Page 2 of The Duke’s Price (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #18)

2

O h my. Oh my. That kiss!

Ruth had decided long ago she must be cold by nature. After Anne married the Earl of Chirbury, she had accompanied the lady and her sister Kitty through one long Season in London, bending to Anne’s insistence that they were sisters in everything but blood, and she should have the same opportunities as Kitty. Ruth had never met a man who stirred her enough to tempt her to try kissing or even holding hands.

Not that she would ever have done more than that outside of marriage, for she was a virtuous woman, whose most precious possessions were the prayer book her father had given her at her confirmation and the bible that had been her mother’s.

After she had insisted on leaving the Chirbury household to go back to teaching, she had had opportunities, but not temptations. She had not enjoyed the embraces of those who thought a governess was theirs for the taking. They never tried twice. Not only had Ruth been taught exactly where to hit a man to dissuade him, the powerful Redepenning clan counted her as one of their own.

The only matron who had decided to believe Ruth was the aggressor in a grapple with the woman’s husband was disabused of the notion by the visit of a duchess, two countesses, and two viscountesses. At the same time, the assailant had to deal with the ladies’ husbands.

Ruth resigned from the position and was given a glowing reference, and somehow word got around that, when Miss Henwood said ‘no’, a wise man listened.

‘No’ had not been the word on Ruth’s mind when she was kissing the wicked duke. ‘More’ might have encompassed her feelings better, though—and she could be honest, if only with herself—no word at all had crossed her mind.

She was definitely not cold where the Duke of Richport was concerned.

Which led to the inescapable conclusion that the duke’s price was going to be high, indeed. Not her virginity. Ruth was thirty-five, and was unlikely to ever need the commodity, so she was not concerned about that.

She did expect to suffer for committing a sin—she had long observed the more casual morals of the ton , but underneath it all, she was still a vicar’s daughter. She had thought she would be able to console herself that her participation was unwilling, but that kiss had disabused her of the notion. He had the power to make her body, at least, follow where he led, and her promise to let him have his way with her meant she had handed over her only defence—a refusal to participate at all.

She was old enough, though, to understand that many women gave their hearts to unsuitable men, simply because they had first given their bodies. “The Duke of Richport has no interest in your heart, Ruth. Indeed, I imagine he is only interested in your body because you are English, and he is homesick. And because his friend has made you a dishonourable offer, and men are competitive.”

As long as she continued to tell herself that, she should be able to protect her heart from too much damage. And truly, she could see no other course with a better, or even equal, chance of success.

He had already, with his suggestions, proved to be a capable co-conspirator, and he was correct that she and Bella would be much safer with him as their escort than as two females on their own.

They did not have much time to lay their plans and put them into practice. She returned to the suite of rooms she shared with Bella. She could see light under her pupil’s door. Good. The girl was still awake, probably reading. Ruth knocked.

“Miss Henwood,” Bella said, when she opened the door. She looked a little wary. She probably expected Miss Henwood to remind her how late it was, and a year ago, she would have been right.

Ruth looked over the princess’s shoulder to scan the room. Bella’s maid was nowhere in sight, but even so, Ruth lowered her voice and spoke in English, which few of the servants in the castle understood. “We need to talk about escape, my dear. May I come in?”

Bella nodded even as she stepped out of the way.

“Can we escape, Miss Henwood? How?”

“The Duke of Richport has agreed to help us,” Ruth said. “He will meet us at La Camino del Lobo in four days, and will escort us to England. We need to get word to Madre Katerina.”

“Must I leave?” Bella asked. “I do not want to abandon my people to Uncle Carlos.”

“You are not abandoning them, darling girl,” Ruth reassured her. “Your horrid uncle will allow you no part in running the country, and until you reach your majority, you can do nothing to counter his orders. Furthermore, he will marry you, by force if necessary, and then he will expect you to obey him, even after you are twenty-one.”

Should she tell Bella what she suspected? Yes. The girl was of marriageable age and an important political token. She deserved all the information so she could protect herself. “The duque intends to bed you as soon as you are married. He wants several possible heirs before you are old enough to be a threat to him.”

It was a measure of the duque that Bella leapt immediately to the same conclusion as Ruth. “He will kill me when he has another… what is the English word? Another statue? Another bust, is it? To put on the throne of my dear Las Estrellas.”

Bella’s English was excellent. It was a measure of her distress that she struggled to recall the correct word.

“Figurehead,” Ruth said. “And yes, that is what I fear.”

