Page 25 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

In fifteen minutes, slowly, carefully, he’d managed the first paragraph.

When her employer had read through the whole first fable, he sat back, a little puzzled.

“Hold on a moment. The country mouse goes to a big city, gorges himself on rich delicacies, thinking they’ll make him happy, but discovers that constant feasting has consequences… ”

“Well grasped.”

He narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion. “In the end he returns to his simple grain, where he began.”

Temperance shrugged. “Sometimes we don’t need to run to find what we need. Sometimes it’s been there all along. The mouse didn’t need to become a glutton to feel happier.”

His expression became dark and stormy. “I respectfully ask you to abstain from underhand lectures on my sins, Miss Fields. I need your help with French, not my morals, habits, or choices.”

“Haven’t you asked for my help with your drinking?”

The Duke of Eccess closed the book with a loud thump. “I am doing my best, and you don’t know what it costs me. You made yourself clear a while ago, and I still remember. Please stop rubbing salt into the wound.”

“Lady Agatha, I hope you don’t mind me visiting again,” said the Duke of Enveigh, stepping closer to her in the mews at the back of the house.

It was cold, though warmer than it had been; all the snow that had fallen in the past few days was melting and heat shimmered above the damp cobblestones, causing the air to waver like a mirage, distorting the buildings beyond.

“Why have you summoned me here?” Temperance asked, looking around.

There was no one to be seen. One of the maids had called her, saying there was a gentleman waiting for her at the back, and for a moment her heart had skipped a beat. Not Bartholomew .

And as it turned out, it was not Bartholomew.

“Well, I couldn’t come and call on you. Octavius isn’t fond of our friendship and I didn’t want to draw more of his attention to you than necessary.

You couldn’t have accepted me in the drawing room—you’re not the lady of the house.

And Octavius is already angry with me. He doesn’t approve of our connection. ”

She swallowed. Connection.

She wasn’t Enveigh’s to protect or control. Every man thought he had the right to dictate a woman’s choices—employer, suitor, or stranger. She wouldn’t ever permit a husband to dictate hers like her stepmother and Bartholomew tried to.

“His approval does not matter to me.”

Not true. Despite herself, she wanted the Duke of Eccess to like her…

Enveigh’s gray eyes lowered to the ground and he looked slightly sheepish, but she didn’t know if she believed the genuineness of that. “I delivered your message to Mr. Barton, as you asked, but I don’t think it was a good move.”

A jolt of anxiety shot through her. “What’s happened?”

“I am afraid I noticed a man following me since yesterday.”

Temperance’s skin became ice-cold.

The duke continued, “I needed to confirm I was not being followed before coming to see you. I couldn’t risk leading them straight to your door. But today my clever footman helped me throw them off my trail, so I think we’re safe. You must stop sending messages to your solicitor.”

Her hands trembled. The clear blue sky above felt so heavy it was going to fall on her.

“Good God, you’re so pale…” he murmured. “Come, let us sit for a moment.” He took her by the elbow very gently and led her to sit on an old bench. “Breathe, Lady Agatha. Breathe…”

Somehow, despite her doubts about him, at this moment he was a calming, secure presence.

Temperance could tell it wasn’t the first time he’d helped someone in distress, and she remembered him mentioning his mother had struggled with melancholy.

She took in a slow gulp of air, letting it mingle in her lungs.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“The…the mews,” she managed. “Snow on the ground. Walls. A house.”

“Good. What do you hear?”

Temperance swallowed. The anxiety which had hit her hard was slowly subsiding. “Your voice,” she replied. “A carriage passing two or three streets down. Voices of passersby behind the wall. Wind in my ears.”

“Well done,” the Duke of Enveigh said and smiled with encouragement. “And what do you feel with your body?”

“The hard bench under my legs…cold ground under my feet. Frosty air biting my face.”

“Yes, very well. Are you feeling somewhat better?”

Temperance nodded, and to her surprise, she meant it. “It sounds like you are familiar with distress?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I tried to help Edgar. He was perfect outwardly, but at home, the pressure got to him. I helped him by guiding him through this…even though it was he who’d told me he discovered it helped to focus on his surroundings.”

