Page 40 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

The next evening, Temperance was in complete disarray. Sitting in their chamber with the children, she could hear the hum of voices and the movements of the footmen serving dinner while the house filled with aromas of exquisite food.

While James was carving a carriage out of a piece of wood—wishing to create a carriage he could actually put together piece by piece—Margaret was reading Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift out loud while they all listened.

Temperance tried to concentrate on the words and not think of the fear she had endured only yesterday. Mr. Finch had almost caught her, and she had been on the brink of being forced to tell Octavius the truth…and then he exploded.

He’d wanted to control her. For the first few weeks, he’d won her over. After everything that had transpired between them, she’d thought he understood her. But was he really better than having Bartholomew as her husband or going to the asylum?

Her heart told her she should trust him, that he must be afraid for her and for the children, but the fear deep in her gut screamed for her to run once again.

She had trusted people who were supposed to be on her side, and now here she was, hiding in fear, fighting for her right to decide her own future.

After their argument last night, she’d seen Octavius only once today.

She’d arrived for his French lesson but discovered he wasn’t in his study, and Mrs. Davies had said he was out.

When she’d seen him for a brief moment later in the afternoon, he’d avoided looking her in the eye and appeared tense.

This awkward distance between them had her withdrawing.

Thankfully Octavius had been completely occupied with hosting his next important effort at gaining the position of president of the Board of Trade.

The prime minister, Lord Liverpool, was supposed to be there, as well as representatives from the East India Company, foreign diplomats, and a French envoy who was apparently open to discussing postwar trade.

The voices downstairs penetrated up to the children’s room, though she couldn’t hear their words clearly.

Two of those voices probably belonged to her stepmother and Bartholomew.

The thought made Temperance’s blood run cold.

They could be here . In this very house. Directly below her feet at this very moment, probably sipping Octavius’s finest wine and discussing trade policies while plotting how to destroy her.

How would she ever escape them now? Only eight days remained until she would be able to claim her inheritance, but each day felt an age.

Perhaps it was better that Octavius had alarmed her. She’d be gone from his life soon anyway. He’d always remain the one man who showed her the true pleasures of her body, but he could never be anything more. She’d somehow manage to forget him or claw him out of her heart if necessary.

Sophie lay curled in her bed, her usual bright chatter replaced by silence.

Her golden hair clung damply to her flushed cheeks, and she pulled her blanket tighter around her small shoulders despite the warmth of the fire.

After Temperance inquired after her sore throat, she croaked that it had gotten worse.

“Does she seem all right to you, Miss Fields?” asked Margaret anxiously, looking at Sophie. Without waiting for her reply, she asked louder, “Sophie, do you remember what Papa called that chess move where you sacrifice your queen?”

But the little girl merely turned her face towards the wall and whimpered.

Temperance set down her needlework and approached Sophie’s bed, pressing the back of her palm against the girl’s forehead. That wasn’t good. “Oh, darling, you’re burning. Let me ask someone to bring you the willow bark tincture.”

Sophie nodded and cuddled deeper into her blanket. Temperance rose and pulled the bell pull, hoping at least a maid could come to them. But several minutes passed—five, ten, fifteen. She pulled again but in the subsequent half hour, no one came.

The whole staff must be busy serving the best dinner. When she touched Sophie’s forehead again, it felt even hotter. There was nothing for it; she would have to go and fetch the tincture herself.

Temperance’s heart slammed in her throat. It would be fine. Fine! The guests were at the dinner table. No one would come and walk around the house, that would be impolite. And no one would see her using the servants’ stairs. She’d find the willow bark tincture and return straightaway.

“I’ll go and fetch the tincture for you,” Temperance said as brightly as she could manage. “I’ll be right back.”

“Could you please fetchme the second volume of The Four Chevaliers ?” begged Sophie. “I left it in the library.”

The library…. That would take her out of the servants’ stairs. She had been safe until now. She would be fine.

“Of course.” Temperance pressed out a smile.

But she sounded more confident than she felt.

