Page 25 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
T he Duke of Beaufort collapsed on the floor. “How is it possible that my daughter has been exposed to multiple men with ill intent?”
“She hasn’t.” Winifred dropped to her knees, bringing herself eye level with him. “Mr. Curtis and Mr. Black are the same man.”
Silence engulfed the room. The Duke of Beaufort stared at her as though he thought her insane. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back, resting his head against the wall.
“Convince me,” he said, patting the space beside him.
“Would you not be more comfortable somewhere else?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the chamber.
“Such as the bed?” His mouth pulled into a wry grin.
She twisted toward the opulent four-poster. “Perhaps it’s best to stay where we are.”
The Duke of Beaufort rose, crossed the floor, and yanked a large plush coverlet off his bed. Then he returned to the corner of the room, spread out the gray-blue material, indicating Winifred should move onto the coverlet, and retook his seat.
“Do you spend a great deal of time here?” she teased, arranging her skirt over her legs.
“More than I should.” He gestured toward the guitar and sighed. “Mrs. Aylett removed the lute and violin during her preparations for this event. She informed me that if I wanted to play them, I must do so before an audience.”
Winifred’s mouth popped open, the memory of the Duke of Beaufort’s strained face floating into her mind. “Your Grace… are you shy?”
He stiffened. “I am frequently the focus of everyone’s attention.”
“However, you don’t enjoy it.” Winifred pinned him with her eyes. “And when you receive their notice, it’s on your terms. Which is why your reputation is positive yet lacking in detail.”
“Is there anything else you’ve learned from your observation of me?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face expressionless.
“Merely that your closest friend possesses a very similar appearance to Mr. Curtis-Black.”
Riotous laughter burst from the Duke of Beaufort. “Mansfield’s eyes are dark brown. However, I’m certain he will be most delighted to learn he closely resembles the man who attacked two females within my sphere.”
He didn’t blame himself for the assaults, did he?
Winifred touched his arm. “Neither my mother nor Miss Juliette and her mother were under your protection when the incidents occurred.”
“They should have been.” He flicked his thumb across the guitar strings, wrenching a horrific sound from the instrument.
“Miss Juliette and perhaps her mother, but not mine.”
“Why not yours?” He tightened the bottom string, then strummed the chord again and nodded.
“Because Nora is under the Duke of Roxburghe’s protection, and therefore the issue is his. Besides,” she lowered her voice and leaned in, “after spending several days with my mother, you may be grateful our arrangement is only for a short time.”
“Did we agree on a length of time?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“Until the end of this week was your suggestion.” A shiver zipped through her body as his one finger traced patterns across her palm.
“I’ve reconsidered my position.” He wove his hand through hers and squeezed. “Why do you believe Juliette knows Mr. Curtis?”
“She revealed the reason she named Mr. Black thus was due to his features; she said she’d never met a man with black eyes before.” Winifred didn’t realize she was trembling until the Duke of Beaufort draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.
“Mr. Curtis-Black cannot reach you here,” he murmured, brushing his lips across the top of her head. “Roxburghe and I will ensure your family remains safe, even if that means taking on you and your mother as permanent guests.”
“I cannot ask that of you!” Her head jerked up.
“You didn’t; Roxburghe has.”
Oh. His motivation was loyalty to his friend.
The Duke of Beaufort’s grip tightened on her, preventing her from pulling away. “You’ve misunderstood my revelation.”
“Is there something else you haven’t shared with me?” she whispered, her body quaking.
“Regarding Mr. Curtis, no.” He chuckled. “You’ve managed to draw the information from me with just one kiss. Roxburghe’s request was merely to allow an opportunity to repair a previous error of mine.”
Winifred’s eyes narrowed. “How does housing my mother fix a mistake?”
“After we rescued Mr. Hollingsworth from prison, I extended an invitation to him to visit in a day or two.” Discomfort flashed across the Duke of Beaufort’s face, and he glanced down at their entwined hands.
“I assumed with his appearance that your attention would be diverted and my interest in you would fade.”
“Mr. Hollingsworth hasn’t arrived yet,” she said, her eyebrows pulling together. “How have you determined this decision to be a miscalculation?”
“Because nothing I’ve done to this point has decreased my affections, and, as Roxburghe concluded, the addition of a rival will only serve to increase that desire.” The Duke of Beaufort’s eyes blazed a deep emerald. “If Mr. Hollingsworth remains in your heart, tell me before I’m forever lost.”
