Page 5 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“ L ady Samantha, you’re moving with rather alarming haste.”
Samantha spun around to find the Duke of Valemont standing in the dimly lit corridor, his tall frame blocking her path. His green eyes held a glint of amusement that made her jaw tick.
“Your Grace,” she said tersely, not bothering to curtsy. “I’m sorry but I haven’t the time for pleasantries.”
“Clearly.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to that dangerously quiet tone she remembered from the garden party. “Might I ask what has you fleeing Lord Worthington’s gathering as if the building were ablaze?”
“Where is your nephew?” The question came out sharper than she’d intended, and maybe a tad rude, but panic was clawing at her chest, and she did not care for his position.
Every moment she wasted here was another moment Jane could be compromising herself with that boy.
His eyebrows rose slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
Samantha took in a breath. “Lord Stonehall. Where is he?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” His tone was maddeningly casual. “I don’t keep him on a tight leash, Lady Samantha. He’s nineteen, not nine.”
“Well, perhaps you should!” The words burst from her before she could stop them. “My sister is missing, and your nephew is nowhere to be found, either. If you think that’s mere coincidence?—”
“Missing?” He scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “And naturally, you’ve leaped to the conclusion that my ward is somehow responsible for this alleged disappearance?”
“ Alleged ?” Heat flooded her cheeks, her pulse skittering at the base of her neck. “I assure you, Your Grace, my sister’s absence is quite real. Lord Ashford lost track of her fifteen minutes ago, and now your romantically inclined nephew has also vanished. Even you must see the implications.”
His green eyes flashed with irritation. “What I see is a woman so determined to protect her sister that she’s willing to assume the worst of everyone around her. Has it occurred to you that Lady Jane might simply be powdering her nose?”
Samantha arched a brow at that. Of course, a rake like him would know of the intimate ways of women. “For fifteen minutes?”
“Some women are more thorough than others.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
The casual dismissal in his voice made her want to slap him. “You find this amusing?”
“I find your overprotectiveness rather excessive, yes.” He stepped closer, and she caught a hint of his cologne; and it made her pulse stutter. “Lady Jane is eighteen. Perhaps if you gave her room to breathe, she wouldn’t feel the need to slip away from your watchful eye ever so often.”
“Room to breathe?” Samantha’s voice rose slightly.
“Your Grace, clearly you know nothing about the realities facing young women in society. One moment of poor judgment, one whispered rumor, and her entire future is destroyed. But I suppose someone of your experience would find such concerns trivial.”
The air between them crackled with tension so thick, she could almost feel it. His eyes darkened, and she realized she’d struck a nerve.
“My experience?” His voice was silky with warning. “Pray tell, Lady Samantha, what exactly do you know of my experience?”
“I know enough.” She lifted her chin defiantly.
“I know that men like you consider the rules of society mere suggestions. I know that you take your pleasures where you find them, with little regard for consequences. And I know that your nephew is cut from the same cloth; theatrical gestures and romantic declarations mean nothing beyond the moment.”
“You know nothing about my nephew,” he said quietly, and something in his tone made her take a step back. “And you know even less about me.”
Samantha clenched her jaw once and sucked in a breath. “I need to find my sister,” she said, her voice barely audible.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he stepped back, his expression unreadable.
“Very well. I’ll help you search.”
“That’s not necessary?—”
“It is.” His tone brooked no argument. “If there’s any possibility that Percy is involved in Lady Jane’s disappearance, then I have a responsibility to?—”
“To what? Clean up his mess?”
“To ensure that no harm comes to an innocent young woman.”
She studied his face, looking for signs of deception, but found only grim determination. Finally, she nodded.
“The library,” she said curtly. “Young men with romantic inclinations often think libraries are private.”
They searched the library in tense silence, then moved to the conservatory, the music room, and finally the drawing room balcony. At each location, Samantha felt her anxiety mounting.
Where could Jane have gone?
“The grounds,” she said as they paused on the balcony overlooking the garden. “If your nephew has truly lost all sense of propriety?—”
A soft giggle drifted up from the shadows below, followed by a distinctly masculine groan.
Samantha’s face went white. “Oh God.”
She rushed toward the stone steps leading down to the garden, her heart hammering against her ribs. Behind her, she heard the duke’s measured footsteps following.
“Jane?” she hissed into the darkness. “Jane, where are you?”
