Page 78 of Never Beguile a Duke

WINIFRED

“Yell one more time,”—the Duke of Roxburghe’s deep voice crawled under the door—“and I’ll ensure you don’t survive to watch the sun rise.”

Swearing, the Duke of Beaufort climbed off the bed and retrieved his shirt. “Should I assume your sister is also missing from your shared bedchamber?”

Winifred grimaced. “She was asleep when I came into the corridor. However, it’s highly likely that Nora slipped out while I was searching your library for something to read.”

“Then discretion should be Roxburghe’s aim as well.” The Duke of Beaufort shoved his legs into his trousers and pulled up his pants, fastening them as he padded toward the locked door. “Have you any concern regarding how we remove Mr. Hollingsworth from my property?”

“I prefer you avoided murder,” Winifred replied, sliding from his bed. “I’m quite certain his ghost would happily take up residence in your house.”

Glancing over his shoulder, the Duke of Beaufort grinned. “If we kill him, I swear we’ll perform the act on my neighbor’s land.”

“I won’t be here when you return,” she said, retrieving her nightdress.

“In my bedchamber? Or in my house?” He wrenched the brass key and unlocked the door but didn’t open it.

Resting his fingers on the handle, he turned, waiting for her response.

“Your bedchamber.” Winifred wriggled into her nightgown, waiting until her head emerged from the thin material to add, “I’m hoping Mr. Hollingsworth’s early morning outburst hasn’t woken anyone aside from the Duke of Roxburghe.”

“Then I best intervene before his ire draws an audience.” The Duke of Beaufort bowed and opened the door. “My day is occupied with another activity for the male guests. However, I will seek you out at some point… if you’re receptive to my company.”

“Very much so,” she replied, earning a wide grin from him.

He inched back into the chamber, his arms reaching for her waist as the dull thwap of a fist hitting flesh reverberated down the hallway.

“Hell!” The Duke of Beaufort raced from the room, yanking the door closed behind him.

She pressed her ear to the wood, straining to hear the conversation, but couldn’t discern the low rumblings creeping down the corridor. Cracking the door open, she held her breath, straining her ears.

“And if you attempt,” the Duke of Beaufort snarled, “to speak with Miss Fernsby-Webb or her sister again, not only will I allow Roxburghe to beat you into an early grave, but I’ll also help him. Do you understand?”

“What if—” Mr. Hollingsworth’s high-pitched whine was replaced by a soft gagging sound.

“She will not seek you out. I speak for the lady. She refuses your offer.”

Mr. Hollingsworth either didn’t reply or his response was so quiet, Winifred couldn’t hear the words.

“Release him, Roxburghe.” The Duke of Beaufort’s soft command was met with a grumble, then a noisy gasp, which Winifred assumed was Mr. Hollingsworth gulping down a mouthful of oxygen after being freed from the Duke of Roxburghe’s crushing grip.

“Mr. Dunn will return you to your lodgings,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, the muffled scrape of his shoes indicating he’d moved toward the main staircase, “and provide you with enough funds to relocate to a new town.”

“Or country,” the Duke of Beaufort added as the three men descended the steps.

Winifred counted to five in her head, then darted into the corridor, shutting the door behind her with a light click. Her head whipping to the left to ensure the hallway remained empty, she hurried toward the servants’ staircase. After scooping up the discarded book, she raced toward her bedchamber, praying her mother was still asleep.

Further down the corridor, a door creaked open.

Gulping, Winifred jerked to a halt and flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath as her gaze slid over the sunbeams creeping across the rug lining the second-floor hallway. A flash of blonde burst from one of the bedchambers, raced at a diagonal across the corridor, and vanished into the first room nearest the main staircase.

Winifred snorted, then clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling the noise. Not only had Nora stolen into her fiancé’s bedchamber after the house retired, but Miss Braddock had also taken advantage of her brother’s exhaustion and snuck into the Duke of Lennox’s room.

If this impropriety continued, a triple wedding would be the only solution to prevent scandal.

Placing her fingers on the door handle, Winifred depressed the cool metal. However, before she could move, the handle was yanked from her grip as her mother ripped open the door.

“Where have you been?” she seethed, her eyes bulging. “When I woke, both you and Nora had vanished.”