Page 54 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“Yes,” she replied, laughing as he leaped to his feet and lifted her, swinging her in a wide circle. “I’ve never met someone so joyful to lose ten thousand pounds.”
“I would pay any sum to spend a day in your company,” he said, setting her back on the floor and weaving his hand through hers. “May I tempt you with an afternoon of scandal?”
Winifred sank her teeth into her lower lip and glanced at the staircase, her mind warring between selfishness and responsibility.
“Tell me,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“After the sacrifices you’ve made, I don’t want to anger you,” she replied, her gaze sliding to his mesmeric green eyes.
“You want to see your sister?” His flat tone gave no indication of his mindset.
Digging her teeth deeper into her lip, Winifred nodded.
“Then, we shall do so immediately.” Cupping her face, he leaned forward, bringing his nose within an inch of hers. “Never be fearful of sharing your desires with me.”
“Even when they do not agree with yours?” she asked, unable to look away from his intense gaze.
“Especially when they don’t.” He brushed his mouth across hers, igniting the embers smoldering in her veins, then pulled away, leaving her aflame and craving his touch.
“Remain inside Miss Braddock’s house while I send a messenger to the parish constable to investigate your mother’s house.
Then I’ll secure a hackney coach to return you to your sister. ”
“Where is your coach?” She frowned as they strolled to the front door.
“I rode with Roxburghe.” The Duke of Beaufort’s odd inflection at the name caused Winifred to stop walking.
“Where is the Duke of Roxburghe?” she asked, tightening her hold on the Duke of Beaufort’s arm and preventing him from opening the door.
“I’m not certain,” he said, his face contorting. “After Mr. Hollingsworth attacked Roxburghe outside the gaming hall and ran off with the money, I instructed Mr. Dunn to return his master to my residence, where Doctor Barnes could treat the wounds.”
“How brave of the two of you to come alone.”
“Grisham and Mr. Braddock were inside the gaming hall,” replied the Duke of Beaufort with a grimace. “Neither man witnessed the attack on Roxburghe nor my chase of Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Are they still waiting there?” Winifred’s voice spiked. “You must release them from their obligation!”
The Duke of Beaufort wrapped his arms around her, his intimate proximity silencing the rapid thoughts tumbling through her brain.
“I will send a missive to the gaming hall as well,” he said and dipped his head, pausing less than a millimeter from her lips. “We won’t have any solitude when you return… Do you swear to visit your fiancé this evening in his bedchamber?”
“This evening and every other until the end of our days,” she replied, leaning forward and kissing him.
His arms tightened, molding her body against his, and he backed her against the wall, his hard length grinding into her abdomen.
“If I don’t leave now,” he growled against her mouth, “we won’t depart this house for some time.”
“How long?” she panted, her eyes closing as his lips nibbled along her jawline.
“The morrow.” He lifted her, winding her legs around his waist, and pinned her against the wall with his hips. “Possibly the day after that.”
“And if I prefer your bed over the one upstairs?”
He grinned. “One week.”
“I will hold you to that promise, Your Grace,” she replied as he slowly lowered her to the floor.
“I shall only be a few moments,” he said, his fingers closing around the door handle.
He exited before Winifred could ask if she should lock the door, a question she debated for several minutes before giving in to her fear and fastening the door.
It wasn’t that she expected Mr. Curtis and Mr. Hollingsworth to burst into the house and abduct her a second time—logically, since both men were dead, that situation wouldn’t occur—but her mind refused to release the possibility of a second attack.
So, she darted forward, secured the door, and peered through the green section of an ornate stained-glass window at the Duke of Beaufort’s shrinking back.
After he turned the corner and vanished, Winifred held her sentry position for several long minutes, her gaze darting back and forth across the green-tinged snowy landscape.
A creak echoed softly through the house, sending a shudder rippling through her body. Steeling herself, she peeled her face away from the stained-glass and glanced over her shoulder.
“Hello?” she said, cringing as her voice cracked.
She spun around and took a step toward the staircase, her narrowed eyes inspecting the lengthening shadows. “Is anyone there?”
The door rattled, and she screamed.
“Miss Fernsby-Webb?” The Duke of Beaufort’s panic leaked into the foyer, and he shook the locked door with such force, Winifred feared he would break the wood. “Is everything alright?”
Diving toward the lock, she unlatched the door, flung it open, and jumped into his unexpecting arms.
“Did something happen?” he asked, balancing her weight and peering into the house.
“I heard something,” she replied as a light blush crept into her face. “And though I knew Mr. Curtis was deceased, I feared…”
She swallowed and glanced away.
“You feared his ghost had followed you?” The Duke of Beaufort tugged her face back. “While that would make an argument for never returning to your mother’s house based upon her potential new spiritual guests, I’ve not heard of a ghost attaching itself to a person.”
He shifted his hold on her, then pulled Miss Braddock’s front door closed and grinned. “If that were the case, your sister would also have her own personal specter.”
Winifred laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “The Duke of Roxburghe would never allow it.”
“And neither will I.” The Duke of Beaufort brushed a soft kiss across her mouth, then strode through the garden toward a waiting hackney coach.
He deposited Winifred inside the warm cabin, spread a heavy blanket over her legs, then closed the door and held an animated conversation with the coachman before reopening the door and joining her.
After sinking onto the bench beside her, the Duke of Beaufort wrapped his arm around her and drew her against his side. He touched his mouth to her temple and sighed as the coach jerked forward.
“If you would prefer,” Winifred twisted toward him, “we can wait to announce our engagement until after the season ends.”
“I would not prefer,” he replied, his clipped tone causing Winifred’s stomach to knot. “I almost lost you to Mr. Curtis’ hand today without ever having confessed my softness for you.”
“You have expressed your sentiments,” she said, intertwining her fingers with his and squeezing.
“Not fully or you wouldn’t question my decision to lose this ridiculous wager.
” He brought her hand to his mouth. “Juliette will not forgive me if I allow you to slip away, nor would I forgive myself. Therefore, unless you have an objection for reasons unknown, I’m announcing our engagement upon our return. ”
“I have no objection.” Winifred leaned her head against the Duke of Beaufort’s chest, soothed by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Did Miss Juliette truly say she would not forgive you?”
When he didn’t respond, Winifred lifted her head, catching a twitch of amusement that pulled the corner of his mouth into a half-grin.
He glanced down, his eyes twinkling. “Juliette—rather creatively—threatened to never speak to me again, yet to follow me around like a ghost and haunt me.”
Winifred’s mouth popped open. “Who gave her that suggestion?”
“Roxburghe, I suspect.” The Duke of Beaufort leaned closer. “And I will make him suffer for that. However, at this moment, I need to convince my fiancée that I love her.”
He pressed his mouth to hers and dragged her onto his lap, splitting her legs so she straddled him. His hands slipped between the greatcoat and her tattered chemise, scattering goosebumps across her skin as his fingers skimmed over her spine.
She rocked her hips forward, grinding herself against his trousers and drawing a guttural groan from him. His tongue thrusting past her lips, he slid his hands down to her butt and clenched, guiding her body into a rapid tempo against his hardening member.
Neither of them noticed that the coach stopped.
As the door ripped open, a gasp whipped into the cabin. Winifred turned. Standing in the snow, their faces highlighted by the setting sun, were her mother and Nora, each wearing a similar expression of shock.