Another giggle, closer now, followed by the rustle of fabric and whispered endearments.
Samantha rounded the corner of a tall hedge and froze.
In the moonlight, she could see two figures pressed against the garden wall. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized with shock that neither was her sister.
Lady Willington—one of the spiteful women who had mocked her earlier—was locked in a passionate embrace with Lord Eastwich, a married man who was decidedly not her husband.
“Oh!” Lady Willington shrieked as she spotted Samantha and the duke. She pushed Lord Eastwich away with such force that he stumbled backward. “My Lord, how dare you!”
“What—” Lord Eastwich began, then saw Samantha and the duke approaching. His face went pale in the moonlight.
“I cannot believe,” Lady Willington continued, her voice rising to a dramatic pitch, “that you would bring me out here under false pretenses! The very idea that you would attempt to?—”
“Lady Willington,” Samantha interrupted, confusion clear in her voice, “what are you?—”
“And you!” Lady Willington pointed an accusatory finger at Samantha and the duke. “To think that respectable members of society would use such a ruse to cover their own… their own trysting!”
“I beg your pardon?” Samantha stared at her in shock.
“Don’t pretend innocence with me!” Lady Willington’s voice carried clearly through the night air. “Lord Eastwich told me he heard voices from the garden, that we should investigate. But clearly, you arranged this interruption to hide your own scandalous behavior!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Samantha protested, but already she could hear footsteps approaching—other guests, drawn by Lady Willington’s malicious protests.
“Indeed!” Lord Eastwich said, apparently deciding to support Lady Willington’s version of events, to save his own neck, no doubt. “Most shocking behavior, I must say. To think that a duke would compromise a lady so brazenly!”
“We were searching for my sister,” Samantha said desperately, but more people were arriving now, drawn by the commotion.
“Gracious!” came a familiar voice. “What is all this shouting about?”
Mrs. Combs, the vicar’s wife, appeared at the head of a small group of guests, her face creased with concern.
“Mrs. Combs,” Lady Willington said, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically, “I’m afraid Lord Eastwich and I stumbled upon the most shocking scene. The Duke of Valemont and Lady Samantha were… well, I can hardly speak of it.”
Murmurs began to ripple through the growing crowd. Samantha felt the familiar sensation of walls closing in around her, of becoming the center of unwanted attention.
“That’s not what happened,” she said, but her voice sounded too sharp, too defensive, to her own ears.
“I must return to my husband immediately,” Lady Willington announced. “I cannot bear to remain in such dishonorable company.” She gathered her skirts and swept past them, Lord Eastwich following in her wake.
“Lady Willington, wait!” Samantha called, but it was too late. The woman had already disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a wake of whispered speculation.
“A duke and a spinster,” someone murmured.
“Well, he is known for his… associations.”
“And she’s been on the shelf for years.”
“Most inappropriate behavior for a garden party.”
Samantha felt the duke’s presence beside her, solid and warm, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. The damage was done.
Tomorrow, all of London would be buzzing with talk of their supposed tryst.
“Samantha?” Jane’s voice cut through the crowd, bright with confusion. “What’s happening? Why is everyone?—”
“Jane!” Relief flooded through Samantha as she spotted her sister approaching through the crowd, looking perfectly respectable and utterly bewildered.
“Lady Jane!” Lord Stonehall’s voice carried across the garden as he emerged from the direction of the house, his cravat slightly askew. “I was looking everywhere for you. Are you quite well?”
“Uncle William,” Jane said, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. “Samantha, what’s wrong? Everyone’s staring.”
Lord Norfeld appeared at Jane’s side, his face grave as he assessed the situation. The murmuring crowd was growing larger, and Samantha could see the calculation in various faces as they weighed the social implications of what they believed they’d witnessed.
“We’re leaving,” Uncle William said firmly. “Now.”
“Your Grace,” Lord Stonehall said, approaching the duke with obvious confusion, “what’s happened? Is Lady Jane?—”
“Your Grace,” Lord Norfeld interrupted, his tone cool and formal, “might I request a private word?”
The duke inclined his head slightly. “Of course.”
“Not here,” Lord Norfeld said, glancing meaningfully at the crowd. “Perhaps you might call upon me tomorrow morning?”
“Uncle,” Samantha began, but he silenced her with a look.
“Tomorrow morning,” he repeated to the duke. “We have much to discuss.”