Page 28 of The Duke of Swords (The Highwaymen #4)

RUTCHESTER HAD GONE back to his room at the inn sometime the night before in the wee hours of the morning.

He’d found the place ransacked. He hadn’t brought much with him, for he’d come here on horseback.

He had only one change of clothing he’d brought in his saddle bags and he’d had a coin purse on him when he’d been attacked, but he had left some other coin behind in the room.

It was gone, and his clothing had been ruined.

His horse was still in the stables, however, and he took the beast along with him when he went to seek Rae and wait for her.

Now, he said that they must ride off on horseback for now.

He had an estate in Derbyshire that they could make for.

There, they could get provisions, a carriage, more coin, and all that they needed to make the rest of the journey to Scotland.

It would be a long journey there, however.

He had enough coin for one night in an inn, but probably not for two, and he thought it would take two nights.

She proposed they go back to London. It was the opposite direction of Scotland, but they could be there in time for dinner. He had a house there, money there, provisions there, and they could see if the other dukes were still in town.

“My father just told me to leave the house and that I wasn’t his daughter anymore, that I was a demoness,” she said. “Maybe he won’t say anything when the banns are read after all.”

Rutchester eyed her. “You’re quite set on having the banns read, aren’t you?”

“And you seem quite set about eloping,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I want to be married to you right away,” he said. He tapped his chin. “I suppose I could try to get a special license.”

“You are a duke,” she said.

“I am,” he said. “All right, London it is, but there’s one thing I shall have to insist upon. Since your father has become downright murderous and strange, I need you under my roof, even if we aren’t married. I won’t be able to sleep else. I should be far too worried if you weren’t close.”

She smiled at him. “I suppose I can acquiesce to that.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s get you a horse.”

“YOU DID WHAT ?” said Rutchester, coming into the front entryway of his London town house with Rae in tow. The two were tired and dirty from the road, and what they both wanted was a long soak in a hot bath, followed by dinner in their rooms—no dressing for anything formal tonight—and rest.

He was trying to convince himself that he should keep his hands off of her tonight. That was the right thing to do. Whether he’d be capable of the right thing or not was another question altogether.

The butler cringed, but then all of Rutchester’s servants tended to cringe when they spoke to him.

He had never struck a servant, but he threw things at their heads sometimes.

He always missed, but they were still frightened of him.

His outbursts were difficult to take, he knew.

The butler cleared his throat. “W-well, you see, you had said that we should always admit the Marquis de Fateux, and we assumed this might also extend to his wife.”

“But she is staying here overnight?” said Rutchester. “As a guest? When I am not at home?”

The butler bowed his head, waiting for Rutchester to yell or break something, undoubtedly.

Rutchester was tired, but he wasn’t that angry. He sighed. “How about this? Fetch her to the downstairs sitting room, and I shall speak to her. Take Miss Smith upstairs to the room at the far end of the steps, the duchess suite, and make sure she has a bath drawn—”

“Wait,” said Rae. “May I not speak to the marchioness with you?”

He turned to her. “Why?”

“Well, last I spoke to her, she wished to use me against you to force your hand. I don’t want that to happen again. I shan’t let you do things like that, ruin yourself for me.”

“What I do to ruin myself is my own business,” he said.

“If we are going to be married, you are now my business,” she said.

He eyed her. “Fine,” he muttered. He found he could not quite argue with that. He turned to the butler. “Bring us some sort of refreshments to the sitting room, if you please.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” said the butler.

About a quarter hour later, Rutchester and Rae were seated together in the sitting room, both eating scones and clotted cream when the Marchioness de Fateux entered the room.

“Finally,” she said. “You’re back here.”

“How long have you been staying in my house?” he said to her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be staying here if I could stay in my husband’s estate, the one just outside of London? That one? I could stay there if it were known that I was a widow.”

“I think it is known,” said Rutchester, putting more clotted cream on his scone. “No one has seen him in months, Seraphine—may I call you that, by the way?”

Seraphine rolled her eyes. “You’ll do as you like, I suppose. All men do.”

Rae spoke up. “You wish my husband-to-be to admit to murdering your husband?”

“Yes, I really can’t get to it right away,” said Rutchester.

“You can’t get to it at all,” said Rae.

“You’re getting married,” said Seraphine.

