Page 31 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
H ow did Miss Fernsby-Webb know her partner was Mr. Hollingsworth? Despite her denial, did she still harbor an attachment to the man?
A dull ache spread through Silas’ chest as he stared at the doorway through which Miss Fernsby-Webb and her sister had fled.
“Your Grace!” Mr. Hollingsworth, having crossed the dance floor on his knees, flung himself at Silas’ shoes. “Please speak with Miss Fernsby-Webb on my behalf. You must convince her that my intentions are honorable.”
Silas jerked his leg free and hissed, “I will do no such thing. You are causing a scene. Get up off the floor immediately and act like the gentleman you claim to be.”
Head hanging, Mr. Hollingsworth scrambled to his feet. “I apologize for my behavior, Your Grace.”
Lips pursed, Silas stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and extracted a monogrammed handkerchief, which he passed to Mr. Hollingsworth, who swiped at his face in a feeble attempt to wipe away the slimy mixture of snot and tears dripping from his nose.
“Have you never been in love?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked as Silas grabbed his arm and dragged him from the dance floor.
“Roxburghe, Grisham, and I,” Lennox said, raising his voice and striding to the center of the room, “will select the next three ladies.”
“Come with me.” Silas yanked Mr. Hollingsworth into the hallway.
“Are you going to hit me?” Mr. Hollingsworth whimpered, raising his arm to block his face.
“No.”
Do I want to? Absolutely.
Crushing the handle in his fist, Silas opened the door to his office, then gestured for Mr. Hollingsworth to enter.
“Sit.” Silas pointed to one of two wing chairs positioned beside the fireplace.
Once Mr. Hollingsworth complied, Silas strode to his desk, lifted a decanter of whiskey, and filled two snifters with the golden-brown liquid. He carried the glasses across the room and handed one to Mr. Hollingsworth before taking the empty chair.
“Unfortunately,” Silas said, tilting the snifter toward Mr. Hollingsworth, “I have no control over the lady’s heart.”
“But you must have some sway.” Mr. Hollingsworth leaned forward, his brown eyes widening. “Perhaps with her sister or her sister’s fiancé.”
“Again, I can do nothing to assist you. If you know the lady as well as you claim, then you understand why that must be my answer.”
And, in truth, I’m going to do everything I can to prevent Miss Fernsby-Webb from ever accepting your hand.
Lifting his cup, Silas saluted Mr. Hollingsworth, then drained the glass.
Mr. Hollingsworth did the same, then set his empty snifter on a small table and said, “She did recognize me while wearing a blindfold. I suppose I should take comfort in that.”
He rose and bowed low. “Thank you for your compassion, Your Grace.”
After Mr. Hollingsworth departed, Silas grabbed the decanter and poured himself a second drink, then a third. His mind was whirling around Mr. Hollingsworth’s admission.
How had she known she was dancing with Mr. Hollingsworth? Had she cheated? Or worse, was her connection to him so strong that it defied any logical explanation?
Setting his mind to questioning Miss Fernsby-Webb, he emerged from his office several hours later with the half-depleted bottle of whiskey and staggered down the corridor in search of the lady. He wandered into the ballroom, finding the location bereft of any person, and cursed.
He took a swig from the decanter, debating if he should knock on her bedchamber door and demand an explanation for her guess. His whiskey-soaked brain couldn’t provide a logical reason not to disturb Miss Fernsby-Webb, despite the late hour, and he wandered from the room.
Trudging up the main staircase, he leaned against the wall to maintain his balance, the sleeve of his jacket rubbing against the striped wallpaper.
He paused on the second-floor landing, cocking his head and listening to the snores creeping out from beneath the closed doors. Then, he urged his body forward and stumbled down the corridor, counting bedchambers. Halfway down the hallway, he lost count.
Swearing, he returned to the landing and began the count again.
He stopped in front of Miss Fernsby-Webb’s door—he hoped—and raised his arm, his hand curling into a fist.
How will you explain yourself if Mrs. Webb answers?
The disturbing thought broke through his drunken haze, and he staggered backward, the heel of his shoe catching on a rug lining the corridor. Silas crashed to the floor, choosing to protect the whiskey decanter instead of himself.
He swore again, louder than the first time, then, realizing the volume of his curse, he clapped his free hand over his mouth and waited, praying he hadn’t woken any of the guests.
Once he was certain no one would investigate the noise, he climbed from the floor and toddled toward his bedchamber. His gaze locked on an apparition hovering at the top of the servants’ staircase.
