Scandalizing the Duke

by Leslie V. Knowles

  He studied her carefully, then swiftly backhanded her in the eye, his signet ring breaking the skin on her cheek.

  CHAPTER 26

  Lucien inspected the rundown building that sat between its recently renovated neighbors. Ironically, this building was but a block behind the Dalton home and located between Mayfair and the gentlemen's clubs of St. James. No light showed here, either. Still, that meant nothing since it would soon be dawn. An occasional carriage made its way from the clubs, late as it was. He and Clarehaven turned their horses toward the back. He didn’t want anyone to see them enter the house.

  The second property was a few blocks away, so Lucien had instructed Ravencliffe and Norcross to meet him at White’s if they found nothing. They would send word if they located Dalton or Charlotte. One would contact the others while the second stood guard.

  Lucien forced the lock on the servant door, and they entered the kitchen. It was as cold and empty as Dalton House. No kitchen scents lingered, only dust, mold and the slightly sour smell of old mortar and brick. Lucien lit the small lanterns he'd brought, then lowered the shades so that the light shone down at his feet but didn’t send betraying brightness ahead of them. Silently, he handed the second lantern to Clarehaven and signaled him to inspect the current floor while Lucien took the back stairs to the ground floor.

  A much smaller house than Dalton's, the first floor had a moderate sized receiving room across from a cramped study. The threadbare carpet-runner on the front staircase had once been of good, if not the best, quality. Cobwebs filled the space between most of the banister's spindles.

  Clarehaven soon joined him and they ascended to the next level together.

  That floor's sitting room opposed the dining room, both with open doorways connected by a broad landing. A wide window along the connecting wall at the head of the stairs provided light during the day, and now lent enough moonlight to show the rooms to be shrouded and empty.

  At the third floor they again split up, Clarehaven taking the servant staircase to the attic where the servants’ chambers were. The third floor contained one spacious and two smaller bedchambers. It was in the second of the smaller rooms that Lucien discovered a narrow cot that looked as though someone had used it recently. Vagrants? Lucien raised the lamp and studied the rest of the room.

  A wingback chair sat next to the empty fireplace. The table beside it showed marks where a bottle and, presumably, a glass had rested. Whoever had used this room had made himself comfortable.

  What struck a disturbing note, however, was the hard-backed, wooden chair that sat between the cot and the wingback. It didn't belong. Plain, wooden, and centered in the room, it looked like the interrogation seat of an improvised courtroom.

  He held the lantern higher and saw the drying splatter of vomit... and a lady's dancing shoe. That sight sent cold shockwaves through him before raging fury had him yelling for Clarehaven. He would kill Dalton for that.

  Together they hunted for clues to tell them where Dalton had taken Charlotte. Frustration fueled the tension that had Lucien reinvestigating the other rooms, but to no avail. When they finally admitted defeat and went to Whites, it was well past dawn. Ravencliffe and Norcross had already arrived and ordered an early breakfast. They had found nothing to indicate Dalton had been at the other house.

  Lucien still believed that Dalton would not retreat to his home estate. However, they could not take the chance he had not. Ravencliffe and Norcross agreed to leave for Dalton's country estate immediately. Lucien would make the rounds of the gaming houses to glean what he could of Dalton’s habits and regular haunts.

  Clarehaven went home, promising to return to join Lucien when he questioned Dalton's friends. Unfortunately, they could not do that until afternoon when the ton began to stir. Lucien had to return home. He would not distress his or Charlotte's family with the details of what he'd seen, but he needed to let them know that Dalton had temporarily eluded them.

  No sooner had he stepped across the threshold, than Sarah met him, her eyes red from crying, and babbling about her dreams of Harry chasing the weasel and how Charlotte kept spinning around.

  Elizabeth followed her into the entry hall, her eyes also red, though her words were calmer. "Please, Your Grace, you must return to Dalton House. Sarah's dreams are never wrong."

  Lucien gaped at the two of them. Sarah rarely spoke directly to him. She struck him as a rather shy child, so it surprised him that she now clung to him as she tried to make him understand.

