Page 40 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 40
“ Y ou look dreadful, Your Grace,” Sarah noted as she settled carefully into her chair in the small receiving room of Miss Harrington’s Academy for Young Ladies.
The headmistress’s sister, Miss Blackburn sat discreetly by the window with her ever-present botanical sketches, providing necessary propriety while maintaining the narrative that Sarah was a distant relation of the Westhavens recovering from a delicate condition.
“I assure you, I’m perfectly well,” Dorian replied, though the shadows under his eyes betrayed him.
“No.” Sarah shook her head. “You’re not. You have that same look Lawrence would get when he was trying to convince himself that something was for the best, even as it tore him apart.”
“Sarah—”
“Her Grace was right about this place,” Sarah continued, ignoring his warning tone. “The students’ chatter in the gardens below … I feel safer here than I have since Lawrence…” She swallowed hard. “Since Lawrence died.”
Dorian moved to the window, his habitual check for watchers partially hidden by the act of studying the neat schoolyard below. “I’m glad you’re comfortable. But I didn’t come to discuss?—”
“Your marriage?” Sarah’s gentle tone held a hint of Lawrence’s knowing humor. “No, you came to check the security measures again, as though they’ve somehow changed since your last visit. To assure yourself that you’re doing your duty while ignoring what that duty is costing you. Costing her .”
“Alice’s comfort is no longer my concern,” Dorian said stiffly.
“Isn’t it?” Sarah lifted one brow. “Lawrence would be so disappointed in you.”
That caught him off guard. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her voice softened. “He used to talk about you, you know. About how you deserved someone who could see past your carefully constructed walls”
“This is different?—”
“Is it?” Sarah leaned forward, her face earnest despite Miss Blackburn’s presence. “You’re doing exactly what you’re doing for me—trying to protect her by keeping her away from danger. But has it made either of us safer or just more isolated?”
Dorian’s hands clenched behind his back. “If Treyfield discovers?—”
“He already suspects.” Sarah’s voice was gentle but firm. “Your attempts to shield your Duchess have only made him more certain that there are secrets worth discovering. And now you’ve driven away the one person who might have helped you fight him.”
“Alice is safer?—”
“Alice is miserable. As are you.” Sarah held his gaze. “Do you think Lawrence sacrificed everything so those he loved would stop living? He died trying to protect love against Society’s judgment. What would he say, knowing that his dearest friend was using his death as an excuse to push away his own chance at happiness?”
The quiet scratch of Miss Blackburn’s pencil seemed to underscore the weight of Sarah’s words.
Dorian turned back to the window, unable to face her knowing gaze. “I made a promise,” he said quietly.
“To protect me. And you have.” Sarah’s words caught him like a hook. “But Lawrence made me promise something, too, that night. He made me swear that I wouldn’t let his death become an excuse for those he loved to stop living.”
Miss Blackburn’s pencil stilled momentarily, then resumed its steady rhythm.
“Go find your duchess, Your Grace,” Sarah urged softly, “before you lose something even more precious than your pride.”
Dorian’s carriage rattled through the London streets toward the Sutcliffes’ townhouse, Sarah’s words still echoing in his mind. He would make things right with Alice—explain everything, consequences be damned. She deserved the truth, and he had been a fool to think otherwise.
“Your Grace.” Joanna’s face fell as she entered the drawing room. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed Alice.”
Something in her tone made his spine stiffen. “When did she leave?”
“Mid-morning.” Joanna wrung her hands. “She seemed… unsettled after our conversation. I was telling her about an exhibition I attended with Lord Drakeley yesterday, and I fear my happiness only emphasized the gravity of her own situation.”
“She’s been gone since morning?” Dorian fought to keep his voice steady. “Where did she go?”
“Hyde Park. She said she needed to clear her head.” Worry crept into Joanna’s voice. “She should have been back hours ago. I thought perhaps… Had she gone back home?”
“Which path?” Dorian was already moving toward the door. “Did she say which paths she preferred?”
“The quieter ones, away from the crowds. She’s been avoiding the ton since…” Joanna trailed off delicately. “Your Grace, do you think something’s happened?”
“Send word to Gregory,” Dorian ordered, shrugging off the footman who tried to help him into his coat. “Tell him to meet me at the park’s south entrance.”
The afternoon sun cast long shadows over Hyde Park’s winding paths as Dorian began his search. At first, he maintained some pretense of casualness—a gentleman taking his afternoon constitutional, nodding to passing acquaintances while his eyes scanned every bench and every bend.
But as the minutes flew by with no sign of Alice, his control began to crack. He found himself retracing the quieter paths with increasing desperation, studying the ground for any sign of her passage. Had she walked here? Rested on that bench? Every rustle of leaves made him turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of coppery hair or a blue walking dress.
“Alice?” He called her name softly at first, then louder as his fear grew. “Alice!”
A pair of nursemaids dragged their charges away from his increasing agitation. He barely noticed, too focused on searching every shadowed grove, every secluded corner where she might have sought solitude.
“Your Grace!” Gregory’s voice cut through his rising panic. His friend approached at a rapid walk, his face grim. “The groundskeepers haven’t seen her since mid-morning. But Stevens mentioned something interesting—Lord Treyfield was here earlier, near the oak grove.”
Dorian’s blood ran cold. “Treyfield?”
“Speaking with two rough-looking men.” Gregory fell into step beside him. “The kind one doesn’t usually see in Hyde Park.”
They reached the grove in question—a secluded spot where ancient oaks cast deep shadows even in the afternoon light. Dorian’s practiced eye caught signs of disturbance—grass crushed by multiple boots, a broken branch as though someone had stumbled.
Then, he saw it. A single kid glove, half-hidden beneath fallen leaves. His throat constricted as he lifted it—the delicate grey leather he’d helped Alice choose just weeks ago, teasing her about how such elegant hands deserved proper protection.
“Search the entire grove,” he ordered, his voice raw. “Every inch.”
But an hour’s careful examination yielded nothing else. No trail to follow, no indication of where they might have taken her. The growing shadows seemed to mock his increasing desperation.
“She has to be somewhere,” he growled, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “People don’t just vanish from Hyde Park in broad daylight.”
“Dorian.” Gregory’s voice held a gentle warning. “We should return to your townhouse. If this is Treyfield’s work, he’ll make contact.”
The thought of waiting helplessly while Alice was being held God knew where made his chest tighten. But Gregory was right—if Treyfield had taken her, there would be demands. Conditions. A game to play, with her safety at stake.
All the windows in his townhouse were lit when they arrived.
Wilson appeared instantly at the door. “Your Grace.” His usual impassivity cracked slightly as he handed him a letter. “A messenger delivered this not half an hour ago.”
Dorian broke the seal with shaking fingers, his worst fears confirmed as he read:
Your Grace,
Your charming Duchess is my guest. She’s quite comfortable, I assure you, though how long she remains so depends entirely on your cooperation. Come alone to the crossroads beyond Hampstead Heath at midnight. Tell no one, or I’m afraid accidents do happen, even to duchesses.
Regards,
Treyfield.
He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Ready my horse,” he ordered, his voice deadly calm. “And my pistols.”
“Dorian—” Gregory stepped forward.
“No.” Dorian checked his weapons with cold precision. “He has my wife.”
“At least let me?—”
“He’ll kill her if I don’t come alone.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. “But if I’m not back by dawn…” He met his friend’s eyes. “Burn him to the ground.”