Page 41 of My Secret Duke
J ustina was blooming. Olivia smiled at her favorite sister and watched her send covert glances in Charles’s direction, which he returned. She was overjoyed for them both. Her own emotional state was another matter, and not one she wanted to share because it would certainly bring down the mood.
Freddie Hart, seated beside her at dinner, had been telling her about his new job. “Very hush-hush,” he said. As far as Olivia could gather, it was something to do with the government and foreign spies, but it did sound exciting. And at least it took her mind off Ivo.
Over the past weeks, there had been many more invitations to society events, and Olivia had never felt so welcome and so comfortable in her role as sister of a duke. It was as if all her societal hopes and dreams had come to pass. It just wasn’t enough. There was a hollowness in her chest that she knew now could only be filled by one man. She understood why he was absent—he was dealing with his own troubles, trying to ensure they could be together. But she still missed him dreadfully.
With dinner over, they moved into the drawing room, and Lexy entertained them on the piano with the latest tunes. In an adjoining room, the older guests were enjoying quieter conversation over coffee or, in Grandmama’s case, a snooze. Olivia liked to think her grandmother could relax now that Vivienne had taken on so many of the responsibilities of Grantham. That the dowager had put her full trust in Gabriel’s wife boded well for a harmonious future.
Roberta was seated on a sofa beside Ivo. Olivia watched the two of them through her lashes, and wondered what they were talking about. At one point, Ivo raised his eyebrows and Roberta laughed, as if he had given her the reaction she’d wanted.
She let her thoughts drift. Maybe despite Ivo telling her he was trying to be “good,” she could persuade him to slip away? Or she could find his bedchamber later? The idea made her squirm pleasurably.
“Psst!”
Olivia looked up. The hiss came from the direction of the door, which was slightly ajar. A curly mop of brown hair bobbed into view. Edwina put a finger to her lips and then beckoned.
With a long-suffering sigh, Olivia rose and went to see what her youngest sister wanted. “You should be in bed.”
The little girl’s big blue eyes were swimming in tears, and she stood barefoot in her nightdress. “I was in bed. Georgia took one of my dolls and threw it out of the window!”
“Then Georgia should go down and fetch it,” she said, even knowing that would not happen. If anyone was going to fetch Edwina’s doll, then it would be Olivia. “Which window was it?” she asked, resigned to her fate.
Edwina flung herself into Olivia’s arms. “Thank you,” she said, her face pressed into her sister’s waist. “I knew you would help. You are the best of my sisters.”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile. As they made their way across the empty foyer to the front door, curiosity had her looking about. Whitmont was not as grand as Grantham, but it appealed to her, with its old furniture and oak paneling and more intimate rooms. It felt cozy in a way Grantham never could, and it was most definitely in better condition. As Ivo had promised, there were no leaking roofs or an east wing completely closed off. She liked it. From the golden brick facade, to the unlikely cupola upon the roof, to the flat salt marshes all around.
“My feet are cold!”
The little girl was hopping about on the cold marble. Olivia lifted her into her arms, and gave a theatrical groan. “You are too big for me,” she said as her sister snuggled comfortably against her.
“But you’re only little,” Edwina retorted. “One day I will be taller than you, taller than all the others.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, given the amount you eat. Now, from which window did this tragedy take place?”
They were on the front steps now, and Edwina pointed to the right. Olivia remembered from her visit earlier that the nursery overlooked this part of the property. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the defenestrated doll and bring it safely back into her sister’s arms. A cold gust of wind blew across the driveway, and with it came splatters of rain. The stars were hidden behind the clouds, and it was dark and dreary. Not the place for a small girl in her nightdress with bare feet.
“Go upstairs to the nursery and look out of the window, Edwina. You can direct me to the right place.”
As Edwina padded back up the stairs, Olivia took a lantern from the table in the foyer and headed outside once more. Another gust of wind made her shiver. She wasn’t dressed for this either, in her pretty gown and slippers, but needs must. Holding the lantern high, she descended the steps and crossed toward the side of the house Edwina had indicated.