  "Pardon me, Your Grace," Elizabeth reached out and gently released Sarah's hands from Lucien's sleeves. "I'll explain, but we must hurry." She glanced to where the duchess and Anne had joined them. "You see," she looked to where a curious parlor maid lingered near the stairs and lowered her voice. "Sarah has the sight."

  Lucien raised an eyebrow at that, and she rushed on. "Stupid rumors circulate about our grandmother being accused of being a witch. She was not. But she did dream and know things before they happened, and it frightened people. Sarah dreams and knows things, too." She put her arm protectively around her sister. "I ask that you do not mention this to others, but I beg you to believe in her gift."

  "Please, Your Grace." Sarah took a deep breath and looked up at him, her gaze direct and compelling. "You must go back to Dalton House. She is there. I know she wasn't before, but she is now. I know it– and she is hurt."

  Lucien saw the real panic in Sarah's eyes and the desperation in Elizabeth's. Suddenly he remembered the questions the child had raised so casually, and the situations that had followed. The horse with shoe blacking and her request for oranges. He might have questioned clairvoyance if he weren't so desperate to find Charlotte himself, but perhaps the bond of sisterhood, at least, existed.

  "We found evidence that Charlotte had been held at one of the locations but had been removed before we arrived." He told them. "I don’t see how he could have gone back to his townhouse without us seeing him, but I’ll do as you ask if it will ease your mind. I certainly have no other viable clues to follow."

  As soon as he spoke, Harry's bark sounded behind the doors to Lucien's study followed by a loud thump and desperate scrabbling against the wood. The frantic barking and thumping had Lucien yanking open the doors before the beast could tear them down. As soon as he was released Harry leapt up, his paws on Lucien's shoulders until he was face to face with the frantic, whining dog.

  "Harry, down." he ordered. The dog obeyed but continued to whine and move between Lucien and the door.

  "We had to put him in there– he's been pacing in front of the door for the last two hours– ever since Sarah woke from her dream." Anne told him. "I believe he also knows Charlotte needs help."

  Lucien turned to Timmons. "Have my horse brought back around and tell John to drive the coach to the mews behind Dalton House and wait for me."

  "I must change, or I’ll be noticed in the daylight. If Dalton has taken Charlotte back to his home I need to attract as little attention as possible." He took the stairs two at a time to his room where he stripped out of his evening clothes and into riding clothes as quickly as possible.

  Within five minutes he mounted his horse and sent it in a brisk canter through the early morning delivery cart traffic. Halfway there he realized Harry followed. When Lucien ordered him home, Harry ignored the command, and Lucien reconciled himself that Harry would be part of his new search.

  THE THROBBING PAIN woke her, but Charlotte kept her eyes closed. Or, rather, her eye. The other was swollen shut and would not open had she tried. Nor did she want to try. She didn’t want to move at all. Lord Dalton had hit her several more times before she'd lost consciousness. At some point he must have moved her since she was no longer tied to the chair. And the cotton under her cheek was of better quality. It irritated her abraded skin less than the rough mattress where she'd been before. It smelled cleaner, too.

  She kept her breath slow and even while she concentrated on listening for some sign that he waited for her to
open her eyes. She listened for faint movement, for the whisper of his breath. Nor did she breathe in the cloying tobacco scent that had surrounded her when he had leaned down to make eye contact with her. She opened her uninjured eye... and recognized the room where she had discovered Lady Dalton. Wherever she'd been before, she was now at Dalton house– and three blocks from Wolverton House.

  Tentatively, she flexed her wrists. They were still bound, but she believed the cords had loosened a bit. She tried moving her feet. The coarse rope chaffed against her ankles making them burn. She would have to free her hands in order to undo the bindings. Her arms ached as she worked her hands, twisting and stretching the cord. The movement caused her face to brush against the sheet and her cheek burned, too. The pulsing throb of her swollen eye did not relent.

  Every few minutes she stopped and listened for movement from either the hall or the connecting door she knew must lead to the master bedchamber. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, and she had no idea how long Dalton would leave her alone. She only knew that she needed to free herself and find a way to escape before Lord Dalton could strike her again.

