Page 49 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)

WINIFRED

“I ’m not Nora!” Winifred’s words reverberated through the house.

Silence met her admission, and she feared she’d revealed the truth too late to save the Duke of Beaufort from Mr. Curtis’ wrath. Then, a cacophony exploded on the staircase, and Mr. Curtis burst into the attic, his chest heaving.

“What did you say?” he asked, placing one hand against the doorframe and drawing in a ragged breath.

“I am not Nora,” said Winifred, lifting her chin. “My name is Miss Winifred Fernsby-Webb. Nora is my sister.”

Mr. Curtis’ face darkened and, raising the pistol, he stormed across the floor and pushed the barrel against Winifred’s forehead. “Why would Mr. Hollingsworth bring me the wrong sibling?”

Winifred shrugged. “If you hadn’t shot him, you could have inquired about his motivation.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” Winifred replied, wincing as the gun dug into her skin.

“Surely, Mr. Hollingsworth could determine the difference between you and your sister.” Mr. Curtis leaned closer, a sneer curling his lip. “Especially since he had intimate knowledge of your body.”

She kicked her foot, striking Mr. Curtis’ knee, and he danced away with a groan.

“That missive was meant for Miss Webb,” he said, keeping his distance as he limped past Winifred. “How did you intercept it?”

“Nora wasn’t in our shared bedchamber when the message was delivered.” Winifred shifted her gaze to the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Duke of Beaufort. “She was already with the Duke of Roxburghe; therefore, the missive couldn’t have been from him.”

“At that time of morning?” Mr. Curtis’ eyebrows raised. “Your mother has absolutely no authority over either of her daughters, does she?”

“She forfeited any consideration months ago,” Winifred replied, returning her attention to Mr. Curtis, “when she sent me to prison.”

“Is she not currently residing at the Duke of Beaufort’s residence?”

“Solely due to your attack.” Winifred scowled at him. “She nearly died.”

“Then, I would have done you a great favor.” Mr. Curtis rubbed the muzzle against his temple as he paced.

“However, that doesn’t explain why Mr. Hollingsworth would bring you here, knowing what I intended to do to you.

” Mr. Curtis stopped directly in front of Winifred, his probing gaze sliding over her.

“If I were to venture a guess, I’d assume Mr. Hollingsworth made the decision because he was angry that you arrived at the stables to meet an unknown gentleman and wanted revenge. However, that doesn’t explain why he changed his mind. Unless…”

Tipping his head back, Mr. Curtis released a braying laugh.

“The fool must still have nurtured some affection for you.”

Winifred pursed her lips, swallowing the vile retort she wished to fling at Mr. Curtis.

Mr. Hollingsworth may not have been a good man, but his final act of sacrifice raised him in her estimation, and she prayed he wouldn’t suffer in the afterlife. However, when it came to Mr. Curtis, death seemed too kind a punishment to atone for his committed atrocities.

“One detail confuses me,” said Mr. Curtis, sticking a hand into his coat pocket and retrieving a jingling, bloated sack. “The Duke of Roxburghe knew his fiancée wasn’t missing. And if he thought my missives were false, how did Mr. Hollingsworth come into possession of your ransom?”

“Nora,” Winifred said, her gaze dropping to the bag. “When I didn’t return yesterday evening, she would have been frantic. At that moment, the Duke of Roxburghe would have realized there was partial truth in your words.”

“How fortunate your sister possesses access to a fiancé with money.”

“Does that mean you intend to allow me to leave?”

“Certainly not.” Mr. Curtis laughed, tucking the sack back into his pocket. “However, since Miss Webb was kind enough to secure these funds, I’ll provide you a quick death.”

Raising the pistol, Mr. Curtis aimed the barrel at Winifred’s head.

Where was the Duke of Beaufort? Has he abandoned me to Mr. Curtis?

Her gaze flicked to the darkened staircase, but the Duke of Beaufort’s dark blond head did not appear.

Eyes narrowing, Mr. Curtis glanced behind himself, studying the shadows on the steps, then he returned his attention to Winifred. “Do you have anything else you’d like to reveal to me before I take your life?”

“Nora will demand the Duke of Roxburghe pursue you to the ends of this earth.”

“Noted.” A horrific grin split Mr. Curtis’ face. “It’s a shame no man would have you; we could have continued our conversation if you were engaged.”

“I can double the amount of money in your possession,” Winifred said, squeezing her eyes shut as Mr. Curtis pulled the trigger.

Fire whipped past her face, leaving a thin, scorching trail across her left cheek.

“I trusted you once before, and you led me astray.” Mr. Curtis’ hands closed around her shoulders. “Why should I believe you now?”

