Page 28 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 28

“ Y ou worry too much, Your Grace,” Sarah said, one hand resting on her belly as she poured tea. “I am perfectly safe here.”

Dorian watched his wife and Sarah chatting like old friends in the small parlor of the boarding house, struck by how naturally Alice had stepped into this complicated situation. She sat close to Sarah on the worn settee, their heads bent together as they discussed the baby’s impending arrival.

“Have you thought about names yet?” Alice asked as she took a teacup from her slightly trembling hands.

“Lawrence always said that if the baby was a boy, he’d name him after his grandfather Edmund.” Sarah’s smile held a touch of sadness. “Though he insisted that he’d name the baby after his mother if it was a girl.”

“A lovely tradition.” Alice’s genuine warmth seemed to ease some of the tension in Sarah’s shoulders. “And how are you feeling? The early months can be quite trying, I am told.”

While the women discussed matters of pregnancy and preparations, Dorian found his attention drawn to the window. Something about the man loitering around the opposite building made the back of his neck prickle. The fellow appeared to be reading a newspaper, but his eyes kept straying toward the boarding house.

Just another Londoner going about his business, Dorian told himself. And yet…

“Your Grace?” Sarah’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You seem distracted.”

“Merely considering some estate matters,” he lied smoothly, not wanting to worry either woman with what might be simple paranoia. “Though I must insist that you tell Mrs. Miller if you need anything at all. I have instructed her to spare no expense for your comfort.”

“You’re too kind.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, but she quickly blinked them away. “Both of you. I don’t know how I would manage without your protection.”

Alice reached for her hand. “You are not alone anymore. We will make sure you and the baby are well cared for.”

Witnessing his wife’s compassionate nature, Dorian felt something twist in his chest. She’d taken to visiting Sarah several times a week, offering her books and companionship to lighten the lonely hours of confinement. It was exactly the sort of kindness Lawrence would have appreciated.

“However kind, we must maintain absolute discretion,” Dorian said, moving away from the window. “Your safety depends on it.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Alice assured him. “I’ve been most careful. I always take Thompson’s hackney rather than our carriage, and I make certain to be seen shopping on Bond Street first. No one would think twice about a lady in a plain pelisse and deep gray bonnet visiting her modiste.” Her eyes twinkled. “Though I must say, I’ve become quite accomplished at noticing whether I am being followed.”

“Indeed?” Dorian couldn’t quite suppress his pride at her cleverness, even as concern tightened his chest. “And what methods has my duchess devised?”

“Shop windows make excellent mirrors,” Alice said, adjusting her bonnet. “And I’ve found that stopping to admire a display allows one to observe who else might pause. Though I confess, the milliner on Cork Street now thinks that I have an excessive interest in ribbon samples.”

Sarah laughed softly. “You sound like you’ve been reading too many gothic novels, Your Grace.”

“More like she’s been spending too much time with me,” Dorian said dryly, though the look in his eyes remained serious. “But I wish such precautions weren’t necessary.”

He glanced again toward the window, but the man with the newspaper had disappeared. Still, unease prickled along his spine. Perhaps they should consider moving Sarah somewhere farther away from London, even though he would have a harder time protecting her.

“Hardly that dramatic,” Alice replied, though she cast a concerned glance at his tense frame by the window. “Though perhaps a touch of caution wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I hired an additional maid,” Sarah said, resting one hand protectively on her growing belly. “Mrs. Miller suggested her—a stout girl from Yorkshire who sleeps in the adjoining room. I find I rest easier knowing that someone else is near.”

“A sensible precaution,” Dorian remarked, though he couldn’t shake off his growing unease. The street outside had grown busier with afternoon traffic, making it harder to spot any observers among the flow of merchants and servants. “Though perhaps we should discuss moving you somewhere more remote.”

“But you’ve only just moved me here,” Sarah protested. “And Her Grace has been so kind with her visits?—”

“Which could eventually draw attention, no matter how careful we are.” Dorian caught Alice’s slight frown and softened his voice. “We must consider every possibility.”

“At least wait until after the baby comes,” Sarah pleaded. “Dr. Anderson knows to come here if… if anything happens. And Mrs. Miller has been so good about keeping the other lodgers from asking questions.”

Dorian recognized the fear beneath her composed expression. After losing Lawrence, the thought of being sent away from her only remaining friends must be terrifying. But if Treyfield’s men were indeed watching…

“We’ll wait,” Dorian found himself saying, unable to refuse the silent appeal in both women’s eyes. “But at the first sign of trouble, I want you ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Keep a bag packed with essentials.”

“I already do.”

Sarah’s quiet admission made something twist in his chest. Of course she did. She’d learned caution these past months of hiding.

“Living like this… one learns to be prepared.”

The resignation in her voice reminded him painfully of Lawrence. His friend had tried so hard to protect her, to plan for every contingency. Now, that duty fell to him, and he would do everything to keep his promise.

“The carriage is waiting,” he said, noting the lengthening shadows beyond the window. “We should go before the streets become too crowded.”

Alice rose to embrace Sarah. “I’ll bring those books I mentioned when I next visit. And perhaps some of that honey cake you enjoyed last time?”

“You spoil me.” Sarah’s smile was genuine despite her obvious fatigue. “Though I won’t pretend that Cook’s plain meals can’t use some improvement.”

