Page 39 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 39

“ I never thought I’d find a discussion about fossilized plants so fascinating,” Joanna sighed, shifting on the settee in her mother’s morning room. “But the way Gregory explained the preservation process… Did you know that they can tell what ancient flowers looked like just from their impressions in stone?”

Alice hid a smile behind her teacup. “How educational. Though I’m sure your newfound interest in paleontology had nothing to do with your companion.”

“He’s quite knowledgeable,” Joanna sniffed, though her cheeks pinkened. “Even Mama had to admit that his understanding of botanical history was impressive.”

“And did Lady Sutcliffe’s ‘understanding’ require her to stand quite so close during these scholarly discussions?”

“She barely let us have two words alone!” Joanna flopped back dramatically. “Though I suppose I should be grateful that she agreed to the outing at all. But Alice, you should have seen him. The way his eyes lit up when he explained the different specimens… He’s not at all the arrogant peacock I first thought him to be.”

“No?” Alice set down her cup, studying her friend’s glowing face. “What is he, then?”

“He’s…” Joanna’s voice softened. “He’s surprisingly gentle beneath all that polished sophistication. And clever—not just about books and science, but about people. The way he drew shy Miss Blackburn into the conversation when she looked overwhelmed… And he has the most wonderful laugh when he forgets to be proper about it.”

Something clenched in Alice’s chest as she remembered someone who’d shown unexpected depths beneath his carefully maintained facade. How his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he was amused—so different from his practiced social smiles.

“Alice?” Joanna prompted gently. “I’m sorry. Here I am, rattling on about my happiness, when you?—”

“Don’t.” Alice managed a smile. “Your joy shouldn’t be dimmed by my troubles. Tell me more about the exhibition. Did Gregory really challenge the curator’s classification of some prehistoric plant?”

“He did!” Joanna’s animation returned. “You should have seen Papa’s face when they started debating Latin terminology. Though I think Mama was more impressed by how gracefully Gregory conceded when he was proven wrong. She said that it showed good character when a gentleman admitted his mistakes.”

The words struck too close to home.

Alice rose abruptly. “I think I’ll take a walk. The fresh air will do me good.”

“Would you like company?”

“No, thank you.” Alice straightened her pelisse. “I need to clear my head. And you have that meeting with your modiste.”

“Bother the modiste.” Joanna frowned. “Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?”

“I’m hardly going to fall apart at the sight of happy couples in the park.” Alice’s smile felt brittle. “Besides, you need that new walking dress if you’re to continue your scientific education with Lord Drakeley.”

“Alice—”

“I’m fine, truly.” Alice pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek. “You deserve every happiness, dearest. Don’t let my shadow dim your sunshine.”

But as she made her way out into the spring morning, Alice couldn’t quite suppress the ache in her chest. Joanna’s face had practically glowed when she spoke of Gregory—that particular radiance that came from discovering love’s first tender shoots. Had she looked that way herself in those early days when Dorian’s kisses still held promise instead of poison?

The brisk walk to Hyde Park did little to settle her thoughts. Mid-morning crowds filled the paths—mothers with children, elderly couples taking their daily constitutionals, young ladies showing off new walking dresses while gentlemen just happened to be exercising with their horses nearby.

Alice turned onto a less-frequented path, needing solitude. Here, the carefully manicured grounds gave way to a more natural landscape—ancient oaks casting dappled shadows over the grass, wild roses climbing up weathered stone walls. She’d just rounded a bend when a familiar voice made her blood run cold.

“Your Grace.” Lord Treyfield emerged from behind a massive oak, executing a bow that somehow looked both perfect and mocking. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Lord Treyfield.” Alice lifted her chin, though her heart thundered against her ribs. “Good morning.”

“Taking the air alone?” His smile was predatory. “How fortunate. I’ve been hoping for a word with you.”

“I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.” Alice moved to step around him, but he shifted smoothly to block her path.

“Surely your husband has taught you better manners than that?” His voice hardened slightly. “After all, His Grace is so very particular about proper behavior. At least in public.”

Something in his tone made Alice’s spine stiffen. “If you have business with my husband?—”

“Oh, but I have business with you both.” Treyfield’s eyes glittered with malice. “Such interesting activities you’ve been engaging in. All those charitable visits to certain establishments. One might almost think you were… protecting something. Or someone.”

Ice slid down Alice’s spine, but she kept her voice steady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” He stepped closer, close enough that she had to fight not to bolt. “Then perhaps we might discuss your husband’s connection to my late nephew. Such a tragedy, his death. Though not nearly as tragic as what might befall those who meddle in family affairs.”

“Are you threatening me, my lord?” Alice injected every ounce of ducal authority into her voice.

“Threatening? My dear Duchess, I’m merely making conversation.” His smile turned sharp. “Though I must say, you play your part well. The devoted wife, standing guard while your husband scurries about London on his… errands.”

“I’ll thank you to step aside.” Alice’s fingers clenched into fists. “This conversation is over.”

“I think not.” All pretense of civility vanished from Treyfield’s face. “In fact, Your Grace, our conversation has just begun.”

Too late, Alice heard footsteps behind her. Before she could cry out, rough hands seized her arms while another pressed a sweet-smelling cloth to her face. She fought, but the sickly-sweet fumes filled her lungs, making her limbs heavy.

The last thing she saw was Treyfield’s triumphant smile as darkness claimed her.