I’m alive!

“Who will pay fifty thousand pounds for your release?” asked Mr. Curtis, violently shaking her.

She cried out as the hot metal of the gun’s barrel pressed against her arm and opened her eyes. “My fiancé.”

Mr. Curtis took a step backward and locked his gaze on her eyes. “To whom are you engaged?”

“Silas Morton, Duke of Beaufort.” If only speaking his name would cause him to reappear.

He must have escaped the house without confrontation, and she was quite certain he wouldn’t return to rescue her.

The Duke of Beaufort’s reputation wasn’t one of strength—unlike his imposing friends.

However, if she could delay, Nora would send the Duke of Roxburghe, and he would trounce Mr. Curtis.

“When did you become engaged?” asked Mr. Curtis, his head tilting.

“Prior to the arrival of Mr. Hollingsworth,” Winifred replied, keeping her breathing steady as she held his gaze. “The announcement was to be held until the last day of the week, so as not to detract from the celebration of my sister’s engagement.”

“And the Duke of Beaufort not only possesses the sum, but he will also pay that much for your release?” Mr. Curtis’ eyes shone.

“He loves me.”

Leaning closer, Mr. Curtis sniffed her, then chuckled. “He’s had relations with you.”

Winifred’s mouth popped open. “How would you know that?”

“You wouldn’t be as confident in his affections otherwise.”

She wasn’t. What she was certain of was Nora’s tenacity.

“How would you propose we convince the Duke of Beaufort of the necessity of a second payment?” Mr. Curtis walked behind the chair, trailing his fingers over Winifred’s shoulders.

“Send another missive.” She struggled not to shudder as he wove his hand into her hair.

“Thank the Duke of Roxburghe for his payment and advise him that his fiancée is already in his care. Then, address the Duke of Beaufort and explain that you have discovered something of his in your possession that you would be happy to return for fifty thousand pounds.”

“Interesting suggestion,” said Mr. Curtis, releasing her hair and continuing his circle around the chair. “And where would you propose I meet the Duke of Beaufort?”

“I suppose my mother’s drawing room isn’t a suitable location?”

“Not unless you intend Mr. Hollingsworth’s body to participate.” The corner of Mr. Curtis’ mouth lifted when Winifred gasped. “Have you a different suggestion?”

“A coat exchange.” Winifred chewed on her lower lip. “If you directed the Duke of Beaufort to place the money in a greatcoat and then leave that coat at a specific, public location. You could retrieve the coat without too much suspicion and leave one with the address of my whereabouts.”

An address the Duke of Beaufort and his friends would have prior to the delivery of this third missive, as long as the Duke of Beaufort arrived at his residence before the letter.

Mr. Curtis stroked his chin. “You’ve quite an intelligent mind, Miss Fernsby-Webb. I understand why Mr. Hollingsworth was enamored with you.”

After a long moment, he held out his hand, as though intending to shake Winifred’s, then he giggled and pumped his arm, shaking the empty air. “I’ll accept your proposal and allow you to live a while longer. Would you wait here while I retrieve some parchment and ink from downstairs?”

Laughing, Mr. Curtis descended the attic steps. He stopped on the second-floor landing for a minute, then continued downward, his heavy, plodding footfall fading as he wandered down the corridor toward the rear of the house.

“Silas,” Winifred hissed when she could no longer discern Mr. Curtis’ movements. “Are you still here?”

Heart hammering, Winifred tipped her head toward the doorway, straining to pick up any indication that the Duke of Beaufort was inside the house. She didn’t expect a reply, and yet, with each passing second, another wave of despondency settled in her chest.

Had he chosen the most prudent path and departed in search of reinforcements?

“If you can hear me, I’ve changed my mind.” One tear leaked from her eye and slid down her cheek. “I don’t want to die without marrying the man who loves me… without marrying you.”

Footsteps echoed on the main staircase.

Clamping her mouth shut, Winifred shifted in the chair, feigning as though she’d spent her time occupied with discomfort as Mr. Curtis’ feet pounded up the attic steps.

A moment later, he entered, clutching a piece of parchment and a quill set, similar to the one Winifred discovered in the chest. Squatting near the doorway, Mr. Curtis spread out the parchment, securing the top to the floor with the quill set box and the bottom portion with his knee.

After opening the box, he selected a quill, dipped the tip into the ink, then lifted his dark eyes to Winifred. “Do you think it best to address both dukes together or separately?”

“Separately,” Winifred replied, her mind racing through methods to further delay Mr. Curtis. “However…”

“However?” Lifting the quill from the parchment, Mr. Curtis glowered at her.