Dorian watched their easy interaction, grateful that his wife had chosen to support rather than resent Sarah’s presence in their lives. But as he helped Alice into her pelisse, that nagging sense of being watched returned.

Perhaps they should vary their visiting schedule—become less predictable. As they made their way down the narrow stairs, a floorboard creaked overhead, making Dorian tense up. Just another lodger moving about, he told himself, though his hand tightened around Alice’s arm.

The street seemed safe enough—a maid beating a rug, two boys playing marbles in the gutter, a woman haggling with a fish seller. But something about the carter adjusting his horse’s harness caught Dorian’s attention. The man’s clothes were just a touch too fine for his occupation, his hands too smooth.

“Thompson,” he called quietly to their driver as he helped Alice into the hackney, “take the long way home. Past Covent Garden, then double back toward Berkeley Square before heading to Mayfair.”

The driver doffed his hat in acknowledgment, understanding the unspoken instruction to watch for followers.

“You’re worrying again,” Alice murmured as the hackney pulled away. “I saw you watching that carter.”

“Perhaps.” He drew her closer, needing to feel her warmth against his side. “But I’d rather be overcautious than complacent. Lawrence was too trusting in the end.”

“Do you really think that Lord Treyfield would have men watching random boarding houses?”

“I think a man willing to kill his own nephew for a title would do far worse to protect his secret.”

The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he pressed a kiss to her temple in silent apology.

“Then we’ll be more careful,” she said simply. “Change our visiting schedule, take different routes. I could even have my modiste send packages to that address—make it seem like just another client.”

“Clever girl.” He squeezed her hand, admiring how quickly her mind worked. “Though I am not sure your modiste would appreciate being associated with such a modest establishment.”

“Madame Delacroix would walk barefoot through London if she thought it would secure a duchess’s patronage…” Alice trailed off as their carriage turned onto a narrow side street. “There’s someone following us, isn’t there? That’s why you had Thompson take this route.”

Trust her to notice.

Dorian glanced through the small rear window and caught a glimpse of a dark hackney two turns behind them. “Possibly. Though it could be a coincidence.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences.” Alice shifted closer and lowered her voice, though no one could possibly hear them over the rattle of wheels on cobblestones. “Not when it comes to Sarah’s safety.”

“No.” Dorian traced idle patterns on her gloved palm, his mind already racing through contingencies. “I should move her tonight. The cottage in Somerset?—”

“Is too obvious.” Alice’s fingers curled around his. “If Lord Treyfield is having you watched, he’ll expect you to send her to one of your estates.”

He stilled. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“I’ve had little else to think about during our social engagements.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Lady Jersey’s endless discussions of the latest on-dits do leave one’s mind free to wander.”

“And what has my brilliant Duchess concluded?”

“That we’re approaching this the wrong way. We’ve been trying to hide Sarah away, when perhaps we should hide her in plain sight instead.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Dorian watched her face carefully, recognizing that particular gleam in her eyes that always preceded one of her more inspiring ideas.

“Consider this—a wealthy widow renting rooms at a respectable establishment, one frequented by gently bred young ladies seeking to attend the Season. No one would question her desire for privacy in her condition, especially if she were presented as a widow.”

“The risk?—”

“Would be far less than hiding her in some remote cottage where any stranger would draw notice.” Alice leaned forward, growing more animated. “I know just the place. Miss Harrington’s Academy for Young Ladies often hosts relatives of their students. The proprietress is an old friend of Joanna’s family.”

Dorian frowned, considering the possibilities. “A school would have legitimate reasons for refusing casual visitors.”

“Exactly. And with so many proper young ladies in residence, no one would dare cause a scandal by investigating too closely.” Her eyes met his. “It would also explain my frequent visits—everyone knows how devoted I am to my old school friend Miss Harrington.”

The carriage rounded a corner, and Dorian noted with satisfaction that their tail had disappeared. Still…

“The cost of staying at such an establishment?—”

“Would be worth the protection it offers.” Alice lifted her chin in that stubborn way he’d come to both admire and fear. “Unless you object to my involvement in this matter?”

“As if I could stop you.” He brought her hand to his lips. “You’ve already proved more resourceful than I deserve.”

“Indeed, you couldn’t.” Her smile held a hint of mischief. “Though I noticed that you haven’t agreed to my plan yet.”

Dorian studied her face in the late afternoon light filtering through the carriage windows. Every instinct demanded that he keep her separate from this danger, yet here she was, offering not just support but genius solutions.

“It would need to be handled carefully,” he said finally. “The timing, the story—everything would have to be perfect.”

“Of course. I thought perhaps we might present her as a distant relation of the Westhavens—they have relatives all over Yorkshire, and no one would dare question such an association too closely.”

The carriage pulled up before their townhouse, but Dorian kept hold of her hand. “I don’t deserve you, you know.”

“No,” she agreed cheerfully. “But you’re learning.”

As he helped her down, he caught sight of a figure moving in the shadows across the street. The man disappeared too quickly, but something about his bearing—the military precision of his movements—set off warning bells.

“Inside,” Dorian murmured, guiding Alice up the steps with perhaps more haste than strictly proper. “We can discuss the details over dinner.”

But even as they entered the warmth and safety of their home, Dorian couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The game had changed—Sarah was no longer the only one who needed protection.

Anyone who threatened Alice, even indirectly, would learn exactly why the Duke of Ashthorne was considered one of the most dangerous men in London.