Bella was silent as she considered, then she looked up, her eyes blazing and her jaw set. “Then I must run, and my people will know that I am safe, and will endure until I return. Why does the English duke help us? He is another such as my uncle, is he not?”

“He is not, I think, a bully.” Ruth didn’t want to give Richport too much credit, however. “Proud and fond of giving orders, but he is a duke, after all.”

“And has much experience with women, I think,” said Bella, knowingly.

“He says only willing women.”

Bella’s curled lip expressed her opinion. “So, I expect, does my uncle. What does Richport want, Miss Henwood? Me?”

Again, Ruth had a quick debate with herself about how much to tell Bella, but the girl would be travelling with them, after all. “Me,” she said. “He wants me to be his lover, Bella.”

After some more thought, Bella asked, “Have you ever had a lover, Miss Henwood?”

“No, I have not.”

Bella’s response was unexpected. “I think the duke would be a good one. I do not think the same of my uncle. The duke may be a—how do you say it? Some sort of garden implement?”

Not a word they had had occasion to cover in their lessons. Ruth wondered where Bella had heard it. “A rake. It means a womaniser.”

“Yes. A rake, though why… But never mind. The duke may be a rake, but he treats you and me with respect even when others are not watching, and the servants like him. One can tell a lot about a man by what the servants see, for people do not bother to pretend in front of the servants.”

“Yes,” Ruth said. “I agree that the duke is a better man, in some ways, than your uncle. He has promised to see us safely to England, and he claims to always keep his promises.”

“Then it remains only to ask if you want to be the duke’s lover. For if you do, then I think we should let him help us. You will gain a good lover, and we shall both escape my uncle.”

Ruth blinked while she absorbed this pragmatic view of things.

“It is simpler than you think, Bella,” she said. “Either way, I am going to give my reputation away to someone. My choice is whether to submit to your uncle and see you forced by him as well, or run away with you and Richport, in the hope that I can get you safely to England. And yes, while I do not entirely trust Richport, I trust your uncle even less.”

“It is not as bad as you think, becoming Richport’s lover,” Bella said. “Only you, the duke, and I will know for certain, so you need not fear a loss of reputation. Virtue, yes, but as you say, keeping that is not one of your choices.”

“You are right,” Ruth replied, struck once again by Bella’s pragmatism.

“Well then,” said Bella. “I shall plan a retreat.” She grinned. “I shall tell my uncle that I need a time of prayer to prepare myself spiritually to be a good wife. Shall we compose a letter to the good mother?”

It took them nearly an hour to find the words that would convey what was needed to Madre Katerina.

Ruth had been Bella’s governess for four years, and was so used to the Spanish dialect used in the principality of Las Estrellas that she dreamed in it. Nonetheless, for purposes such as this, English was better. Madre Katerina was familiar enough with the language to make the translation, and Don Sombras, God rot him, could probably make a fist of it, though much good it would do him, since it was in code. But otherwise, the only person likely to be able to read the note was the Duke of Richport, who in this case, did not matter.

To the most excellent Mother Catherine

I trust this epistle finds you well. I am myself in some perturbation of soul, good mother. I am to be wed to my good guardian, the Duque de la Sombras. It is the best thing for my land and my people, but I am yet a child, and had selfishly hoped for a handsome young man. Yes, I know you will tell me that I must do my duty, and indeed, I wish to obey wiser heads than my own.

Dear mother, may I come and spend some time in prayer and fasting in the convent? With your counsel, I am confident that my thoughts will soon turn in a more humble and feminine direction.

I would wish to come to you on Friday, in the afternoon and descend into the Chapel of Our Mother the Star of the Mountains. How wonderful to stay there for Saturday, offering prayers to the Holy Virgin who is our great example of doing the will of God. I would be happy to welcome as many of the nuns as wish to make the retreat, and together we shall ascend to new heights of humility and obedience.

The castle will expect me back after Mass on Sunday, in a better frame of mind.

Miss Henwood will come with me, sharing this journey of a soul, for she, too, faces a great change in her circumstances.

With great affection and respect.

Isabella Estrellas.

I am in trouble , the note meant. Sombras is trying to force a marriage against my will. Allow me to use the tunnels from the chapel in the basement to escape the city and make our way into the mountains. You and the nuns should probably come with me, for by Sunday, Sombras will know we have escaped.

“There,” said Ruth. “In the morning, send that note. I suggest we inform your uncle during the afternoon audience, when as many people as possible are there to hear you.

