Page 108 of Never Beguile a Duke

Surely, that noise would draw an investigation. She needed to get out of this chamber before Mr. Curtis appeared.

Aiming for the staircase, Winifred abandoned the chair and flung herself toward the doorway, catching hold of the doorframe as she fell forward. She braced her shoulder against the wall and descended the steps at a measured pace, keeping her arm stretched in front of her in case she lost her balance.

When she reached the landing and her gaze slid across the austere decorations, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

She was in her mother’s house!

Mr. Hollingsworth’s faint voice came from the drawing room, one floor beneath her. She caught a few words of the conversation, but none of them were encouraging. With Mr. Hollingsworth and Mr. Curtis guarding the exit, Winifred pivoted and limped into a bedchamber—her previous bedchamber.

Frowning, she skidded to a stop in the empty room. Where was all the furniture? Surely, her mother didn’t need to sell the bed, armoire, and clothing to cover her debts.

Did Nora’s bedchamber mirror hers?

Winifred turned, exited her chamber, and hastened down the hallway to Nora’s room. Pushing open the door, Winifred swallowed the curse on her lips. Neither chamber held one stick of furniture.

Nora couldn’t know this. Despite the difficult relationship she had with her stepmother, Nora wouldn’t have allowed all of their possessions to be sold to creditors.

Attention drawn to the window, Winifred glided over to the glass and peered through the crack in the drapes at the snow-covered street visible just beyond the garden.

People!

She pushed the drapes open, unlatched the lock, and opened the window. Winter’s icy breath rushed into the chamber, brushing over Winifred’s face and toying with the loose strands of hair surrounding her face.

Sucking in a deep breath, she leaned out the window and cupped her hands around her mouth. Before she could yell, a heavy force slammed her waist into the window ledge. She folded in half, the oxygen knocked from her lungs, a pitiful whimper falling from her lips.

Two hands wrapped around her hips, pinching the skin, yanked her backward, and flung her away from the window. She crashed into the far wall and dropped to the floor in a heap.

The window slammed shut.

Mr. Curtis, his face twisted into a sneer, advanced on her. “How did you get out of the attic?”

“Sorcery,” she replied, jutting out her chin.

He leaned down and swung his arm, backhanding her across the face.

Pain exploded in her jaw.

“I asked you a question,” he said, winding his fingers through her hair and raising her into a sitting position.

“You didn’t like my answer.”

Mr. Curtis snorted, released her head, and crouched, his dark eyes probing hers. “You’re more courageous than Mr. Hollingsworth. He should take lessons from you.”

“I’d be happy to offer them,” she said, then added, “once I’m freed.”

Her heart sank when Mr. Curtis replied with a braying cackle. “Why would I release you?”

“You’ve received the funds.” Winifred tilted her head in the direction of the front door. “I heard Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Mr. Curtis said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “the Duke of Roxburghe was attacked by a thief, and your ransom was never paid.”

“That’s a lie,” she exploded and, clenching her fist, swung her arm.

Mr. Curtis easily caught her wrist. “The Duke of Roxburghe’s penchant for violence appears to have affected your gentle nature. Perhaps you should thank me for rescuing you from him.”

“And who do I thank for rescuing me from you?”

“No one, Miss Webb.” A venomous grin spread across his face. “As I have no intention of allowing you to leave… alive.”