Stepping quickly and quietly, she went along the corridor and down the stairs.

In the kitchen a chaos of activity reigned as several cooks prepared dinner, maids and footmen flying about.

Sidestepping a harassed-looking kitchen maid, she collected the bottle of willow bark tincture.

All she needed to do now was to briefly visit the library, then return to the children’s bedchamber.

She climbed the servants’ stairs and opened the door into the entrance hall to go into the library and get Sophie’s book.

Which was a big mistake. She should have first peered in, and she would have seen them. She could have retreated.

Instead, like in a nightmare, there stood the two people who she was most afraid of: Lady Auster and Bartholomew.

“That was nicely done, my dear,” Lady Auster was saying cheerfully to Bartholomew. “Lord Liverpool was impressed with you. You marvellously secured an invitation for dinner tomorrow. I cannot wait to…”

The older woman trailed off as she saw Temperance. The terror she felt was like nothing she had experienced before, even during the chase through night-dark streets. She was trapped.

Lord Langston made his swift way towards her, dressed perfectly in his black coat and pantaloons in the latest fashion. The sharp, icy expression in his eyes looked wrong on his childlike face.

“What a pleasant surprise, Agatha,” Lord Langston murmured as he grasped her elbow. “Let us have a little conversation, shall we?”

She opened her mouth to call for help, but he had already dragged her through a doorway before she could utter a sound.

She was cornered. Pressing her feet into the floor to resist, Temperance didn’t know what to do as he kept dragging her.

She couldn’t scream for help because then everyone would realize her secret.

How would she look Octavius in the eye? How could she bear to bring scandal to his house when she knew how important it was to him to keep a pristine reputation?

“Silly, silly girl,” said Lady Auster, who closed the door of the library behind her with a snap.

Bartholomew let go of her arm, but before Temperance could think, could speak, could run, Lady Auster threw her hand back and slapped her. Pain burst through her head and disorientation dizzied her.

“You thought you were so clever hiding here, didn’t you?” sneered Bartholomew.

“Madwomen always think themselves clever,” murmured Lady Auster. “What? No electrical machines to electrocute me, darling?”

Temperance lifted a quivering palm to her burning cheek. “L-leave me alone.”

“I was very kind to you, darling, but you thought you could beat me by placing yourself under the protection of the Seven Dukes of Sin. Making yourself untouchable. You knew we couldn’t make them our enemies, not until your inheritance would be dealt with.

I can’t even ask Lord Liverpool to intervene because if Eccess discovered how I betrayed you, the brotherhood would become an enemy more dangerous than anyone in this country. ”

Temperance’s hand shot to her throat. Thankfully, they had come to this false conclusion—or they’d have already exposed her to Octavius or to Lord Liverpool.

Lady Auster continued. “Instead of occupying yourself with scientific nonsense, you should be grateful to secure such an advantageous marriage with a respectable family, like any woman would,” preened her stepmother.

“Your silly, kind-hearted father must have left his fortune to you by mistake. It should have been mine. But by marrying Bartholomew, the money will remain in the family—just like your papa surely would have wanted.”

“You are not my family,” Temperance said as she backed a step towards the door.

“Oh, yes, we are,” Bartholomew rumbled as he took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Your only family. We have men waiting in the carriage outside who are willing to take you straight to the asylum. This is your last chance to make the right decision and agree to be my bride.”

Temperance shook her head, stars still popping in the corners of her eyes.

“Ungrateful brat,” murmured Lady Auster, her voice filled with venom. “I am much too kind to you, Agatha. You have caused me real pain. I still have a scar from when you shot lightning through me. A scar!”

Her stepmother removed her glove and thrust the tip of her index finger towards Temperance.

“There is no scar,” Temperance said, blinking away the stars. “The shock you received was not strong enough to leave any damage?—”

“You don’t know that!” the older woman exclaimed, her cheeks reddening. “I could have died like my brother! You are a dangerous woman! Dangerous!”

Temperance frowned, unable to follow. “Your…brother?”