Perry decided that refusing the wolf hunt the following morning would have two benefits. First, he would avoid a cold wet ride up and down mountains in pursuit of an animal he didn’t want to kill. Second, it would annoy Carlos, and thus set the scene for Perry’s planned departure.

As it turned out, he’d already achieved the second goal, as he discovered when he sought Carlos out immediately after leaving the chambers that had been assigned to him.

The man was down in the stables, giving orders for horses to be saddled and minions to be sent to drive the wolves toward the hunters.

He greeted Perry’s cheerful good morning with a frown and a grunt.

“I must make my excuses,” Perry said. “I would prefer not to go hunting.”

“You have other game in mind?” Carlos asked, his tone clipped and his brows drawn together in a frown. “I heard you were hunting my governess on the battlements last night.”

Ah! They had been observed, then. Perry should have guessed that Carlos was having Miss Henwood watched.

The key to being irritating but not dangerously so was to keep it light. Perry had been in five duels in his early twenties, before he got the balance right, and only one since. “I tried my hand,” he admitted cheerfully. “Sadly, your governess was not interested, even when I offered to take her with me when I leave.”

“Oh? I am reliably informed that you kissed her,” growled Carlos. “That sounds interested to me.”

Perry chuckled. “I wish! She is a delectable piece, Carlos, but I wish you well at warming her up! She told me the mattress dance is of no interest to her, and I suggested a kiss as proof that I could change her mind.” He shrugged, and infused his voice with wry amusement. “Apparently, I was insufficiently convincing. She tells me she is all but promised to your good self.”

That prompted a smile from Carlos. “What? The great lover was rejected? I should have liked to see that.”

“Unkind, my friend,” Perry said, all mock indignation.

Carlos relaxed as he swallowed the tripe. People were very predictable. Humour, particularly self-deprecating humour, was a tried-and-true recipe for convincing people that one was being honest.

As if a man couldn’t be lying in his teeth when he was laughing at himself.

“Then come and hunt wolves with me.”

“I have in mind to pack instead,” Perry explained. “Rather than watch you succeed with both governess and pupil, I shall take up my travels again.” This time, he tried for mournful, and succeeded in so far as Carlos laughed out loud.

“If you must,” he said. None of the polite remonstrances Perry had expected to have to deflect. Undoubtedly, Carlo wanted a potential rival out of the principality before Miss Henwood had second thoughts.

“Pack, then, my friend,” Carlos said. “I shall go out with the hunters for a few hours. I will not be going far. It is the weekly audience this afternoon. I would not wish to disappoint my people.”

Carlos did not want to disappoint himself. The weekly audience was an opportunity for him to dress in his fanciest uniform and sit on a throne-like chair dispensing justice and favours in the castle’s grand hall.

“I’ll come to the audience and watch, shall I?” Perry suggested, and Carlos invited him to please himself.

Perry returned to his chambers and spent some time making plans with his valet and writing notes. He then sent out two of his couriers. There. Once he was out of Las Estrellas, all would be ready for him and for his people.

A walk around the castle failed to satisfy, as he saw neither Miss Henwood nor the princess. He repaired to the castle’s excellent library, chose a book to take back to his chambers, and spent a couple of pleasant hours reading.

The hunt returned triumphant. From his window, Perry could see that they’d caught and killed two of the wolves that were apparently haunting the near slopes of the mountains, poor foolish creatures. Carlos might be a cad and a potential tyrant, but he was an excellent leader of men, as successful in the hunt as he had been in the mountain war of attrition against the French.

And he had the loyalty of the Spanish guerillas who had survived the war in Spain and followed him home. It would not do to underestimate the hunt that would certainly start as soon as the princess was missed.

When it was nearly time for the audience, Perry went down to the grand hall, and congratulated Carlos on the success of the hunt.

Carlos waved him to the row of chairs set for the duque’s advisors, but Perry laughed and took up a position leaning against the wall near the windows. Not coincidentally, that part of the room had the best view of the door through to the private residence section of the castle, and he was not disappointed. He saw Miss Henwood and Princess Isabella, pausing in the hall outside the door, waiting for Carlos to take his chair and ask for the first supplicant.

It was only then that they entered the audience chamber.

Of course, every seated person in the room stood and bowed or curtseyed when the princess appeared, Carlos and his closest aide, Iago Rodriguez Garcia, a second or two behind the rest. Princess Isabella responded with a smile and a curtsey of her own, took the seat that had been placed just below Carlos’s dais, and said, “Please be seated, everyone. Good day, uncle. My apologies for my lateness. Please, carry on.”

