Page 41 of Her Rogue of a Duke

Francesca was so caught up in her musings as she wandered through the vast garden, that she did not notice a figure approaching her until it was nearly upon her. A startled cry escaped her lips when she finally realized she was not alone, and she nearly tripped over her own two feet as she came to a stuttering stop. Two firm hands reached out, gripping her shoulders and steadying her.

She was no longer at risk of falling over. Yet, the hands did not release her, and instead squeezed her shoulders to the point of pain. Francesca attempted to shrug off the grasp, but the man's hold was unyielding. At last, she managed to lift her gaze to the face of the person holding her so forcefully.

Her stomach sank.

“Gerard?” she gasped. “What—what are you doing here?”

Her cousin's eyes bore into hers with a harsh glare as he continued to squeeze her shoulders. How had he managed to gain entry to the estate? He must have snuck in and somehowmade it all the way through the open fields and then the garden without being caught.

Gerard’s sneer grew more pronounced, so much so that Francesca was of the mind to step back lest he lash out at her. "Curious, I was just about to ask the same question. So, seeking shelter with the Duke, are we?” he muttered, his tone laced with derision. “I had been wondering why I hadn’t seen you about at Oakvale. And then, a most peculiar whisper reached my ears – that you had been spotted not once, but on several occasions, in the esteemed company of our Duke. Now, you must realize why that would strike me as so odd, as yourself and your father’s disdain for His Grace after the…incidentwith the Oakvale meadows is quite something to behold. I decided to confirm these rumors for myself… and I still cannot quite believe my eyes.”

Francesca glared up at him, her teeth clenched as a tumult of anxiety and vexation surged through her.

“Where I choose to reside is none of your affair,” she retorted sharply. “Nor is my regard, or lack thereof, for the Duke any of your business. You are not my father—”

“Indeed, I am not,” he cut in. “But speaking of your father, it is rather curious… I have not seen him around lately. Where might he be, cousin? Surely, you are not hiding him away?”

Francesca struggled to mask her growing dread. Lifting her chin defiantly, she met Gerard’s gaze with a carefully constructed expression of exasperation.

“Father is preoccupied with business matters,” she stated in an even tone. “And he deemed it unsafe for me to stay alone at Oakvale during his absence, so he made arrangements for me to reside under the Duke's guardianship. There is nothing more to it than that.”

Francesca thought her explanation quite plausible and half-expected Gerard to retreat with his tail tucked between his legs. Instead, he let out a scornful laugh and shook his head.

“Pah! Does this fable have another volume,” he croaked, still laughing.

“What reason would I have to lie to you?” she asked, her pulse now racing.

“That remains to be seen,” he answered coolly. “However, I am a touch skeptical about your father's supposedly extended business trip. He’s been unheard from for weeks. I have made inquiries – spoken to his business associates and various acquaintances – and it appears no one has the faintest idea of his whereabouts.”

A knot formed in her stomach then. Gerard's relentless pursuit to uncover her father's whereabouts had wholly and utterly caught her off guard. She had long been aware of his covetous eyes on her father's title, estate, and remaining wealth, but she had not expected that he would go to such lengths to catch her in a lie. She reminded herself to stay calm. She could not give away anything.

Francesca knew her cousin. And she was more than well aware that if he caught wind of theslightestinconsistency from her, it would only spur him to further action in his quest for the truth.

With an effort at indifference, she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Far be it from me to speculate on the intricacies of my father's business dealings. That is not my place. I only know what he tells me, and what he has told me is that he is away on business and he will return shortly.”

Gerard's gaze wavered for a second but then quickly flashed with conviction.

“You are concealing something from me, Chessy, I am certain of it,” he snapped. “I suspect your father is either missing, incapacitated, or perhaps even deceased, and you are perpetuating some elaborate ruse to hide it. I can only guess as to why you would do such a thing, but mark my words, dear cousin, whatever it is you are hiding, I will uncover it, and I will see to your ruin.”

Francesca gaped up at him, shaken by the malice in his words. She had always known he did not like her, but to think he hated her this much…

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the shrubs nearby. Francesca’s heart leaped, hoping it might be Joshua. Before she could find out, though, Gerard seemed to have the same thought and abruptly let her go as he took a step back.

“This matter is far from settled,” he growled, before turning and hurrying down the off-shoot garden path he had come.

Francesca watched him go, her hands quivering as she fought to keep her composure against the growing wave of apprehension threatening to submerge her. He was right; this was far from over.

And the deadline to prevent her life from utterly unraveling was drawing ominously nearer…

As Joshua made his way back to his estate with the few bags he had collected from Francesca's home, he could not help but notice their surprising lightness. It did not appear as though she had packed much, which made him wonder if she had much to pack in the first place. He did not like to think of her wanting for anything, and told himself he would immediately order her an entire new wardrobe that would require multiple trunks should she ever wish to travel with it.

Yet, her feather-light luggage was not the only peculiar thing he encountered at her estate. A strange-looking carriage, absent of the Oakvale livery, was stationed outside her residence, seemingly out of place in the quiet surroundings. The estate itself seemed nearly deserted, leaving him to wonder whose carriage it could be and what purpose it served there. He intended to ask her regarding it, among other things, when he rejoined her in the garden house.

Upon arriving there, he opened the door and stepped inside, expecting to find her waiting for him, just as they had agreed she would.

But, to his surprise, the place was empty.

A frown etched itself on his face and he proceeded to check the other smaller rooms of the Orangery, thinking perhaps she had found some diversion in one of them as she waited.