“He was an important person in your life,” Temperance said.

He nodded and looked at his shoes. “Very. I loved him…and hated him. It doesn’t make sense, I know?—”

She shook her head. “It makes perfect sense. I know exactly how you feel.”

His gray eyes connected with hers, and this time there was no trace of pretense about them. “I suppose you would. I’ve never told anyone this, but I still have nightmares about the day he died…”

A cold shiver ran through her and a tug of empathy towards the duke twisted in her stomach. “How did he die?”

The Duke of Enveigh licked his lower lip as he stared into space, his gray gaze dark and haunted. “He took a trip to London I was supposed to take. He died in a carriage accident, Lady Agatha, that was supposed to be mine.”

“Oh, no,” she murmured and laid her hand on his forearm. Her heart bled for him. “Do you blame yourself?”

He nodded numbly. “As I should—as Papa did. I’m living his life, one I don’t deserve.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Your Grace.”

“Please, call me Archibald,” he said, his gray eyes tender. “I’d like to believe we’re friends…are we not?”

She wanted to believe him, and he seemed genuine enough. But he’d also asked her about the exact sum of her inheritance. Did friends do that? Was this mere curiosity or was there a reason for the question?

“We are friends,” Temperance said carefully.

The Duke of Enveigh fixed her with a serious expression.

“As a friend, I’d like to offer you my protection.

Why don’t I take you to my country estate until Christmas Day?

My mama is still there, and two nurses and a full staff serve her there.

It requires quite significant expenses, but I’ll do anything to care for her.

Your journey will be made with the utmost secrecy, of course, and I’d make sure it would be hired men taking you so that there would be no chance to track this to me—no one would know or suspect anything.

And to assure you of all propriety, I wouldn’t dream of taking any untoward action.

I could consider…ahem…I’m unmarried, as you must know, and I am searching for a wife with funds?—”

Temperance was numb with the shock of his implication.

As she had feared, he did need her money.

His offer to help seemed sincere, yet how could she trust a fortune hunter?

But before she could settle her confused mind, the door behind her opened and Sophie ran out into the mews.

“There you are, Miss Fields! Venez! Come!”

Temperance stood from the bench, stomach dropping. “What is it?”

“Carol singers were just here and I think some more may be coming! I know how much you love Christmas—come!”

She chuckled, relieved to be given a choice to retreat into the house. “Thank you, Sophie. I’ll be right there.”

Sophie hesitated, a question rising in her blue eyes. “Why are you in the mews with the duke? You look as suspicious as the man who came after the carol singers.”

“What man?” barked Enveigh, his expression cold.

“A man offered money to one of the footmen asking if a young woman stayed in our house.”

Temperance felt like the ground was careening under her feet. No—was she ever to be safe?

“The footman didn’t say anything,” continued Sophie blithely, with all the innocence of a child. “But the man said it’s too late anyway, because the neighbor servants were more talkative, and he knows there’s a new governess staying with the children.”

With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Temperance felt the sky and the walls of the tall house and the mews all shrinking around her.

It must be Lady Auster’s hired man, Mr. Finch. Who else could it be?

Temperance knew now she couldn’t escape. They could be coming for her at any moment, they could be watching her right now.

Feeling faint, she took a step back, then another. She turned and, without thinking, ran into the house.

“Wait, Miss Fields!” Sophie called after her.

“Miss Fields!” called Enveigh, but she continued on, unsure where she was going.

She needed to hide. Her chest was tight and her heart rammed so fast against her rib cage she was certain her ribs would crack.

Temperance didn’t know where she was going, but she didn’t care—she just had to run.

She climbed the stairs towards the servants’ quarters but somehow missed the turn.

Perhaps the corridor looked different in the dim light.

A closet, a storage room, anywhere! She just needed to disappear until she could think, until she could breathe again.

She tried one door after another, finding them all locked except the last one—and when she opened it, she couldn’t move, her hand still gripping the door handle.

Her lips parted on a silent gasp, and heat flooded her cheeks as her gaze swept across the room’s contents.