At least it was more sheltered here, with a shrubbery to protect her. She could hear Georgia and Edwina arguing from somewhere above and in front of her. She kept walking, until she saw her sisters’ pale faces peering down from one of the upper windows.
“Here we are! Olivia! Here, here!”
“I see you,” she called back, biting her lip on laughter. “So where is this poor doll? Georgia, you shouldn’t throw Edwina’s babies from the window, you know that.”
“They’re silly,” Georgia retorted in a sulky voice. “She’d rather play with them than me.”
Ah, perhaps that was the real reason for Georgia’s meanness. She was jealous. She wanted the attention Edwina gave to her imaginary companions all for herself. It was something to consider next time the two girls argued.
Edwina was pointing down, and after a brief search, Olivia found the doll. It looked unharmed, but it was hard to tell. Her sister’s dolls were all well loved.
“Pardon. Mademoiselle?”
A quiet voice made her start. Olivia straightened, the lantern swinging wildly in her hand as she turned around.
There was a gentleman behind her in a plain jacket and breeches and, oddly, boots that came up over his knees. His dark hair was pulled back at his nape in an old-fashioned queue and he was watching her intently with brown eyes in a narrow face. Well, one eye. The other was turned outward and appeared more white than brown.
Her first thought was that he must be a servant, because if he was a guest, she would have known him. And she didn’t.
“You are Lady Olivia Ashton?”
Now she heard his faint French accent. Had someone been asking for her inside the house? Had they seen her go outside and were worried? But that didn’t quite make sense.
“You are Lady Olivia Ashton?” he repeated, watching her with that strange intensity.
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
He didn’t answer her question, instead saying, “Will you come with me, please?” in a polite but firm voice.
Suddenly, Olivia did not like the expression on his face. But before she could tell him she wasn’t going anywhere, he had taken her arm in a tight, painful grip.
Fear overwhelmed her. “Let me go!”
“Olivia! Olivia!” Edwina was calling frantically.
“Tell Northam I have taken his woman,” the stranger shouted up at the girls. “Now I will have my revenge.”
“Ivo…” Olivia tried to understand his meaning, but her sisters’ screaming, and the man’s painful grip on her as he dragged her away, made it difficult to think. “This—this is because of Ivo?”
“He forced me to leave, and took what should have been mine. All of this.” He gestured about him at the house and garden. “I thought to send him to the gallows, but his men are too stupid to speak against him. This will be better,” he said with satisfaction. “To take what he loves most and leave him alive and suffering. Yes, this revenge is better.”
Olivia knew she had to escape. Now. She opened her mouth to shout for help, at the same time resisting his pull. But before she could utter more than a squeak, he wrapped his arm around her, and his hand closed over her mouth. She could taste the saltiness of his skin, and her stomach lurched. He was thin but taller than her, and he had a wiry strength. She fought him desperately, the lantern swinging wildly until he took it from her.
And then, for a brief, ecstatic moment, she was free. Until she realized he’d only released her so that he could cover her head with something coarse and rough that completely blinded her. A sack? It smelled of fish. Her stomach heaved in earnest, and she only just managed to swallow back the bile.
He was tying a rope around her, binding her arms to her sides beneath the cloth covering, and although she kicked and squirmed, it was no use. At least her mouth was free, so she screamed as loudly as she could—which wasn’t very loud with her face covered. Her cries were choked off when he gave a vicious tug on the loose end of the rope. She was falling, and with her arms bound, she could not save herself. Panic made her heart beat so loudly she could not hear anything else.
She didn’t fall. He was holding her up, but only until she regained her balance again. Then he began to pull her along by the rope tether, leading her like an animal.
“Where are you taking me?” Her voice wobbled and broke. “Please, let me go!”
He didn’t answer her, and he didn’t let her go. But he was talking, a constant stream of muttering, and she felt her skin prickle. This man was not rational. She was in the hands of a madman.