Page 39 of Only a Duke (Ladies Who Dare #6)

L ouisa sighed—again—drawing another look from their cook.

“This can’t go on, dearie,” Cook said. “What ails you to darken my kitchen with all these sighs?”

Louisa sighed again. “Would you rather have me cry?” It was one or the other, and she wasn’t in the mood to cry. If she started, she didn’t think she would ever be able to stop, which she couldn’t understand either.

She had no reason to cry. She ought to be happy. Everything had worked out in the end. It was over. No regrets. And she would never have to worry about Camilla again. That alone should have had her waltzing around the halls.

It must be the tiredness.

Or her father’s shocking revelation about her kidnapping.

She’d retired to her chamber immediately after everything that had transpired in the duchess’s.

She hadn’t wanted to think about any of it.

But she couldn’t shut her eyes long enough to sleep.

The moment she lowered her eyelids, flashes of ten years ago would return.

Laughter. Raindrops. A hard mattress.

Oliver’s family had kidnapped her. Was he the one who had snatched her away from her family? Was he one of the reasons nightmares plagued her slumber? These were the thoughts that tortured her.

Not knowing the answer was so vexing!

“I’d rather you smile, dearie,” Cook waved a spoon at her cup. “And drink your milk. You’ve been staring at it so long that it must have turned to ice.”

Louisa would rather smile as well.

Her lips just . . . wouldn’t.

That dreadful “It’s true” kept ringing in her head.

“I should have asked him,” she muttered to herself, but the duke had left so quickly in the wake of his admission. He hadn’t even given her time to process!

And he had known the truth from the very start and said nothing. Had he perhaps presumed that she already knew but didn’t care, or had he suspected she’d been left in the dark, and decided to keep her there?

This was what she loathed about the male species in general. They made up their minds entirely on their own about what was best for their female counterparts and what was not. It was so blasted infuriating.

She slammed her hand on the table. A maid who just entered the kitchen leaped nearly a foot in their air. “By Jove, that man will drive me to Bedlam.”

Cook merely raised a brow. “Who are you speaking of, dearie?”

“Oh,” Leo’s voice came from behind the maid who had entered. “She fancies our previous gardener, turned footman, turned Bow Street officer, turned Duke of Mortimer, family enemy.”

Louisa shot him a glare. “Thank you for the recounting, brat.”

“Ah, I see,” Cook said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“What do you see?” Louisa asked, pulling a face. “Because I can’t see anything from where I am seated.”

“That’s because you chose the wrong seat,” the older woman replied matter-of-factly.

Louisa folded her arms. “You know about the family feud?”

Cook turned back to her work with a sniff. “I know both heads of the two families were as stubborn as mules, and before they were enemies, they were the closest of friends.”

Louisa sat up straighter. “Really? I cannot imagine it.”

Leo dropped into a seat beside her, his expression skeptical. “Me neither.”

Hah! What did this brat know? Still, she had to admit it was a pleasant change to see that his definition of “following her” had shifted from spying to simply... joining.

Cook rummaged on a rack and pulled out a large pot. “The two dukes fought over one woman—your mother.”

“Our mother?’ Leo asked with interest.

Louisa barely had time to process the revelation before an image took shape in her mind. “She chose my father.”

Cook nodded. “Correct.”

“Is that how the feud started?” Louisa asked, incredulous. Over a woman?

“Oh, there is a bit more to the story than that, dearie,” Cook said, filling the pot with water. “Your mother was the other duke’s betrothed. I believe your mother and father eloped back then.”

Louisa’s jaw slackened. Oh. “Oh, so the Duke of Mortimer was angered by them both...”

Leo scoffed. “This is why I have no time for women.”

Louisa shot him a flat look. She sensed the influence of a particular male. “Just what did you and Mr. Helgate talk about?”

“Oh, many things,” Leo said lightly.

“Not going to say, are you?”

He lifted his chin. “It was a conversation amongst men.”

“Right.” Why did she even ask?

Cook chuckled, shaking her head. “It good not to be interested in these things at young master Leo’s age.”

But Leo wasn’t finished. He turned to Louisa, asking, “Are you going to defy father for your gardener?”

Her heart gave a traitorous lurch, so sudden and forceful that she almost pressed a hand to her chest. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you slept with him.”

The simple answer knocked the breath from Louisa. She coughed, and she nearly choked on air almost at the same moment Cook dropped the spoon.

