Page 35 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)

SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT

“W e’ve another problem,” Mr. Aylett said, stopping Silas outside the dining room.

“I’ve already dealt with one issue this morning,” Silas grumbled, dragging his hand down his face. “What other difficulty could have occurred in the past hour?”

“Mr. Hollingsworth vanished,” Mr. Aylett replied, his face pinching at the admission.

Silas’ heart dropped. “Vanished, how?”

Mr. Aylett drew Silas down the corridor away from the dining room. “I escorted Mr. Hollingsworth to the Duke of Roxburghe’s coach, placed the fool inside, and shut the door. I swear on my life, Your Grace.”

“Swearing is beneath your station,” Silas said, grasping at levity to ease the tightness spreading through his chest. “When did Mr. Dunn realize he was no longer transporting Mr. Hollingsworth?”

“Just outside of town.” Mr. Aylett’s lips thinned, an indication of his disapproval. “Mr. Dunn had instructions to remind Mr. Hollingsworth not to seek out any member of the Webb family.”

Shaking his head, Silas glanced upward and silently counted to ten. “Roxburghe’s command?”

“Yes, Your Grace. However…”

Silas lowered his head. “However?”

“Had Mr. Dunn not stopped, we wouldn’t have discovered Mr. Hollingsworth’s disappearance for another hour.” Mr. Aylett offered a tight smile.

“I will not thank Roxburghe for his violent tendencies,” Silas scowled.

“Why not?” Roxburghe’s deep voice crawled over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t I receive praise when it is due?”

“Mr. Hollingsworth escaped before he reached town,” Silas replied, turning and greeting Roxburghe with the same scowl.

“I’ve been informed.” Roxburghe’s fist clenched. “Mr. Dunn graciously volunteered to spend his day searching the main road for any trace of Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“Do you think he’ll return?” Mr. Aylett’s wide eyes danced between Silas and Roxburghe.

“Unlikely,” Silas said, cutting off Roxburghe’s response. “I’m certain Mr. Hollingsworth has no desire to tempt Roxburghe’s ire.”

“I’ve been told,” Roxburghe said, sliding an arm over Silas’ shoulders, “that I have quite a pleasing temperament.”

“By your lovely fiancée, I’m certain.” Silas allowed Roxburghe to guide him toward the dining room. “And while I respect her opinion, in this instance, I think her incorrect. However, if you wish to pose the question to others, I’d be willing to revise my statement.”

“Would you care to wager on the outcome?” Pausing outside the dining room, Roxburghe held Silas fast.

“There’s nothing I want or need from you.” Silas shoved Roxburghe’s arm off and stepped beneath the door frame.

“You were more fun when you weren’t in love.” Roxburghe’s quip hit Silas in the back of the head.

Silas spun and stalked forward. “I’ll thank you not to spread unfounded rumors.”

Snickering, Roxburghe crossed his arms over his chest. “Prove me wrong.”

“I may not be as strong as Mansfield or as quick as Lennox, but I will strike you.” Silas raised his fists.

A soft chuckle drew their attention, and they glanced toward the library entrance, finding Warwick hovering in the doorway.

“I’ll lend you my cane, Beaufort,” Warwick said as he limped toward them. “It’s better than both Mansfield and Lennox combined.”

Roxburghe moved aside as Warwick joined them. “Why are you taking Beaufort’s position without listening to mine?”

“Because it annoys you.”

“Should we ask Warwick?” Silas said, a wide grin splitting his face. “Surely, you value his judgment.”

His gaze sliding over Warwick, Roxburghe frowned. “He will speak toward the negative to further vex me.”

“I most certainly would.” Warwick thumped the floor with the tip of his cane. “What’s the subject?”

“Roxburghe’s pleasing temperament.”

Warwick nearly fell over laughing.

When he finally regained his composure and wiped the tears from his eyes, he cleared his throat and said, “A question of that delicate nature should be posed to the gentler guests in attendance.”

“Because your answer would offend Roxburghe?” Silas raised his eyebrows.

“Because you both knew my response prior to asking the query,” Warwick replied and hobbled toward the dining room.

“No question regarding Warwick’s nature,” Roxburghe hissed loud enough for Warwick to hear.

Eyes thinning to slits, he shot a dark glower at Roxburghe. “Remind me why I agreed to endure this madness.”

Silas almost felt bad for Warwick.

Almost.

“Ten thousand pounds,” Silas replied, then snapped his fingers. “With Roxburghe and Lennox losing the wager, your winnings are closer to seventeen now.”

“Actually,” Roxburghe said, an evil grin tugging the corners of his mouth upward, “your portion is twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five thousand?” Warwick gasped, lowering his voice and moving back into the corridor. “Is Mansfield nurturing an affection for someone?”

Roxburghe shook his head. “Beaufort is.”

