband’s already making plans to send you away. The Captain will keep you safe. Warm his bed while we sail, at least for a time…”

His face distorts alongside his words, before my very eyes, shadows swallowing his features until only a silhouette remains. My last breath slips past my lips in a desperate whisper.

“Dorian.”

And then, only darkness arrives.

DORIAN

The captain’s gaze follows Katherine as she departs, then his attention roams back to me.

His smile deepens as he leans forward in his chair and drinks from a golden chalice, sprinkled with green emeralds.

“Your wife seems… fragile, Your Grace. Though, I must say, I have never seen a woman quite like her. So exotic and rare. Remarkable. However, did you find her?”

Rage simmers beneath the surface of my calm.

The cretin openly insults me. “Your eye for curiosities is wasted here, Captain. The Duchess is neither fragile nor a curiosity.” I frown with disdain as cool sea air rolls in from the open window.

“I would suggest, for the sake of your tongue, you remember her title.”

The captain’s smile doesn’t falter, but his disrespect continues. “Of course. Of course. My apologies, I meant no offence. Truly. I simply find the Duchess… intriguing.”

My grip on the steak knife tightens. “Intrigue is often the last comfort of dead men, Captain.”

The man chuckles in response. “You must pardon me. I was simply admiring your…exquisite taste.”

“‘Tis a pity, then, that you’ll never know how to appreciate such refinement.”

He laughs. “Ah, you wound me, Your Grace.”

“Wound you?” I place the knife down, lest I be tempted to spear it through his head. “No, Captain. If your desire is to be wounded, I can assure you that can be arranged.”

Lord Gabriel interjects with a hand gripped over my shoulder.

Young, aged two and eight, with blue eyes and dark hair, his title is in name only — a Baron of low wealth, but the head of the Bow Street runners.

He is a man of honour. “Gentlemen, there’s no need for further offence.

We’re all here to enjoy the evening, not to make enemies.

Let’s keep the conversation on more… appropriate matters. ”

“We are searching for the disappearance of Lord Sainsbury,” Gabriel reveals. “The Countess last saw him near the docks. She is worried sick. Your Grace, you arrived at port two days ago. Did you see anything untoward?”

The wine lodges itself inside my throat and I suppress a choke. Impure thoughts remain laced on my tongue, but I swallow them with the wine. Lord Sainsbury is dead. He turned into a mindless, bloodthirsty creature. I had no choice. He is now a headless beast. You’ll not find a body.

It is then, as I glance toward the door, that a sinking feeling arrives.

Katherine is no longer here, but neither is the steward.

The unease which has grown all evening intensifies.

I scan the dining room in hopes of catching a rusty whisker, but the man hasn’t returned to his station.

The last time I saw him was after Katherine’s departure.

A knot forms in my stomach. The steward should still be attending to his duties.

He would never just disappear without a reason.

I glance downwards, at the Carrington’s dog. The mastiff… It’s collapsed. There is a slight breath. I nudge it with my boot, but it remains lifeless. What in God’s arse?

The blood drains from my face. The mastiff had been lying lazily at the feet of the dinner guests. It is the only other to consume the scraps of Katherine’s meal.

Katherine. Something is amiss.

I stand abruptly, catching the attention of Lord Gabriel. “Your Grace?” he questions.

Pushing the chair back in place, I excuse myself from the table. “I must tend to Her Grace. She is unwell.”

I do not wait for their response. I move quickly, boots pounding against the wooden floor as I stride through narrow corridors of oak and towards our chambers.

Something is wrong. I feel it in my gut.

I return to our chambers, swing open the doors, and search the room, only to find it empty.

Panic comes.

Katherine.

She is gone.

After waking my Thomas, we tear through the corridors, narrow walls suffocate me as we search.

Katherine’s maid, Nora, is still asleep when I find her, curled up like the useless creature she is, blissfully unaware that her mistress is gone.

I seize her by the arm and wrench her upright, none too gently.

Her head lolls to one side before she awakens with a soft, pitiful gasp.

Wide-eyed and pale, she stares at me, as if I am a nightmare brought to life.

“She’s not here,” I whisper. Katherine’s absence screams at me. “Katherine. She is gone.”

“What?” Nora asks. “What happened?”

But I cannot explain. The words repeat themselves, alongside my rising panic.

“She is gone.”

She requires no further explanation.

I exit the servants' quarters, and Nora stumbles after me, still donning her dress. We race through the ship, my footman close behind. I storm into the dining suite, only to find the lords and ladies already dispersed to the parlour, the social event now long since abandoned.

That’s when I see him. Gabriel. Lord damn him, always standing too calm. He speaks with the ship’s captain.

I stride toward them, with blood pulsating in my ears. A roar escapes me. “WHERE IS SHE? The Duchess. WHERE IS MY WIFE?!”

Gabriel straightens, his slack jaw hanging open in shock. “What is this commotion?”

I don’t waste words. I grasp the captain by his collar and slam him against the bulkhead. Wooden beams groan underneath the weight of my fury.

“I am seizing this ship,” I tighten my fists. “Arrest this man.”

Gabriel stands and pivots himself between us, fingers hooked between mine, as he tries to loosen the noose off the captain’s throat. “Your Grace!”

The captain sputters beneath panic. “Arrest me?! For what? I’ve done nothing! I’ve been here the entire time!”