  When Charlotte succeeded in narrowing her hand enough to pull it free of the loosened cords, she wanted to cry in relief. Instead, she took another moment to listen for Dalton before struggling upright. The movement made her head swim with dizziness and the throbbing in her eye to radiate into a headache that pounded as though her head would explode. She fought through the disorienting pain to pull at the knots that rubbed against the raw skin at her ankles. It took her an eternity to work the cords loose, but she finally managed to break them free. She lowered her feet to the floor and carefully stood. Fire laced needles flashed as the circulation returned to her feet, but that discomfort made little impression over the pain from Dalton's fist.

  The first step was the hardest, but she managed to hobble to the window. Turning the latch, she succeeded in raising the sash. The pale dawn light, the rattle of wheels on cobbles and the distant calls from street vendors told her the working class had begun the business of the day. The room was too high for her to climb down, even without the beating she had endured, but if she could get the attention of someone at the ground level—

  "You’re awake," Dalton said from behind her. He crossed to the window and grabbed Charlotte's hair as he had earlier. "I see I’ll have to tie the cords tighter this time."

  CHAPTER 27

  As he had the first time, Lucien inspected the grounds and the windows at the back of the house. Early morning scents of damp grass and the distant calls of the dairy venders rose with the dawn. At the far wall, a cat slunk along its top, then jumped down and sauntered to a hedge at the far corner and disappeared beneath its foliage. He checked the windows on the upper floors and saw that one was open, a detail he'd not been able to see in the darkness the night before. He saw no movement behind its frame.

  He traveled swiftly and silently across the path to the servant entrance. He slipped through the door he had left unlocked earlier when he found the house empty. He shut the door quickly, ordering the dog to stay outside. The kitchen was still cold and silent, but the scent that floated on the air had changed. A plate with cheese crumbs and a thin crust of bread on the table showed him that someone had been here, but whether or not it was Dalton he could not know. He took a step, then a soft woof made him turn back.

  "Quiet, Harry." he commanded in a low voice. "Down... Stay."

  The dog had kept pace easily, and Lucien had hoped the fence surrounding the yard would keep him from following further. He should have known better.

  Harry ignored him. His great shaggy head poked through the broken window, and he whined. But he did not bark again. Lucien hoped the dog did not raise a commotion that warned Dalton he was here.

  Lucien turned to the back stairs and climbed quickly and silently, not stopping at the first or second floors. He pictured the opened window and knew Dalton would use a room on the upper floor. Halfway up to the third floor he heard the distinct smack of flesh hitting flesh and a woman's cry.

  Horror and fury rippled down his spine. Charlotte! He took the remaining stairs two at a time, no longer concerned about stealth. Behind and below him a great, howling bark. The glass splintered, and nails scrabbled against the floor as Charlotte’s beast ascended the staircase. At the top of the stair, Harry passed him and leapt against a door near the end of the hall, barking frantically.

  Lucien flung open the door and lunged across the room to grab Dalton by the collar and jerk him around. Charlotte lay on the floor, the sight of her battered face escalated his fury to rage, and he slammed his fist into Dalton's nose with his entire strength.

  Dalton staggered, nearly fell, and his nose spurted blood. Shaking his head, he recovered and lunged at Lucien with a snarl that turned to a shout of pain when Harry leapt forward to clamp his great jaws onto Dalton's leg. Dalton went down with the force of the beast's attack then kicked out, trying to get Harry to let go. Lucien caught Dalton's foot, twisting and forcing his leg down so he could not retaliate. Harry growled, but did not let go.

  Lucien needed all his concentration to restrain the struggling man whose eyes held the feral light of the vicious, cornered animal that he was. Finally managing to get Dalton face down in a grappling hold, Lucien ordered Harry to release him. For once, the dog obeyed, but stood ready to leap again, all teeth and growls. Lucien shifted until his knee was in Dalton's back and Lucien anchored his hands together. Dalton finally subsided, though his gaze was no less feral. Even a cornered beast ceased fighting when forced into submission.