“Miss Fernsby-Webb?” he said, wondering if his longing had caused her to materialize before him.
“Your Grace!” She twisted around, snapping a book closed. “I apologize for waking you.”
“You did no such thing,” he replied, taking a seat beside her on the top step and holding out the bottle of whiskey. “I never retired.”
Setting down the tome, she accepted the decanter, tipped the bottle, swallowing a large mouthful of alcohol, and coughed.
“Business?” she asked, her eyes watering.
“I suppose one could qualify it as that.” His bleary gaze shifted to the shadows at the base of the staircase. “Why are you awake at this hour?”
She took a second swig, then exhaled a deep breath and blurted out, “I’ve decided to depart in the morning before the house wakes.”
No! She couldn’t leave.
He grasped at the only viable excuse that came to mind. “Your sister will be wounded by your sudden absence.”
“I cannot demand that you uninvite Mr. Hollingsworth simply because I don’t wish to interact with him.” She lifted the decanter again.
“You could…” He nudged her arm. “I happen to know your host doesn’t appreciate Mr. Hollingsworth’s company either.”
She chuckled. “Probably not due to the same reason.”
“It is the exact same reason.” Silas waved a finger in her direction and reclaimed the bottle. “He flung himself at my feet, too.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb’s jaw dropped. “Surely, he didn’t propose to you as well?”
“He asked me to intervene on his behalf; I refused.” Silas lifted the bottle to his lips but didn’t drink. “Have you funds or an offer of employment to assist with your escape?”
She grimaced and glanced down, fiddling with the lace on her shawl. “Including what I won this evening from your friends, I have a little over a grand.”
Issuing a low whistle, he set down the decanter. “Remind me not to set a wager against you.”
“That won’t be a difficulty in the future,” she replied, lifting her head and forcing a tight smile. “I intend to head toward the coast.”
“May I offer a different solution that wouldn’t upset your sister?” He took Miss Fernsby-Webb’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Juliette sacked her governess this morning. She believes, and I agree, that you would be better suited to the position.”
“Your suggestion doesn’t remove me from Mr. Hollingsworth’s presence,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, her face unreadable.
“I’ll send him away tomorrow.”
“You cannot?—”
“I can do whatever I wish. This is my home.” Silas leveled his gaze with her. “But I must know something first.”
“I don’t love him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She pressed her lips together and gestured for him to continue.
“How did you know the man you were dancing with was Mr. Hollingsworth?”
Shuddering, Miss Fernsby-Webb drew her legs into her chest and wrapped her free arm around her knees.
“By his scent. It reminded me of the prison. I couldn’t think of any male in attendance who had been recently released from jail, then I remembered your warning that you’d extended Mr. Hollingsworth an invitation. ”
“If it were me, would you have known?” Silas asked, weaving his fingers through hers.
She smiled. “Immediately.”
“How?” He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers.
“Your cologne is quite unique,” she replied, her sweet breath brushing over his lips. “And…”
“And?” he murmured.
Millimeters separated them.
“I smell it every time I close my eyes.”
His mouth captured hers, his arms winding around her as his tongue darted past her lips. He deepened the kiss, drawing the delightful mewling sound from Miss Fernsby-Webb, and dragged her onto his lap.
She straddled him, her body grinding against his through the flimsy nightgown.
“I want my turn,” he ground out, breaking the kiss and stilling her hips.
“Your turn?” Fire blazed in her brown eyes, turning them to molten chocolate.
“To seduce you.” He nuzzled her neck. “Although I’d prefer my bedchamber to the staircase.”
“Is this an attempt to sway my mind toward the governess position?” she asked, her head tipping back as he trailed a line of kisses across her throat.
He pulled back. “Would that be a terrible thing?”
“Governesses don’t typically have relations with their employers.” She raised her eyebrows. “Think of the impropriety.”
“Who would know but the two of us?”
She ticked off her fingers. “Your servants. Your daughter. My sister, and by connection, the Duke of Roxburghe, who would then inform your friends.”
“None of whom would share that information with the ton .” He bumped his nose against hers. “If that concern is the only reason preventing you from accepting a governess position, I would swear never to touch you again.”
Unless you begged…
Her eyebrows floated near her hairline. “Is it truly that easy for you?”
“It would be torture,” he replied, adding a half-smile. “And I would endure the agony in silence.”
There was another solution, one neither of them mentioned, and even though Silas found himself amenable toward the idea of a marriage to Miss Fernsby-Webb, she’d clearly stated matrimony was not her aim.