Page 99 of Never Beguile a Duke

“Do not leave this house until I return,” Mr. Curtis said, an unspoken threat hovering in the air.

Did he say house? A tendril of hope curled through Winifred’s chest. Were they near enough to another residence that someone would hear her yell for help?

The front door slammed, and, remembering her precarious position at the top of the staircase, Winifred edged the chair backward.

With the blindfold still covering her face, she couldn’t determine the halfway point of the room and stopped where she estimated that place would be, hoping that when Mr. Curtis returned, he wouldn’t realize she’d moved.

The staircase issued a soft groan, indicating the second man had risen to his feet and was attempting to climb toward Winifred. He ascended the steps at a glacial pace, pausing on each stair to exhale a labored breath before moving to the next level.

He must know I’m up here; otherwise, he wouldn’t pursue such an obviously painful activity.

At this pace, it was likely Mr. Curtis would return before the man reached her. However, without her sight, she couldn’t determine if this man was less dangerous than Mr. Curtis or more, so she gambled.

“Hello?” The word came out as a squeak.

Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hello?”

The man didn’t answer, nor did he stop his slow ascent.

“I know you’re there,” she said, scooting the chair backward an inch. “I can hear you.”

The footsteps stopped on the landing.

A bitter, musky scent permeated the blindfold, assailing her nostrils and coating her tongue with a sour film, retriggering the memory of her arrival at the prison.

It couldn’t be!

“Mr. Hollingsworth?”

“I wondered if you would deduce my identity.” Mr. Hollingsworth shuffled into the room. “However, since you determined my identity during the blindfold waltz, I suspected you’d have no issue figuring out my name.”

“I didn’t dance with you last night,” she said, her forehead wrinkling.

Mr. Hollingsworth limped closer, leaned down, and yanked off the blindfold. “Yes, Winifred, you did.”

She gasped, her eyes locking on his brown ones. “You know who I am?”

“I do.” Sighing, he turned away and dragged a hand through his unkempt golden-brown hair. “However, you cannot let that information slip to Mr. Curtis. He’ll dispose of you without any regard and then abduct your sister.”

A multitude of questions swarmed Winifred’s mind; she forced the most persistent through her lips. “When did you deduce that I wasn’t Nora?”

“After I struck you.” He twisted back around but wouldn’t lift his gaze to her face. “When I turned your unconscious body over, I realized that you had intercepted the missive and came to the stables instead of your sister.”

He raised his head, his eyes probing hers.

“Whom did you intend to meet?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Winifred licked her lips, uncertain if revealing the information would help or hinder her situation. “A duke.”

Mr. Hollingsworth’s eyebrows raised. “Is he aware of your past?”

“He’s aware of my particular circumstances,” she snapped, shifting on the chair and drawing Mr. Hollingsworth’s attention to her exposed thigh.

“Has Mr. Curtis taken any liberties with you?” Mr. Hollingsworth growled, peeling off his thin coat and draping the article over Winifred’s lap.

She shook her head, then dropped her gaze to her leg. “However…”

“However?” Mr. Hollingsworth squatted beside her.