  "Here."

  Charlotte's hand shook as she handed Lucien a length of coarse cord. The raw abrasions on her wrist and the dried rust color that darkened the fibers of the cord told him she handed him the same cords that had bound her. Dalton's wrists were far larger than Charlotte's, but Lucien managed to bind them together.

  That done, he rose and gently brushed his fingers over the swollen, bruised, and broken skin on her face.

  "I did not find you in time," he whispered. "I am so sorry."

  "But you did,” Charlotte assured him. Her voice a rasping whisper. "I am not floating in the Thames."

  He caught her reference and shuddered. “I should kill him for this.”

  He gathered Charlotte into an embrace. Her right eye had swollen shut, the lid brilliant purple and red. The left one had been spared– But for how much longer? Lucien did not want to think about it. Scrapes across her cheek and little patches of dried blood left a striped pattern across the once smooth skin. He dared not hold her tightly, fearing cracked or broken ribs when she winced.

  Dalton stirred and Harry's growl escalated from warning to threat.

  Lucien lifted Charlotte into his arms and carried her to the bed. He started to seat her on it, then stopped. He searched the expression in her one clear eye, "You aren't– hurt in any... other... way?"

  She shook her head. "His violence did not take that form."

  Lucien released a relieved sigh. "Rest." He said as he lowered her gently to the mattress, "while I take care of this. Then I will get you home."

  He turned back to Dalton and hauled him upright. "As a gentleman of honor," Lucien told him, "Society would not permit me to strike a man incapable of defending himself." He steadied Dalton onto his feet. "But honor," he said with a grim smile, "must sometimes bow to justice–” and Lucien drove one fist into Dalton's face, the other into his torso. Lucien then bowed, hauled Dalton up again, and tied him to the bedpost. His aunt's assessment of his forefathers’ action made absolute sense, he realized. Socially prescribed honor, and private honor, did not always match.

  "You’ve invaded my home," Dalton snarled, "You dare not send for the authorities over this."

  "I don’t plan to." Lucien said as he turned back to Charlotte, "Once Miss Longborough has been safely reunited with her family, I’ll return with peers who can be relied upon to be discreet." He helped Charlotte to stand and
supported her as he guided her around the end of the bed. "They’ll decide your fate without exposing the lady to scandal." Harry came with them but growled when he passed Dalton. Before Lucien closed and locked the door he told Dalton, "Be glad it won’t be left to me alone."

  Outside the door, Harry fawned over Charlotte, whimpering and snuffling as she praised him for his actions while Lucien further secured the door by placing a chair under the knob. That done he turned and pulled Charlotte into a gentle embrace. Now that he could focus on her and not the immediate need to restrain Dalton, he experienced an awkward uncertainty. He wanted to kiss her but dared not touch her swollen mouth. He wanted to crush her to him in a secure embrace, but would not, lest she have injuries he could not see. He wanted to go back into the room and beat Dalton with as much ferocity and viciousness as Dalton had shown Charlotte.

  He settled for kissing the top of her head when Charlotte leaned against his chest, her arms around his middle. He could feel the tremors that shook her in the aftermath of her ordeal. Then, he blinked in surprise to realize he wanted to weep with relief that she was safe from further harm at Dalton's hands.

  "That was Lady Dalton's room," she finally said. She released her hold and stepped back and gestured to the door to the left. "His room connects with hers."

  Reluctantly, he released her, then entered the next room and secured the connection with another chair under the knob. Once he knew the room had been barred, he helped Charlotte slowly negotiate the stairs down to the ground floor. She had refused to let him carry her, surprising him with the teasing comment, "I do not wish to chance a fall down the stairs in addition to my current discomfort."

  In the kitchen, she sat at the table while he checked to see that the carriage waited, as ordered, in the mews. Before he led her outside to the carriage, though, he raised her hands and kissed them. "I will never forgive myself for not recognizing the full depravity of that man," he whispered. "Rest assured, though, he told her, "I will see that he never hurts you, or any other woman, again."