Lucas walked in the direction of Sherwood’s castle, anyway. Years ago, he’d strode over these same hills with Honoria. He’d marveled with her then about the beauty of the slopes, of the shimmering lakes, of the wide-open sky with its propensity to display stunning sunsets and sunrises.
Then he’d stayed further away and had taken a horse over these same lands. He’d met Honoria at a ball in London, and smitten, he’d followed her to her home in the Lake District, certain he needed to know her better, certain she was wonderful, certain she would be a part of his life forever.
Only his first two thoughts had proven to be correct.
He waited as the familiar pain washed over him, then he proceeded forward. He’d taken many walks around his cottage before, but he’d never gone in this direction before. He’d been too aware of the memories, too aware of Honoria’s ghost.
Now though, he wandered toward the castle. Finally, the towers appeared before him, jutting imposingly over a hill. He strode forward until the entire castle appeared before him: battlements and wings and all. There was no moat, though the grass dipped near the edge of the castle as if there had once been one. Perhaps previous Duchesses of Sherwood had complained that having a still body of water beside one’s home lacked hygiene, or perhaps they’d reasoned that even a Duke of Sherwood could not create a manmade lake that could in any manner compete with the sheer beauty of even the smallest lake in the Lake District.
Icy wind swept against Lucas’s frock coat, as if to tell him to return to the comfort of his cottage. It would be wise to return before darkness descended. Nighttime turned these hills into a danger zone. Once beautiful slopes became riddled in holes. Rabbit burrows that were innocuous before, grew in danger. Even the stars relentless sparkle grew precarious, casting bright light in odd places, leaving the rest of the world in shadows.
Lucas settled into the grass, wincing as the damp ground came into contact with his breeches.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rain started to pour down. Thick rain. Heavy rain.
Great Olympus.
Lucas rose. He couldn’t stay here. He turned to return to his cottage, then hesitated.
This was the sort of rain that might destroy the roads. The dirt roads that hugged the hills in the Lake District were dangerous at the best of times. Night made them worse, and rain rendered them terrible.
There was only one sensible direction to turn toward: his cottage.
And yet...
He stared at the castle. Juliet was inside it. In less than a year, she would marry the Duke of Sherwood.
The thought caused an odd ache to shoot through his heart.
The rain continued to plummet down, and thunder continued to roar. Now and then, lightning would strike, displaying the castle in an eerie light as if to remind him of Sherwood’s power.
Well, Lucas was a duke as well, even if his estate was based in Staffordshire, a region best known for its cheeses and pottery rather than its intimidating landscape.
Lucas headed for the barn. He told himself to turn around.
Sebastian was probably right: the Duke of Sherwood might not like Lucas, but that hardly indicated criminal intentions. Plenty of men had a proclivity to lose their temper without arranging vast illicit enterprises. A short-tempered man was hardly unusual and didn’t even mean they would harm anyone.
And yet...
Sebastian seemed to believe that the Duke of Sherwood’s abundance of coin meant the duke would never create more. But perhaps not all criminals were criminals out of necessity. Perhaps some criminals were criminals by nature or even boredom.
If Sebastian was not going to investigate the property, then Lucas would do so himself. Lucas knew how to enter the castle. One of the duke’s ancestors had built a tunnel to the barn as a way to sneak out to see his mistress. Honoria, in good Sherwood tradition, had sneaked out to see Lucas.
Now Lucas was going to sneak in.
His heartbeat quickened, and he hurried toward the barn.
He’d visited it dozens of times before. Then, his heart had been filled with happiness at the thought of seeing Honoria. They’d laughed together when she’d told him stories of sneaking away from her family and always suspicious brother. Now his thoughts were on Juliet and his mission.
He hadn’t searched this property. He’d been mindful that he didn’t want to incite an argument with the duke.
And yet...
The man had the space to start a counterfeit operation. In fact, he had more than sufficient space.
Perhaps it would be beneficial to investigate the man’s barn more thoroughly. Once Lucas was certain of his destination, he hurried toward the barn. Rain fell on his face, drenching his hair and clothes and skin indiscriminately.
He slid on the wet grass and the sudden layer of mud that had formed underneath. Rain pattered heavily onto the trees as each drop collided with each branch and leaf. Water stung his eyes, and Lucas put his head down and rushed toward the barn. Finally, he reached the stone structure. His heart thumped, and he hurriedly opened the door to the barn, thankful Sherwood hadn’t taken to insisting the farmhands lock it.
THE BUTLER WHISPERED something in Sherwood’s ear, and Sherwood frowned. He glanced at the table. “Excuse me.”
Juliet turned her focus to the dining room. The azure silk paper covered the walls, giving a beautiful contrast to the wooden-carved furniture. Gold candelabras, crowned with glimmering candlelight, adorned the long table. The footmen continued to make certain everyone’s glasses were consistently filled, and they danced around the table, whisking empty platters away and replacing them with new, equally delectable delicacies.
Finally, Sherwood returned to the room. Everyone stopped speaking.
“I am afraid,” Sherwood said, “that there is a storm outside.”
“Oh.” Juliet’s father glanced at the countess, before returning his gaze to Sherwood. “Perhaps we should leave.”
