Page 33 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
“Y ell one more time,”—the Duke of Roxburghe’s deep voice crawled under the door—“and I’ll ensure you don’t survive to watch the sun rise.”
Swearing, the Duke of Beaufort climbed off the bed and retrieved his shirt. “Should I assume your sister is also missing from your shared bedchamber?”
Winifred grimaced. “She was asleep when I came into the corridor. However, it’s highly likely that Nora slipped out while I was searching your library for something to read.”
“Then discretion should be Roxburghe’s aim as well.” The Duke of Beaufort shoved his legs into his trousers and pulled up his pants, fastening them as he padded toward the locked door. “Have you any concern regarding how we remove Mr. Hollingsworth from my property?”
“I prefer you avoided murder,” Winifred replied, sliding from his bed. “I’m quite certain his ghost would happily take up residence in your house.”
Glancing over his shoulder, the Duke of Beaufort grinned. “If we kill him, I swear we’ll perform the act on my neighbor’s land.”
“I won’t be here when you return,” she said, retrieving her nightdress.
“In my bedchamber? Or in my house?” He wrenched the brass key and unlocked the door but didn’t open it.
Resting his fingers on the handle, he turned, waiting for her response.
“Your bedchamber.” Winifred wriggled into her nightgown, waiting until her head emerged from the thin material to add, “I’m hoping Mr. Hollingsworth’s early morning outburst hasn’t woken anyone aside from the Duke of Roxburghe.”
“Then I best intervene before his ire draws an audience.” The Duke of Beaufort bowed and opened the door. “My day is occupied with another activity for the male guests. However, I will seek you out at some point… if you’re receptive to my company.”
“Very much so,” she replied, earning a wide grin from him.
He inched back into the chamber, his arms reaching for her waist as the dull thwap of a fist hitting flesh reverberated down the hallway.
“Hell!” The Duke of Beaufort raced from the room, yanking the door closed behind him.
She pressed her ear to the wood, straining to hear the conversation, but couldn’t discern the low rumblings creeping down the corridor. Cracking the door open, she held her breath, straining her ears.
“And if you attempt,” the Duke of Beaufort snarled, “to speak with Miss Fernsby-Webb or her sister again, not only will I allow Roxburghe to beat you into an early grave, but I’ll also help him. Do you understand?”
“What if—” Mr. Hollingsworth’s high-pitched whine was replaced by a soft gagging sound.
“She will not seek you out. I speak for the lady. She refuses your offer.”
Mr. Hollingsworth either didn’t reply or his response was so quiet, Winifred couldn’t hear the words.
“Release him, Roxburghe.” The Duke of Beaufort’s soft command was met with a grumble, then a noisy gasp, which Winifred assumed was Mr. Hollingsworth gulping down a mouthful of oxygen after being freed from the Duke of Roxburghe’s crushing grip.
“Mr. Dunn will return you to your lodgings,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, the muffled scrape of his shoes indicating he’d moved toward the main staircase, “and provide you with enough funds to relocate to a new town.”
“Or country,” the Duke of Beaufort added as the three men descended the steps.
Winifred counted to five in her head, then darted into the corridor, shutting the door behind her with a light click.
Her head whipping to the left to ensure the hallway remained empty, she hurried toward the servants’ staircase.
After scooping up the discarded book, she raced toward her bedchamber, praying her mother was still asleep.
Further down the corridor, a door creaked open.
Gulping, Winifred jerked to a halt and flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath as her gaze slid over the sunbeams creeping across the rug lining the second-floor hallway.
A flash of blonde burst from one of the bedchambers, raced at a diagonal across the corridor, and vanished into the first room nearest the main staircase.
Winifred snorted, then clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling the noise. Not only had Nora stolen into her fiancé’s bedchamber after the house retired, but Miss Braddock had also taken advantage of her brother’s exhaustion and snuck into the Duke of Lennox’s room.
If this impropriety continued, a triple wedding would be the only solution to prevent scandal.
Placing her fingers on the door handle, Winifred depressed the cool metal. However, before she could move, the handle was yanked from her grip as her mother ripped open the door.
“Where have you been?” she seethed, her eyes bulging. “When I woke, both you and Nora had vanished.”
Winifred touched a finger to her mouth, silencing her mother’s tirade, and spun around, closing the door.
“Nora,” Winifred said, the lie rolling off her tongue as she guided her mother back toward her bed, “was assisting me with an issue.”
“At this hour?” Her mother pushed away Winifred’s hand. “What could possibly have occurred?”
