Page 37 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
W hy are my feet cold?
Head throbbing, Winifred opened her eyes and gasped. Blackness surrounded her. She strained her eyes, twisting her head back and forth in a futile attempt to clear her vision, and a faint rustling met her ears.
She was blindfolded!
Her shoulders jerked, desperate to rip the covering from her face, but her hands wouldn’t budge. Yanking her arms in opposite directions, she struggled to break the rope binding her wrists behind her back and failed.
“Hello?” The word came out as a tiny squeak, barely audible over her racing heart.
No one answered.
Shivering, she curled her bare toes beneath her and scraped the delicate skin across a rough wooden surface. Faint memories flashed through her mind... She’d been struck from behind when she entered the Duke of Beaufort’s stables.
Was she still there?
Winifred cocked her head, listening for any indication of horses, but the only sound to reach her ears was that of the creaking structure currently imprisoning her.
“Not in the stables,” she said, then groaned as the pulsating ache at the base of her neck flared, sending pain radiating through her body.
When the flames searing her brain subsided, Winifred unclenched her jaw and exhaled a slow breath.
Where else could she be?
No passing coaches, no voices, no chirping birds; it seemed improbable that she’d been transported that far away from society in such a short period of time. Except, she didn’t know the time. She didn’t even know what day it was.
Twisting her wrists, Winifred worked the rope to the base of her palms, but the knots refused to give one millimeter.
“Ballocks!” The word echoed through the room.
A soft chuckle responded.
“Hello?” Winifred twisted her head toward the laugh. “Who’s there?”
Silence answered her question.
“I wager I can guess your name,” she said, hoping to draw the person into a conversation. “Name your terms.”
The seconds dragged out, but no reply came.
“If you’re unwilling to speak, it must be because you fear my claim is correct. However,”—she tilted her head, pretending as though she could see the person—“I will determine your name without your assistance.”
The legs of a chair scratched across the floor and stopped roughly two feet in front of her. The chair creaked as a heavy weight sank upon the seat, and an overpowering earthy scent assaulted her nose, causing her stomach to flip over.
“I’ll start with the easiest deduction… you are a male.” She nodded once. “No woman could have removed me from the stables and carried me to this location.”
She received no confirmation that her logic was correct. However, the chair groaned, indicating that the person shifted, and she took that movement as an affirmation.
“You’ve quite an unusual scent?—”
The chair scraped across the floor, crashed into the far wall, and shattered, the smell vanishing.
Winifred jumped, then forced herself to finish the sentence. “—and as I don’t recognize the odor, you cannot be someone I’ve spent a significant amount of time with.”
The toe of a shoe tapped on the floor.
“However, you knew I was visiting the Duke of Beaufort’s residence this week, and you knew which bedchamber was mine.” Winifred chewed her lip. “Which means, either someone told you my location or you’d been inside the house yourself.”
The earthy smell increased.
“Are you Mr. Hollingsworth?” She squished backward, leaning away from the nauseating scent.
“No.” The whispered word brushed over her mouth.
Winifred shuddered. “There’s only one other man I can think of with a grievance against my family… Mr. Curtis.”
Agony exploded in Winifred’s jaw, and she fell backward, her head striking the hard floor. A hand clenched her throat, squeezing the oxygen from her body.
“It makes no difference that you’ve guessed my name,” Mr. Curtis growled, his lips grazing her ear. “If you live long enough to share it, I’ll have already left the country with funds provided by your fiancé.”
Winifred jerked her head away from his rancid breath. “My fiancé?”
Mr. Curtis must think I’m engaged to Mr. Hollingsworth.
“The Duke of Roxburghe.”
Worse, he believed her to be Nora! What would he do when he discovered he’d abducted the wrong sister?
Grunting, Mr. Curtis righted Winifred and the chair. “Unless your engagement is a sham meant to fool your mother. In which case, I’ll be forced to exact the debt from your flesh.”
“The engagement is not false.” Her voice trembled, belying her bravado.
“For your sake, I hope you’ve spoken the truth.” Mr. Curtis touched a finger to the tip of her nose. “Fifty thousand pounds is quite the sum to repay with blood.”
A shudder zipped down Winifred’s spine. “Why are you doing this? My family has done nothing to you.”
“True.” Mr. Curtis paused as though considering her words. “However, your family is connected to a man who did wrong me.”