She sighed. “Well, all right, I’ll wait until you’re a duchess, if that’s what matters to you, Miss Smith.

But once you’re secure, I wish to also be secure, Rutchester.

And if you won’t do it, I shall reveal what you did to your father, indeed to all of the duke’s fathers. ”

Rutchester groaned. “Oh, God help me, Seraphine, you are just Champeraigne come back to life, are you not?”

“I did love him,” said Seraphine. “You took him from me.”

“Why do you care?” said Rutchester.

“What do you mean, why do I care?” said Seraphine. “That estate is mine, and I want it.”

“Yes, but you have at least ten lovers,” said Rutchester. “You could be staying, even now, with any one of them.”

“I don’t wish to be reliant on my lovers,” said Seraphine.

“I wish to have my own estate. There are a number of things that are very lovely about being a widow, you know, and you are denying them all to me by hiding my late husband’s body.

” She sighed again. “All right, well, as it happens, I’m quite tired. ”

“Why are you here?” said Rutchester, shaking his head. “Why are you not with your lovers?”

Seraphine yawned, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Oh, Lord, you’re with child, aren’t you?” said Rutchester.

Seraphine sat up straight. “How have you guessed that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” said Rutchester witheringly.

“Everyone knows there is nothing more hated to you than the idea of being tied down to a man who dictates your behavior. You always strove for freedom first and foremost. So, if some man got you with child, the first thing you’d do is to get away from him. ”

Seraphine sank back into the couch she was seated on, yawning again.

“Actually, I thought you had some means of ending a pregnancy,” said Rutchester. “Arthford always said you did.”

“No, it didn’t work,” she muttered. “And I thought it would simply die on its own. I am four and forty, after all. I’m far too old.

But it’s rather tenacious, and now I’ve become a bit attached.

” She put her hand to her belly. “I want it now, I’m afraid.

And you’re right, it’s a bit of a problem to the men who are my lovers. ”

“Because,” said Rutchester, “you don’t know whose it is.”

Seraphine sighed.

Rae tilted her head to one side. “But you’re married to Fateux, so the child is legitimate and legally is his.”

“Yes, and even if he’s dead,” said Seraphine, “the child would still inherit. If it’s a boy child, I have a little marquis in my belly, after all. That’s not nothing. I just need him to be dead, so that I can be his widow. It’s much better that way.”

“Right,” said Rae.

“There’s no reason we should help you,” said Rutchester blandly.

“Well,” said Rae, “who says he has to have been murdered?”

Both Rutchester and Seraphine turned to look at her.

“I suppose, wherever you left Fateux,” said Rae, “he has not been discovered, and it has been some time. What is left of the body at this point, anyway?”

Rutchester nodded slowly. “It’s true, burying a body tends to do a good bit to preserve it. His not being buried would mean he’d been, erm, scavenged.” He glanced at Seraphine.

But Seraphine was sanguine about this discussion of her late husband’s remains. “Right, so you’re saying we could discover him, and we could simply assume he’d… had an accident.” She shrugged, smiling.

Rutchester rubbed his chin. “I don’t know about what happens to bodies left that long in the elements. If he’s quite, erm, decomposed, yes, perhaps, but the way I left him, I doubt it looked… accidental. At the very least, the clothes would show evidence of the, erm…” His voice lowered. “Stabbing.”

Seraphine’s smile widened. “I hope he screamed.”

Rutchester didn’t say anything.

Rae wasn’t looking at him.

“Well?” said Seraphine. “Did he?”

“I don’t remember,” said Rutchester. “It’s all a bit of a blur. I was angry.”

Seraphine laughed, shaking her head at him.

“It’s been months,” said Rae. She lifted her head, looking determined. “If a person is murdered, it is up to the people who care about him to press that the matter be looked into, is it not? If Seraphine never asks for any kind of inquest, no one will demand any kind of justice, will they?”

“I can promise not to do that,” said Seraphine brightly.

Rutchester supposed that someone could have said something by now about Fateux.

But no one had. None of the men he did business with had demanded anyone search for him.

No one had been clamoring about for anything to be done or claiming Fateux had met with foul play.

Whether that was simply because no one liked Fateux and they were all happy to be shut of him and their debts to him, or because they knew that Rutchester had likely done it and they were all frightened of Rutchester, he couldn’t say. But it was advantageous, regardless.