“There was an incident with Mr. Hollingsworth,” Winifred replied, wondering how much of the confrontation her mother had overheard. “Before sunrise, he came pounding on the bedchamber doors seeking me.”
Her mother paled and sank onto the bed, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Was he drunk?”
“Foxed.” Shaking her head, Winifred sat beside her mother. “And you should know, I refused his offer.”
“With just Nora’s protection?” Her mother reached over, grabbed Winifred’s wrist, and squeezed. “That was a dangerous decision. He could have harmed you both.”
“The Dukes of Beaufort and Roxburghe were present.” Winifred’s gaze skated to the closed door, expecting Nora to burst through it at any moment. “They expressed the sentiment for me, then escorted Mr. Hollingsworth from the property.”
“I’m grateful they intervened,” her mother said, wringing her hands as she rose from the bed. “Where is your sister now? Surely, she didn’t participate in Mr. Hollingsworth’s expulsion.”
“I’m not certain.” Winifred’s reply died on her tongue as her mother spun around, eyes flashing.
“Don’t lie to me, Winifred.” She advanced, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Nora is in the Duke of Roxburghe’s bedchamber, and I know this because I was awake prior to Mr. Hollingsworth’s embarrassing behavior. You and your sister have been missing for over an hour!”
Winifred swallowed.
“Now, I’ll forgive Nora’s conduct because she’s engaged to a duke, and I realize I must allow certain leeway for a man of his title. However, you,”—she stabbed her finger at Winifred—“have no reason to prowl around this manor in the early morning hours.”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the library in search of something to calm my thoughts.” Winifred held up the book. “When I heard Mr. Hollingsworth yelling, I went to confront him and was stopped by the Duke of Beaufort.”
“And what was he doing awake this early?” Her mother’s eyebrows shot up.
Winifred shrugged. “Preparing for the day’s events? How should I know what occupies his time?”
Her mother stared at her for a long minute, her unblinking eyes peering into Winifred’s soul. “Don’t risk your future for some pretty words.”
“What future?” Discarding the book, she pushed off the bed. “You and Mr. Hollingsworth cursed me to a life of solitude.”
“There are men who are less discerning.” Folding her hands together, her mother took a step forward. “Men who understand that a woman can be duped.”
“I know of no such man.”
Actually, she did, but she had no intention of discussing the Duke of Beaufort or his unusual proposal with her mother.
“Surely, you must have been introduced?—”
“No, Mother.” Winifred strode to her trunk.
“When your father’s house falls to the creditors, we will be destitute.” Uncertainty flickered in her mother’s amber eyes. “You must have some plan.”
Kneeling, Winifred lifted the trunk’s lid. “The Duke of Roxburghe swore to Nora that he wouldn’t permit that outcome to occur.”
“Did he also promise to allow me to live there?”
Winifred pressed her lips together, unwilling to commit herself or Nora to assisting their mother, and sorted through the clothing, searching for a chemise.
“What is to become of me?” Her mother’s voice flew up a whole octave.
“You could marry.” Winifred peered over the trunk’s lid. “You’ve touted the benefits of marriage for the whole of my life.”
“With two dead husbands, no man would risk taking me on.” Expelling a heavy sigh, her mother flung herself onto the bed. “Perhaps it would have been best if Mr. Curtis had murdered me.”
Ducking behind the lid, Winifred rolled her eyes. “No one believes that.”
A strange rustling drew their attention.
Raising up on her elbows, her mother’s gaze zeroed in on a small scrap of parchment partially trapped beneath the door. “What is that?”
Before Winifred could stand, her mother launched off the bed and snatched up the paper. Hovering beside the door, she unfolded the page, perused the missive, and lifted her narrowed eyes to Winifred.
“I must speak with you immediately,” she read aloud, a low growl in her voice. “Sneak away from your mother and sister and meet me in the stables.”
The temperature in the bedchamber dropped. “Meet with whom, Winifred?”
Winifred rose, crossed the room, and snatched the paper from her mother’s hand. Scanning the words, her heart fluttered.
But why would the Duke of Beaufort write a missive? He knew the importance of keeping their intimate connection secret.
“Oh, Winifred.” Shaking her head, her mother trudged to the fireplace and dropped into a large wing chair. “Please tell me that you didn’t throw away the connection with Mr. Hollingsworth for a weeklong lark with a gentleman who’s uninterested in marriage.”
“First,” Winifred said, spinning around, “my answer to Mr. Hollingsworth was based upon his previous treatment of me and the belief that should those circumstances be repeated, his actions would also repeat.”