Miss Henwood was sitting with the advisors. Interesting. Would Carlos challenge her?

He didn’t. He just waved a hand at the petitioner who had been about to step forward. “Continue.”

Probably wise. Rebuking Miss Henwood would make him look petty, and he never liked people to witness his petty moments. Carlos’s definition of people did not include women, servants, or anyone else whose opinion he didn’t care about.

To be fair to the bastard, he did a good job of the audience. With his supporters watching, he carefully considered each matter brought before him, occasionally consulting the advisers. As far as Perry could tell, his judgements made sense, and if he was a little harsher with farmers than with merchants and with merchants than with nobles, no one appeared to think anything of it.

“If that is all,” Carlos said, at last.

The princess stood. “Honoured sir. I have a favour to ask.”

Once again, every seated person in the room stood, and the princess glided to stand in the petitioner’s position before Carlos.

“You have?” Carlos glanced at the advisers, and his lips spread in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “What might I do for you, my dear Isabella?”

“Sir,” said the princess, lowering her eyelids demurely. “As you know, I face a great change in my life. I wish to spend the weekend in the monastery with the nuns, praying that I will be a good wife and mother. I wrote to Madre Katerina, and have received her approval for myself and Miss Henwood, and now I would like yours, sir.”

There was a murmur of approval through the room, and one adviser went so far as to say, “Very proper.”

“You will return home on Sunday?” said Carlos.

“After Mass, Don Carlos,” said the princess.

“You shall take your maid with you,” Carlos insisted.

“Prayer is always good for the soul, and I would not deny my maid the opportunity.”

“I think only of your consequence, my dear Isabella,” said Carlos, one eye on his audience to assess their response.

He should have watched Miss Henwood instead. It would be exaggerating to say her lips curled, but they pressed together and her nostrils twitched as she suppressed a flare of disgust.

“You will not need Miss Henwood if you have your maid,” Carlos pointed out. “She belongs to the English religion does she not? What place has she in a Catholic convent?”

Miss Henwood answered for herself, loading her speech on her own behalf with subtle references to her supposed future as Carlos’s mistress and prisoner. And, Perry supposed, her actual future as his temporary lover. “I also seek spiritual counsel, Excellency. It is true that I worship the God we share in the English way when I am my own country, but the people here can tell you that I have attended services with the princess since I came to Las Estrellas. I have found much comfort in them. I face a time of much change, and I am grateful to Princess Isabella for offering me this opportunity.”

She curtseyed. “I beg you, Excellency, to allow me this nourishment for my soul, this time among the virgin brides of Christ, before I must step into the darkness of an unexpected future.”

The reference to the virgin brides of Christ was a masterstroke. Carlos’s chuckle sounded nervous. “Well, then. What can I say? It shall be as you wish, princess. You, your governess, and the maid shall have your three days in the convent, and the wedding shall be…” He looked around the room and fixed his gaze on the Bishop of Monteluz. “What do you say, esteemed reverend father? A wedding on Monday?”

The bishop’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Someone started clapping and others joined in.

Miss Henwood took the princess’s hand. “My goodness, princess, we have no time to waste. We must see to your gown before we leave for the convent.” The pair of them dropped curtseys, and they hurried from the room.

A couple of hours later, Perry watched from his chamber window as Miss Henwood left the castle with the princess and her maid, and an escort of Carlos’s soldiers. The soldiers returned thirty minutes later. The plan was afoot, then.

Perry wondered if he should have arranged to join the ladies outside of the city walls. But he would be known as an Englishman as soon as people saw his height and his hair colour. And as soon as he opened his mouth.

No, it would be best to wait until they were within reach of France, which would be once they reached the south-eastern end of the pass out of the principality. That was the legal border, though they’d have another twenty miles through hard country to reach the nearest French town, and some measure of safety.

In France, Perry’s colouring would be unremarkable and his accent was that of his French grandmother, who had raised him until he was twelve. He would coarsen it a bit to add to the disguise, and also because the French continued to be suspicious of aristos.

They’d still be in danger from Carlos and his men. But in the nearest town, he’d find a way to get word to the French constabulary that the guerilla known as El Diablo had led his band into France.

That should leave Carlos thinking about his own skin rather than his pursuit. Carlos as El Diablo—the Devil—and his deputy Garcia as the Devil’s Wolf had been known for their cruelty, as well as for their remarkable successes against the French.