“The slopes are steep. You’ll never be able to get your carriage up,” Sherwood said. “I—er—checked myself.”
Everyone’s faces grew more serious, despite the footmen’s valiant attempts to keep everyone’s wine glasses full. They were suddenly aware they were on the duke’s property.
Sherwood smiled. “No need for such long faces. I took the liberty of instructing my housekeeper to have the guest rooms prepared. The maids are preparing them now.”
“How very kind,” Juliet’s father said. “But we would hate to intrude. Perhaps our carriage could make it up the hill.”
“Nonsense,” Sherwood said. “I would despise to put any of you in harm’s way. It will be a pleasure to have you all here longer.”
“How very kind of you, Your Grace.” Genevieve’s eyes twinkled.
It was obvious Genevieve thought Juliet was happy to spend the night at Sherwood’s house, but Juliet found herself vaguely unsettled. The guests though beamed at Sherwood, who gave a modest smile. A strange nervousness filled Juliet.
She didn’t want to feel nervous about Sherwood. This was the man she was going to marry, the man she loved before all others, but there was an odd formality between them that differed from the conversations she’d had with him in her daydreams.
The man’s hair was as exquisite as she remembered, and his teeth flawless. The man exuded perfection, as if to compete with the subjects in the paintings of Roman gods and goddesses that lined the walls, muscled men posing by their latest kills and scantily dressed women dancing in not sufficiently hidden groves.
Juliet was relieved when after a selection of impressively scrumptious puddings, and a short conversation in the drawing-room while Horatius chatted with her father and uncle over port, the housekeeper led everyone to the guest wing.
Juliet was shown to a large room with girlish cerulean drapes. Everything was gilded, a nod to the exuberances of the last century.
“It’s beautiful,” Juliet told the housekeeper politely.
“Indeed,” the hou
sekeeper said. “Lady Honoria loved this room.”
Juliet turned toward her. “This was hers?”
The housekeeper nodded curtly, averting her eyes, as if unsure whether the news might cause Juliet discomfort.
“His Grace has not spoken much about his sister to me,” Juliet said.
The housekeeper gave a slight smile and shifted her weight from foot to foot, as if she’d done all manner of housework all day, but now, when all she had to do was stand, her legs were in danger of collapse.
“What was Lady Honoria like?” Juliet asked tentatively.
The housekeeper’s shoulders relaxed. “Lady Honoria was a wonderful young woman. Very happy, very joyful, very beautiful.”
“How tragic that she passed away.”
“Yes,” the housekeeper said, “most tragic.”
Juliet turned toward the window. “To think that one can succumb to an illness so quickly.”
For a brief moment, the housekeeper seemed to raise her eyebrows, but in the next moment, they were at their customary level, and Juliet wondered if they’d moved after all.
The housekeeper gave a tight smile. “Fresh linens are on the bed, Lady Juliet, but there are additional blankets in the cupboard, should you require them.”
“How kind,” Juliet said.
The housekeeper moved away matter-of-factly, striding quickly to a bell pull by the bed. There was nothing unusual about the placement of the bell pull or its appearance, but the housekeeper still felt compelled to describe its function.
Only later did Juliet wonder whether the housekeeper had mostly wanted to change the subject from Lady Honoria.
Juliet sighed.
How terrible for Horatius that his sister had died. Her mother had tried valiantly for an heir before she’d died, despite the increasing presence of her husband’s mistress. Juliet had had two younger brothers, but they’d both died as infants.
“A maid will come to assist you undressing,” the housekeeper said.
“Thank you,” Juliet murmured. She settled into a chair and waited. She glanced at the four-poster bed, wondering whether Honoria had succumbed there.
The light the housekeeper had left emitted a small dim glow in the room.
Something sounded on the other side of the wall, and Juliet turned toward it. She hadn’t thought anyone else had been placed on this side of the corridor.
Footsteps continued. They seemed near her, but she reminded herself that castles were built in curious manners. Hadn’t even Lucas said that some ancestor of Horatius made a secret corridor connecting the barn to the manor house?
She shivered.
Once she became the duchess, she would have to inform Horatius to close the secret corridor. She couldn’t have the potential for strangers to trespass, no matter how romantic the origin of the corridor was.
Personally, Juliet didn’t find anything romantic about corridors that let one smuggle mistresses in. That was the sort of thing that might make her father chuckle and toast, even as it destroyed lives.
The footsteps moved slowly, as if the person were creeping forward. In Juliet’s experience, servants were not prone to having a slow gait. Servants were always rushing, conscious of their never-ending supply of tasks. There would be no benefit for a servant to tarry and postpone their bedtime even more.
Juliet froze, concentrating on the odd sound. Perhaps she was imagining things. Perhaps her spirit remained unsettled from the adventure she’d had with Lucas. Perhaps no one was there at all, except for the creaking and groaning of centuries-old wood floors as they shuddered from the weather.
The rain continued to patter down furiously, as if each drop were compelled to compete with the shooting of bullets during the war with the continent.
It’s just rain, it’s just rain, it’s just rain.
Then a door to the side opened, and Juliet’s heart stopped.
