Page 12 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“Due to her,”—tilting his head, Silas tapped a finger on his lips as though trying to recall Warwick’s exact words—“incessant whistling, was it not?”
Warwick folded his arms and scowled.
Miss Venning giggled, clamped her hand over her mouth, then turned away and bent forward, her shoulders shaking. The struggle to regain her composure appeared too much, and she fled the drawing room for the corridor.
Red-faced, Mr. Venning bowed low. “Please accept my apologies for my daughter’s disrespectful behavior, Your Grace.”
“Accepted.” Silas waved his hand. “I quite enjoy her personality.”
“I meant the Duke of Warwick,” Mr. Venning said, his face deepening to scarlet.
“I’m aware, Mr. Venning,” Silas replied before Warwick could speak. “However, if he doesn’t see the humor in terminating a woman for being happy?—”
“She. Whistled,” Warwick hissed. “I would have been more forgiving had she hummed.”
Mr. Venning had to abandon the drawing room as well.
“Warwick, are you amenable to a distraction?” Silas indicated the corridor. “I’d come to rescue Mansfield… however, you may know more about these particular subjects.”
“And what topics are those?”
“Hypothermia and a severe beating.”
Warwick’s eyebrows raised. “Did you assault someone?”
“No!” Several heads glanced in their direction. Silas grimaced, waved an apology, and pushed Warwick into the hallway, disturbing a low conversation between Mr. Venning and his daughter.
“Please excuse us,” Mr. Venning said, bowing and dragging his daughter toward the staircase.
“Wait a moment, Mr. Venning,” Silas called, dragging Warwick with him as he hurried across the foyer. “I could use both of your assistance as well.”
Mr. Venning paused and spun around. “How can we help, Your Grace?”
“Mrs. Webb was discovered battered and unconscious outside in the snow.” Silas felt Warwick stiffen beside him. “She regained consciousness. However, she’s still quite ill and vomiting blood. The storm is too bad to summon a physician, and I fear she may not survive the night.”
Miss Venning’s eyes softened. “Her daughters must be frantic. I will do whatever I can to ease Mrs. Webb’s suffering. Would you escort me to her chamber?”
Releasing his grip on Warwick, Silas nodded. “Please follow me.”
He didn’t expect the dull thud of Warwick’s cane to accompany them upstairs. Silas glanced over his shoulder, finding Mr. Venning and Warwick moving at a glacial pace as they climbed the staircase.
“As your daughter,” Warwick murmured, pausing halfway up the steps and drawing in a labored breath, “will be preoccupied, perhaps I can tempt you with a game of cards. I’m certain Beaufort will allow us to play in the corridor as he’ll understand you don’t want to stray too far from Miss Venning.”
Mr. Venning’s gaze flicked to the second-floor landing, finding his daughter hovering near the top step. A silent conversation passed between them.
“I’ll accept the invitation,” Mr. Venning said, returning his attention to Warwick, “on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“You allow my daughter to treat your injury as well.” Before Warwick could refuse, Mr. Venning added, “Arabella doesn’t know how to whistle.”
“I have no objections,” Silas said, darting out of the range of Warwick’s cane.
With a grin, Silas offered his arm to Miss Venning, an action that drew a curious growling sound from the staircase, and led her to the Webb chamber, where he knocked twice, then opened the door and escorted her inside.
Mrs. Webb’s worrisome status remained unchanged. Her slow, shallow breathing was the only indication she hadn’t succumbed to her injuries.
Her gaze locked on the bed, Miss Venning strode across the floor and stopped beside Mrs. Aylett. “Would you be so kind as to assist me? I find that family is more of a hindrance when it comes to applying the best course of treatment.”
Mrs. Aylett glanced at Silas, then nodded, collected a bowl of steaming water from Juliette, and shuffled to the opposite side of the bed.
Misses Webb and Fernsby-Webb rose and moved to the base of the mattress, allowing Miss Venning the space to examine their mother. Neither lady spoke as Miss Venning bent, her tongue trapped between her teeth, and lightly ran her fingers over Mrs. Webb’s body.
“I should be able to alleviate her symptoms,” Miss Venning said, straightening.
“However, as soon as the storm lets up, a doctor needs to be summoned. I’m most concerned about the swelling around her eye; if we don’t relieve the pressure, she may lose her sight.
Pray, how did she develop these injuries? ”
“Mr. Curtis,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, folding her trembling hands into her chest. “Can you help her?”
Miss Venning nodded. “I’ll need to cut the skin to let some of the blood, but that should prevent any permanent damage… She will have a scar, though.”