Consciousness returned in fragments—the sway of carriage wheels, rough wool scratching her cheek where her head rested against something solid, voices swimming in and out of focus.

Alice kept her eyes closed, fighting the urge to retch as her head spun from whatever drug they’d forced her to inhale.

“… take her straight to the east wing when we arrive.” Treyfield’s voice drifted from across the carriage. “Make sure she’s secure but comfortable. She is a duchess, after all.”

She heard a grunt beside her—the thug she was apparently leaning against. The thought made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to remain limp.

“And Morgan?” Treyfield continued. “Post extra men around the grounds. The Duke will no doubt tear London apart looking for her once he realizes she’s missing.”

“What about the girl she was staying with?” That was a rough voice Alice didn’t recognize. “The Sutcliffe chit?”

“Lady Joanna?” Treyfield’s laugh held no warmth. “By the time anyone thinks to question her about the Duchess’s whereabouts, it will be too late. Though I imagine she’ll make quite a scene when Her Grace fails to return from her morning constitutional.”

Joanna .

Alice’s heart clenched. Her friend would notice her absence at luncheon. She would alert Gregory, who then would alert Dorian…

The carriage hit a bump, sending fresh waves of nausea through her. She fought to focus on Treyfield’s words, needing any information that might help her escape.

“Remember,” he was saying, “no one enters her chambers except myself. Not even to bring food—leave it outside the door. Can’t have her trying to charm any soft-hearted servants.”

“And if the Duke comes sniffing around?”

“He won’t find us here.” The smugness in Treyfield’s voice made Alice’s blood run cold. “The estate’s been empty for years—everyone knows I never use it. It’s the perfect place to have a private conversation with my new niece about certain delicate family matters.”

Alice’s head began to spin again, the drug’s effects dragging her back beneath the darkness. But she clung to consciousness long enough to hear Treyfield’s final words.

“Once the Duke realizes what’s at stake, I’m sure he’ll be much more… cooperative about sharing information regarding my dear nephew’s final days, and other matters he’s keeping from me.”

Hurry, Dorian , Alice prayed silently as darkness crept in again. Please, hurry .

But even that thought slipped away, leaving only the gentle sway of the carriage and the growing distance between her and safety.

“Time to wake up properly, Your Grace.” Treyfield’s voice pierced the last vestiges of her drug-induced haze as rough hands pulled her out of the carriage.

Alice forced her legs to move, grateful for the thug’s—she heard Treyfield call him Morgan—grip on her arm as they entered what appeared to be an abandoned country house. Dust sheets were draped over the furniture in the entrance hall, and the air carried the musty scent of disuse.

“This way.”

Treyfield led them into what might have once been an elegant sitting room. Someone had clearly prepared it for their arrival—the furniture was uncovered, and fresh flowers sat in crystal vases as though this was nothing more than a social call.

“Do sit down, Your Grace. You must be feeling rather weak after your nap.”

Alice lowered herself onto a faded settee, keeping her posture rigid despite her churning stomach. Morgan’s hulking presence beside her made escape impossible, but she’d be damned if she’d show weakness before her captor.

“Brandy?” Treyfield moved to a sideboard where crystal decanters caught the afternoon light. “An excellent vintage. It might help clear your head.”

“No, thank you.” Alice was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “I prefer to keep my wits about me.”

“As you wish.” He poured himself a generous measure. “Though I must say, you’re taking this all rather well. Most ladies would have gone into hysterics by now.”

“Most ladies haven’t received the education I did.” She met his eyes. “My father was quite thorough in teaching me about men who mistake titles for character.”

His smile tightened. “Careful, Your Grace. You’re in no position to throw insults.”

“And you’re in no position to harm a duchess without consequences.” She lifted her chin. “Whatever game you’re playing, Lord Treyfield, you cannot win it.”

“Can’t I?” He settled into a chair opposite her, swirling his brandy. “I rather think I’m winning already. After all, you’re here. And soon your devoted husband will be searching for you—searching in all the wrong places, of course. Until eventually, he realizes the price of keeping secrets.”

“If you think kidnapping me will make Dorian more amenable to your demands, you understand him even less than I do.”

Something dangerous flickered in Treyfield’s eyes. “We shall see.” He set aside his glass. “Morgan, take Her Grace to her chambers. I’m sure she’d like to rest before dinner.”

The thug’s grip was bruising as he pulled her to her feet.

Alice managed not to stumble as they climbed two flights of stairs, trying to memorize the path through the dusty corridors. But her head was still fuzzy, making it difficult for her to track their route.

Finally, they reached a heavy oak door. Morgan opened it and practically shoved her inside. “Make yourself comfortable, Your Grace,” he sneered. “You’ll be here for a while.”

The lock clicked with ominous finality.

Alice moved immediately to the windows, her heart sinking as she took in the steep drop to the ground below. Even if she could somehow break the aged glass, three stories up meant certain death if she tried to climb down.

The room itself was large but spartan—a bed stripped down to its mattress, a washstand with a cracked pitcher, and a few pieces of sheet-draped furniture. Clearly, Treyfield hadn’t bothered with the pretense of comfort here as he had in the sitting room below.

She sank onto the bare mattress, forcing herself to think past the remnants of whatever drug they’d used on her. Joanna, Gregory, and Dorian would learn of her absence soon. But would they think to look for her here, in an estate that Treyfield was known to never use?

And even if they did, would they arrive in time to prevent whatever Treyfield had planned?