The door opened a mere inch, then closed abruptly.
Someone was there.
Juliet’s heart thudded, despite the fact she’d stopped breathing. She stilled, as if someone had turned her into one of the plaster sculptures in Horatius’s reception rooms.
Perhaps she was wrong. After all, perhaps the wardrobe had a habit of opening at unexpected times. The furniture pieces here were old, and old things had a propensity to act unpredictably.
She inhaled.
The bell pull hung temptingly, but she refused to make some poor servant march up to this room to check in the wardrobe. She glanced toward the door. She could ask her father, but she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her stepmother. Genevieve would help, but she could hardly put Genevieve into possible danger—especially not after their dreadful carriage ride.
No.
Juliet could open this door herself. No doubt, it was empty.
She stood up, wishing for a moment she’d taken Genevieve’s advice and carried a weapon, before she reminded herself that that idea was ridiculous.
Juliet strolled toward the door, still clutching a hairbrush.
She stared at the carefully carved wardrobe. This was no time to admire its beauty. She swung the wardrobe open.
It was empty.
She blinked.
Obviously, she’d been foolish. Uneasiness didn’t leave her, but naturally she wouldn’t be immediately gratified to learn of her foolishness.
And yet...
She stared at the wardrobe, and her eyes adjusted to the dim light. For such a large wardrobe, it had little inside space. Perhaps some carpenter had been overly generous about the amount of wood he’d dedicated for the back of the wardrobe. Or perhaps... She frowned, then felt inside the wardrobe. The back shifted, then swung to one side. There was an opening.
She swallowed hard, and her heart thumped oddly.
Finally, she stepped back.
This must be the secret corridor Lucas had spoken to her of. She shivered, wishing it did not lead precisely to her room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Suddenly, a male figure appeared, and in the next moment, he put his hand over her mouth. She squealed, but the sound was muffled, and she struggled to remove his hands from her face.
“It’s just me,” the person said in a recognizable voice.
Lucas.
She blinked, and her shoulders relaxed.
Still, it didn’t matter. Lucas was not supposed to be in her room. He hadn’t been invited to the castle. He was a trespasser, of the very worst sort.
Juliet continued to squirm.
“You must be quiet,” he whispered. “Promise me you’ll be quiet.”
She glared. She didn’t go about making promises she couldn’t keep. The only thing she knew was that he absolutely should not be here.
“Please,” he said, and she nodded reluctantly.
Perhaps screaming and informing everyone he was in her bedroom was unnecessary. Lesser things than that tarnished reputations, and Lucas could say much that could destroy hers. Besides, she didn’t desire to see Lucas in trouble, even if he deserved it.
Lucas removed his hand, and she inhaled.
Sympathy shown in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
She placed her hands on her waist. “Are you following me?”
“N-no,” he stammered.
She narrowed her eyes. “It seems like you’re following me.”
He inhaled. “I’m not.”
“You’re in my bedroom.”
“I didn’t know it was yours. I didn’t even know you were staying overnight.”
She gave him a stern look. “But you knew I was planning to come here tonight.”
“Er—yes.” He ran a hand through his damp hair and appeared frazzled. For a man who had found her alone, he seemed upset.
She supposed he’d had ample opportunity to act ungentlemanly before.
“So you’re not here to see me,” she said.
“Not that I mind seeing you,” he said hastily. “We had a nice wander.”
; Her face heated for some reason. “We should banish that from our minds.”
His face stiffened, and he nodded.
“I should tell Horatius he has an unexpected guest.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She sat on the bed, then stood up hastily. Other things happened on beds. Things servant girls whispered about. Her skin warmed oddly at the thought she was alone with him, and she felt less lonely than she had all evening, even though then, she’d been surrounded with people.
“You can’t be here,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“So leave.”
For some odd reason, the man hesitated.
GREAT OLYMPUS.
He wasn’t supposed to have encountered Juliet here. He hadn’t realized anyone was in the room, and though he’d opened the door tentatively, she’d noticed it.
Damnation, the woman was intelligent.
She was also beautiful. She was attired in an emerald evening gown that glimmered. The color suited her, matching her eyes, and something in his chest hurt. Her auburn locks were placed in a magnificent bun, and curled ringlets framed her lovely face.
He shouldn’t be contemplating her beauty. She was utterly spectacular, but he shouldn’t be thinking that. She was going to marry the man who most despised him, the man Lucas also most despised.
Sebastian was right. Lucas should have received an invitation to this dinner. Lucas had been snubbed deliberately.
And I deserve it.
“Was this Honoria’s room?” he asked suddenly, staring at the bed and rug.
Juliet blinked. “Yes.”
“Oh.” His heart squeezed, and he gazed about the room. Had she chosen that vase? That painting? Or had she endured them?
Memories of his last encounter with Honoria flashed before him. Memories of Honoria’s bare flesh, of her laugh, of her constant good spirit. They’d planned their life together between kisses. He would do the right thing and fight in the war. Bonaparte was harming entire countries, and Lucas hadn’t thought it correct to leave the most important fight in his lifetime to poor farmers and workers. He believed in the cause and he’d been willing to lay down his life for it.
My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2) Page 12