“Miss Fernsby-Webb?” Warwick asked, tilting his head.

Silas growled at them. “How did everyone know but me?”

“Lennox was slow,” Roxburghe said with a chuckle. “I had to help him along as well.”

“Admiring the lady and winning her hand are two entirely different undertakings,” Silas replied, swallowing his next comment as voices drifted down the staircase into the corridor.

A moment later, Miss Venning and Miss Webb appeared. Roxburghe glided toward them, bowed, and offered both ladies an arm.

“Delightful to see you again, Miss Webb,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “I do hope you slept well.”

She blushed bright red, which Silas interpreted to mean that Miss Webb had spent her evening in Roxburghe’s bed and that sleep had not been an activity either of them pursued.

Not unlike myself and Miss Fernsby-Webb.

The only difference was Miss Webb had wanted and accepted Roxburghe’s proposal.

“Where is your sister?” Roxburghe asked as Miss Webb leaned into him. “Beaufort is inquiring after her.”

Silas bit his tongue to prevent a curse word from slipping out.

Miss Webb glanced at him, her face unreadable. “Winifred wasn’t feeling well this morning, and Amelia offered to stay with her if I promised to bring up some food after the meal.”

“Good morning, Miss Venning,” Warwick said, leaning around Silas. “I do hope your father isn’t also suffering from too much amusement. He promised me a game today during the hunt.”

“Father will be along shortly,” Miss Venning replied, a dusting of light pink appearing on her cheeks. “He was quite peeved to have lost last evening and is eager to play again. However, he requested my assistance this time, claiming he couldn’t read the cards due to his failing eyesight.”

“Please accept my apologies for my insensitivity,” Warwick said, limping closer. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have trounced him as badly.”

“Don’t let him fool you.” She released Roxburghe’s arm, strode forward, and met Warwick halfway across the foyer. “Father merely wants to confer with me before playing his hand.”

“Are you a fine piquet player?” Warwick offered his arm and escorted Miss Venning into the dining room.

“My father taught me,” she said, her voice fading. “Therefore, I should respond in the affirmative.”

The unmistakable baritone of Warwick’s laughter echoed in the corridor.

“Promising,” Miss Webb murmured as she and Roxburghe ambled toward the dining room.

“Indeed,” Roxburghe replied, winking at Silas. “We just need to find someone who isn’t repelled by Mansfield’s pragmatic personality.”

That discounted the dim-witted Sutton sisters.

“I have a suggestion,” Silas said, catching up to Roxburghe. “Juliette informed me that Mansfield and Lennox went sledding with her.”

“Sledding?” Roxburghe glanced back as they entered the dining room. “That’s intriguing. How did your daughter convince Mansfield to accompany her?”

“She didn’t.” Silas tilted his head toward several ladies clustered around the center of the table and lowered his voice. “His appearance was Mr. Braddock’s influence. But I was informed the sleds had to be shared and Miss Wilmington was Mansfield’s partner.”

Miss Webb clapped her hands together, her honey-hued eyes glowing. “An excellent proposal, Your Grace.”

He should feel some remorse for steering Miss Webb’s matchmaking interest toward Mansfield, but Silas was certain, given the opportunity, that Mansfield would have acted in kind, and truthfully, as Silas was already Cupid’s victim, he couldn’t think of any reason to prevent the infection from spreading to his remaining—unattached—friends.

Mansfield lifted his head as though he felt Silas’ gaze and scowled.

Pushing back his chair, Mansfield rose, then stalked over to them. “I wish to lodge a complaint with my host.”

“Regarding?” Silas exchanged a glance with Roxburghe.

“The bloody fool who woke me before sunrise, yelling about a spiderweb.”

Roxburghe turned away with a snort and escorted Miss Webb to the table, leaving Silas to deal with Mansfield’s irritation.

“That guest,” Silas said, placing a calming hand on Mansfield’s shoulder, “has been expelled from my residence. However, if you’re still out of sorts, you can forego the pheasant hunt.”

“And allow Grisham to best me without challenging him?” Mansfield shook his head, his narrowed gaze finding the aforementioned man. “The last time, I had to listen to him boast about his kills for a month. He won’t win a second time.”

“Today’s event is pairs.” Silas ambled toward the head of the table. “Which man do you trust to support your endeavor?”

Mansfield cursed. “Who else is participating?”

“Every man in attendance, with the exception of Warwick and Mr. Venning, who’ve opted to play cards while we traipse around the frozen grounds like fools.”

A smile cracked Mansfield’s hard facade. “Warwick’s prose?”

“You know him so well.” Silas sat beside the chair Mansfield had previously vacated. “If I may offer a suggestion?”

Grunting, Mansfield dropped into his chair.

“Select the man you have the least desire to defeat.” Silas nodded toward the opposite end of the table. “Perhaps Mr. Braddock.”

“No.”