Squeezing her sister’s shoulder, Miss Webb tilted her head toward the bed. “I’m certain Amelia would prefer not to lose her vision. Please, do what you can to save her.”
“Don’t fret, Miss Webb,” Juliette said, stepping forward and clasping her hands in front of her waist. “My mother had worse injuries than yours, and she recovered every time.”
“Every time?” Silas grabbed Juliette and spun her around. “Who struck your mother?”
Juliette’s lower lip vibrated, but she held Silas’ gaze. “Mr. Black.”
“Surely, the Hills were aware of Mr. Black's vicious nature?”
Shaking her head, Juliette lowered her eyes to the floor. “He threatened to kill me if Mother ever spoke of the encounters.”
Ice slid down Silas’ spine.
Kneeling, he lifted Juliette’s chin and forced her to stare into his eyes. “Did Mr. Black ever harm you?”
“I should retrieve a knife for Miss Venning,” Juliette said, jerking her face free of Silas’ grip.
Before he could stop her, she dashed from the room and ran down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase, the dull thud of her shoes fading as she scampered down the steps.
“Damn!” Silas offered a curt nod and exited the room, chasing after Juliette.
When he reached the base of the servants’ staircase, he froze, uncertain if Juliette had headed toward the kitchen or the dining hall.
“You pushed her too hard.” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s warm voice brushed over him, causing his heart to stutter.
He spun. “If Mr. Black is a threat and not a nighttime hallucination as Mrs. Upton claimed, I need to handle the situation as quickly as possible.”
“I’m not discounting the urgency,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, offering him a tight smile, “I’m merely suggesting that you can be a bit… intimidating.”
“Me?” He took a step back, knocking his heel against the bottom step. “I can easily apply that label to Roxburghe or Mansfield, but not myself.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb curtsied, exaggerating the movement. “You possess a title and, as a man of rank, carry yourself in a certain manner, which can be overwhelming to a child or a regular person.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Do you consider me to be intimidating?”
“Not at all, Your Grace.” She floated nearer, bringing her unique scent with her. “However, I was trapped beneath a sleigh with you for nearly a half hour. No one else has had the opportunity to witness your composed behavior during such a dangerous situation. You saved my life.”
He blushed, warmth creeping up the back of his neck and heating his face. “I did what any gentleman in my position would have done.”
She appeared as though she wished to argue; however, instead of expressing her opinion, she inclined her head and said, “Allow me to speak with your daughter. Perhaps I can learn more about Mr. Black.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for your assistance,” Silas replied, taking Miss Fernsby-Webb’s hands in his and squeezing. “I fear I am a failure at fatherhood.”
“Give Miss Juliette, and yourself, some time to build trust with each other,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, her mouth crooking. “She’s been uprooted from everything she’s known.”
“Juliette did ask for the chamber beside mine,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Miss Fernsby-Webb’s hands, the automatic gesture oddly soothing.
“That is a good indication of her mind,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, turning toward the kitchen.
She didn’t pull her hands from his grip.
“Before you take your leave from me, there’s an important issue we need to discuss,” he said, the words tumbling from his lips without direction.
Miss Fernsby-Webb frowned. “Is it regarding my mother?”
He shook his head. “We have unfinished business.”
“We do?” A tiny wrinkle formed between her eyes. “I apologize, Your Grace, I don’t recall any incomplete agreement between us.”
“I swore to myself that if we survived the sleigh incident unscathed, I’d...” Silas exhaled a slow breath, attempting to slow his racing heart. “I’d kiss you.”
“Oh!” Her mouth popped open, and she glanced to her left and right, then nodded.
Tugging her closer, he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and pressed his mouth to her soft lips.
Fire erupted between them, scorching his skin and setting his blood aflame.
His arms wound around her waist, eliminating the space between them, and his tongue darted out, teasing the corner of her mouth.
She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He complied, molding her body to his and backing her against the wall.
A crash from the kitchen caused him to jump away from her, his body jerking as though doused in a bucket of cold water.
“Please accept my apologies, Miss Fernsby-Webb,” he said, adding a formal bow. “I acted out of character. Don’t allow this moment of weakness to sway any decision you may have about accepting another man’s proposal as I’m in no position to take on a wife.”
She stiffened, her eyes hardening with the realization that he’d heard her read the missive aloud. “Neither is Mr. Hollingsworth, as he is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. But that didn’t prevent him from pursuing the future he desires.”
Without another word, she strode toward the kitchen, her back ramrod straight and her hips swaying in the most hypnotizing motion. Silas found himself wandering down the hallway after her, his gaze on her body.
Roxburghe stepped into his path, a gleeful grin splitting his face. “You look like a man suffering from an affliction.”