Leo! You and your tactless tongue!

Heat rushed up her neck, her gaze darting between the wide-eyed maid, the shocked Cook, and her infuriating brother. “What are you talking about?” Did he know what they had done in the carriage? Had he overheard something?

He looked at her funnily. “I saw you—in the morning at Mr. Helgate’s cottage. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, that .” Relief came swiftly, as did a fresh wave of mortification.

She waved her hands at him, Cook, and the maid, who still looked as if she’d been struck by lightning.

“He fell asleep beside me. It’s not what it sounds like.

” But then, was falling asleep beside her—after traveling for days with no chaperone—really any better in the eyes of others?

Cook cleared her throat before swiftly scooping up the spoon from the ground, moving to rinse the utensil, and changing the topic. “I heard the duchess was confined to her bedchamber and half the servants were let go.”

Ah, yes. Her father hadn’t wasted any time in handling matters. And Louisa seized the change of subject with both hands, “Papa and that woman are leaving for London soon. I’m afraid some rumors might start soon about our family and the duchess.”

“Never mind that, dearie,” Cook said, shaking droplets from the spoon, “so long as you and your brother are all right.”

“I believe we shall be,” Louisa murmured.

“Me too,” Leo said, nodding. “I never liked her to begin with.”

Loui’s brows lifted. “You didn’t? This is the first time I’m hearing this.”

Her brother shrugged. “You never asked me.”

“Well, I never liked her either. I wonder what Papa saw in her.” She smiled at her brother, warmth creeping into her heart. “But thank you for taking my side.”

“Of course,” Leo said, eyes bright. “You are my family.”

Louisa cocked her head, studying the child. “Papa is your family as well.” In fact, he was the head of the family!

“Yes, but you are closer to my age than him.”

A loss. She stared at Leo at a complete loss. This boy’s reasoning truly stumped her at times! Before she could formulate a response, a voice cut through the air.

“Ah, my lady! There you are!”

Louisa turned her head to find Tabitha, one of the chambermaids, hurrying toward her, a folded piece of parchment clutched in her hand. “A letter just arrived for you.”

Louisa’s stomach twisted. “Oh? A letter for me?”

She took the parchment from Tabitha. Her fingers brushed against the wax seal—no crest, no initials.

Who could it be from? A face suddenly swam in her vision.

A cold face with a warm freckle beneath his eye.

Could it be from Oliver? If this was the duke, the man certainly had mettle, sending her a letter with her father still in residence.

She broke the seal and unfolded the paper, and her eyes widened at the bold sentence scrawled there.

She blinked and then scowled.

What on earth did this mean?

*

Oliver had made few rash decisions in his life. In fact, he could only recall one: saving Lady Louisa that day when he’d discovered his father had ordered her kidnapping and she was being held in the cottage he considered his refuge.

Determination welled in his being. And he knew it wouldn’t let go until he had completed his mission. Her look of horror surfaced in his mind again, and he pushed it aside. Not the time. Not the place. Not with the task that lay before him.

But he couldn’t rid himself of it completely. He could shove it from his mind, but he couldn’t drag it from his heart or yank it from his bones. And a memory without bounds would turn into a nightmare with no end.

Oliver stood at the base of the imposing mansion, its dark silhouette grim against the moonlit sky as he stared up at the wall he needed to scale.

His chest tightened with the force of his racing heart, determination and trepidation colliding in his veins.

Would she be there? Would she be waiting for him?

Or would she have a servant waiting for him?

Or worse, her father. He shook his head, dismissing the doubts.

He had to try.

If he didn’t, he would regret it for the rest of his life, and he still wanted to live a long one. He had no desire to become the kind of man who stared out of windows, penning tragic poetry about lost chances.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the devil murmured at his shoulder, so damn close that Oliver nearly shuddered. “I didn’t mean to encourage you to this extent.”

He cast Helgate a flat look and pressed a finger to the man’s shoulder to add some distance. “You cannot take it back the moment before it happens.”

“Right, but looking at this wall... I fear for your life.”

“That is why I brought you long,” He unfastened his cloak and handed it over. “If I fall, you can catch me.”

Helgate snorted and took the garment, shaking it out before draping it over his shoulder. “The things you say with that cold face.”

Oliver arched a brow. “Afraid you can’t catch me? And here I thought you considered yourself a man of impeccable skill.”

“I am, which is precisely why I intend to remain standing. So don’t expect miracles if you fall.”