Page 82 of Never Beguile a Duke

And then she would specifically seek out Miss Juliette and spend the day with the young girl.

One set of footprints, recently made, judging by the indentations in the snowpack, disappeared around the side of the house. Stepping inside the imprints, Winifred hopped from one foot to the other, clutching her skirt to keep the ice from soaking into the hem.

She rounded the corner and paused, her gaze following the footprints across the tundra to the wide-open stable door…which seemed a bit peculiar. She didn’t know much about raising animals but was quite certain they didn’t enjoy the cold any more than a human, and she couldn’t imagine what would cause the Duke of Beaufort to put his livestock at risk.

“Perhaps something dreadful occurred,” she murmured, increasing her speed until she was running across the frozen ground.

Lungs burning, she burst into the stables, her gaze flying around the dim building.

“Your Grace!” she said, leaning over and placing her hands on her knees as she sucked in a chilly breath.

No answer.

“Your Grace!” Her voice echoed around the stables, met only by a handful of soft whinnies.

To her left, a plume of dust exploded into the air. Straightening, she tucked the coat around her body, then edged down the walkway between the stalls, her head swiveling back and forth.

“Are you here?” she asked, her eyes sliding over the stables’ dark corners.

A shadow moved along the wall, catching Winifred’s attention. However, before she could turn around, a heavy object struck her in the back of the head, and she collapsed in the straw, unconscious.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT

“We’ve another problem,” Mr. Aylett said, stopping Silas outside the dining room.

“I’ve already dealt with one issue this morning,” Silas grumbled, dragging his hand down his face. “What other difficulty could have occurred in the past hour?”

“Mr. Hollingsworth vanished,” Mr. Aylett replied, his face pinching at the admission.

Silas’ heart dropped. “Vanished, how?”

Mr. Aylett drew Silas down the corridor away from the dining room. “I escorted Mr. Hollingsworth to the Duke of Roxburghe’s coach, placed the fool inside, and shut the door. I swear on my life, Your Grace.”

“Swearing is beneath your station,” Silas said, grasping at levity to ease the tightness spreading through his chest. “When did Mr. Dunn realize he was no longer transporting Mr. Hollingsworth?”

“Just outside of town.” Mr. Aylett’s lips thinned, an indication of his disapproval. “Mr. Dunn had instructions to remind Mr. Hollingsworth not to seek out any member of the Webb family.”

Shaking his head, Silas glanced upward and silently counted to ten. “Roxburghe’s command?”

“Yes, Your Grace. However…”

Silas lowered his head. “However?”

“Had Mr. Dunn not stopped, we wouldn’t have discovered Mr. Hollingsworth’s disappearance for another hour.” Mr. Aylett offered a tight smile.

“I will not thank Roxburghe for his violent tendencies,” Silas scowled.

“Why not?” Roxburghe’s deep voice crawled over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t I receive praise when it is due?”

“Mr. Hollingsworth escaped before he reached town,” Silas replied, turning and greeting Roxburghe with the same scowl.

“I’ve been informed.” Roxburghe’s fist clenched. “Mr. Dunn graciously volunteered to spend his day searching the main road for any trace of Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“Do you think he’ll return?” Mr. Aylett’s wide eyes danced between Silas and Roxburghe.

“Unlikely,” Silas said, cutting off Roxburghe’s response. “I’m certain Mr. Hollingsworth has no desire to tempt Roxburghe’s ire.”