“Mr. Hollingsworth is not attached to our family!” Winifred jerked, causing the chair to slide forward an inch. “His offer of marriage was refused.”
“His second offer, if I’m not mistaken.” Mr. Curtis’ reply came from the opposite side of the room. “The first proposal resulted in the imprisonment of your sister.”
“We didn’t know the type of man he was.”
“Your mother did.” A low chuckle crawled toward Winifred. “She orchestrated the whole event.”
“And you punished her for those actions.” Winifred licked her lips. “However, I’m certain that you know she survived the attack.”
“It wasn’t my intention to kill your mother,” Mr. Curtis replied, his voice moving along the far wall. “Had that been my aim, I wouldn’t have allowed her to reach the Duke of Beaufort’s residence.”
“Then, what was the purpose?” Winifred asked, turning her head toward where she imagined he stood.
“To show your fiancé what I’m prepared to do to receive the money I’m owed.”
“That money should come from Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Yes,” Mr. Curtis dragged out the word. “It should. However, he provided an alternate solution when I called upon him after his release from prison… the Duke of Roxburghe.”
“Mr. Hollingsworth knew of your plan and pretended as though he was unaware of the impending danger?” Winifred screeched, her voice echoing through the chamber.
“Isn’t it fortunate that your sister refused him?” Mr. Curtis laughed as he approached. “Imagine her response when she discovered that he’d arranged your kidnapping.”
I’m going to kill him.
She wasn’t given to murderous tendencies, refusing to even swat at a horse fly, but this seemed the perfect moment to rethink those nonviolent principles.
“Mr. Hollingsworth should be concerned about what the Duke of Roxburghe will do.” Winifred paused. “As should you.”
Mr. Curtis grabbed Winifred’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, pinching the skin. “Your fiancé has until midday tomorrow to deliver fifty thousand pounds, or I will send your dead body to the Duke of Beaufort’s residence.”
“Where are my shoes?” Winifred jerked her head free of his grip.
“I just threatened your life, and you’re asking for footwear.” Disbelief flowed from Mr. Curtis.
“My feet are cold.”
“And they’ll stay that way.” His voice came from the far side of the room again. “Without shoes, escaping will be quite difficult considering the frigid temperatures outside.”
The floor creaked, followed by the dull thud of shoes descending a staircase, and she blurted out, “What assurances can you give that you communicated your demand to the Duke of Roxburghe?”
“Pardon?” Mr. Curtis stalked back up the steps.
“How do I know that you actually requested the money?” Winifred shrugged as best she could with her hands bound behind her back. “Perhaps you merely want an excuse to kill a future duchess.”
A cruel laugh slipped from his lips. “I don’t need an excuse to take your life, Miss Webb. I need a reason not to.”
Heavy footfall reverberated on the staircase, and Mr. Curtis disappeared, taking his overwhelming earthy scent with him.
When she could no longer hear him, Winifred jerked her arms again, trying to rip her hands free of the rope. Again, the rope did not loosen.
She released a frustrated scream, then, fearing the return of Mr. Curtis, clamped her lips together to stave off the horrific sound and froze, waiting for the vibration of footsteps on the staircase.
But he didn’t appear, and after several tense minutes, she relaxed her muscles and exhaled a long breath.
If she couldn’t yank her wrists free, perhaps she could fray the rope on the edge of the chair.
Leaning to her right, she rubbed her arm against the wooden back upright, seeking a rough portion in the smooth column.
Not finding a coarse section, she repeated the search on the chair’s left side and received the same disappointing result.
“I can’t do this without my sight,” she said, wiggling her nose against the tight scrap of cloth fastened around her head.
Craning her neck to the side, she rubbed her face against her shoulder, but, with her hands bound behind the chair back, she couldn’t bring her shoulders high enough to reach the blindfold.
Then, she bent forward and raised her leg, but she wasn’t flexible enough to touch her knee to her face, and after several failed attempts, she gave up the idea of using a body part.
What else could she rub her head against?
The wall!
Pushing against the rough floor, Winifred edged her chair backward, scooting inch by inch until her fingers smashed into an exposed wooden support beam. She tipped her head back, catching the blindfold on the beam’s uneven surface, and slid down, dragging the cloth from her eyes.
Dim light crawled in from the doorway leading to the staircase, highlighting the dirty floorboards upon which her feet rested. If the chamber contained windows, Mr. Curtis had covered them before he abducted her.