“I have no desire to marry Mr. Hollingsworth,” she replied, after a long minute of silence.
“Despite his request for forgiveness and declaration of love, he set out to ruin me, by my mother’s instruction.
With his cruelty motivated by money, I fear, if faced with a similar situation, Mr. Hollingsworth’s actions would be repeated. ”
“You don’t think a man can change into a better person?” The Duke of Beaufort withdrew his arm from her shoulders.
“I believe any person can improve themselves if they desire.” She issued a heavy sigh. “However, I’ve known my mother the whole of my life, and she has maintained the same conniving personality during that entire time.”
“Mr. Hollingsworth isn’t your mother.”
Winifred chuckled, tilting her head. “Are you arguing in favor of the other man?”
The Duke of Beaufort’s eyes darkened. “I’m attempting to understand the reason for your refusal of his proposal.”
“The connection between Mr. Hollingsworth and my mother is enough to give me pause.” Winifred exhaled a shaky breath, then revealed the decision that had plagued her since her arrest. “And I have no intention to marry.”
“This season?”
“Ever.” She shifted her gaze to the opposite side of the room, her eyes sliding over a small wooden desk hidden beneath a mound of papers. “You work in your bedchamber?”
When the Duke of Beaufort didn’t respond, she glanced back at him, catching a light red color creeping up from beneath his cravat.
“I write music,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. “And I request that you do not share that information; none of my friends are aware of the preoccupation.”
“Why would you hide this from them?” Winifred asked, rising, then walking to the desk.
The Duke of Beaufort followed.
“Their intentions may be noble,” he said, lifting the top sheet from the stack. “However, they would demand I play for them—more than they do already—and I cannot stomach the criticism that would follow the performance.”
She turned. “From what I know of your friends, none of them would denigrate your effort to create something beautiful.”
“How can you be so certain of its worth?” He crumpled the paper into a ball. “None of my music compares to a master’s ability.”
Winifred stopped his arm, grabbing his wrist as he pitched the wadded page toward the fireplace. The paper fell short and rolled under a wing chair.
“You are mistaken.” Using her body, she blocked him from retrieving the parchment and destroying it.
His eyebrows raised at the inappropriate contact. “You’re willing to sacrifice your innocence to protect a bit of music?”
“First,” she held up a finger, “we’ve already established that I previously surrendered my virtue to a man I believed loved me. And second… absolutely.”
The strangest expression crossed his face as though he’d never considered his efforts to be worth such a damaging cost, and he stared at her, his mouth partially open.
“Would you like to hear it?” he finally asked.
“Very much so,” she replied, reluctantly moving away from his warmth and retrieving the paper from beneath the chair.
He collected the page, peeled open the edges, and smoothed the parchment flat against his leg. After resuming his seated position on the floor, the Duke of Beaufort lifted the guitar from its stand, set the instrument on his lap, then raised his eyes to Winifred.
“Do you intend to stand while I play?” he asked as he positioned his fingers over the strings.
Shaking her head, Winifred strode across the floor and claimed the spot beside the Duke of Beaufort. Once she was settled, he leaned forward, squinted at the rumbled squiggles on the sheet, then strummed a haunting chord, which he followed with a succession of melancholy tones.
Winifred held her tongue, struck silent by the stirring melody. When he completed the tune, the final harmony fading, she clapped, causing him to blush scarlet.
“I do hope you’ll save this song,” she said, picking up the paper. “I’ve never heard anything quite as moving.”
He returned the guitar to its stand, then said, “Perhaps you’ll allow me to play it on your wedding day.”
Lowering the page, Winifred fixed him with a stern glare. “As I’ve previously explained to Your Grace, I have no intention of taking a husband.”
“I thought you were jesting.” He pulled the sheet from her hand. “Don’t all women wish to marry?”
“For several months, my only desire was freedom,” Winifred said, a hard edge in her reply. “It seems quite unkind of you to recommend that I give it up so quickly.”
She doubted anyone, save his closest friends, had ever dared speak to him with such frankness, for the Duke of Beaufort’s jaw dropped to his chest.
“I apologize, Miss Fernsby-Webb,” he stammered as the color drained from his face. “I wasn’t suggesting… that is, of course, the decision you make regarding your future should make you happy. I only meant that there are certain benefits that come with a union.”