Not the Duke's Darling

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  Freya wished then that she could tell him what she was. Lay at his feet a history of women making decisions for themselves in Britain that had begun before Julius Caesar.

  Instead she contented herself with saying, “I am an adult. I take responsibility for my own actions—good or bad. If I wanted to bed you, it would be my decision, not yours.”

  He was silent for a second. “But you don’t want to bed me.”

  She did want him. She wanted to taste his mouth, taste his skin.

  She shivered at the thought.

  “I want to,” she whispered, telling him the truth because she wasn’t a coward. “But I don’t think it…wise.”

  “Why not?”

  She wished she could see his expression. “I think I’m afraid I won’t know how to stop.”

  “Must you stop?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur in the dark.

  She closed her eyes as if she could block out the temptation in his voice that way.

  “Yes, I think so.” Whatever had happened between them in the last hours, he had still hurt Ran. Even if she could forgive him, that fact would always be between them. “I’m sorry.”

  Freya started to push away from him—it seemed less than honorable to take his heat while rejecting him.

  But he pulled her back. “I’m not a ravening beast. Stay. For my sake, if not your own. I find comfort holding you.”

  That at least she could allow. She relaxed inch by inch, muscle by muscle, into his warmth.

  * * *

  By eleven of the clock the next morning it was obvious that something had happened to Freya and Christopher.

  Messalina had waited and waited the night before for Freya to come to her rooms as arranged. When she’d finally gone to bed at well past midnight, she’d tried to convince herself that she’d never expected Freya to keep her word. That her childhood friend had long disappeared into the stranger who looked at her so coldly.

  Still, even with that lie, she’d been hurt.

  Now she watched as Lord Lovejoy argued with Lord Rookewoode.

  “Perhaps he left suddenly,” their host said, looking rather frantic.

  “Without leaving a note?” The earl arched a skeptical eyebrow. “More to the point—without his valet?”

  “The man said he was new to the duke’s employment,” Lord Lovejoy said distractedly. “When Harlowe didn’t retire to his own bed last night the valet obviously thought that he—” Lord Lovejoy cut himself off hastily with a sheepish glance around the room.

  The guests were all gathered in the sitting room. Regina sobbed on Arabella’s shoulder while Lady Holland looked simultaneously irate and worried.

  Lord Lovejoy loudly cleared his throat. “Harrumph! That is—”

  Lord Rookewoode sighed. “Obviously the valet was wrong. Had Harlowe been about what his man suspected, he would’ve turned up long before now.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “My lord,” the earl said softly but with a definite note of command in his voice, “I think we must start a search party.”

  “I agree,” young Mr. Lovejoy said, and that only set off another round of masculine dithering.

  “Could they have eloped?” Lucretia murmured.

  Messalina turned to frown at her younger sister.

  Lucretia had taken the opportunity of everyone’s mixed distraction and hysteria to settle into the chair next to Messalina with a plate of tiny cakes.

  “Where did you get those?” Messalina demanded.

  Lucretia’s eyes widened innocently. “The cook gave them to me. I was famished. Breakfast was interrupted, if you remember. I only got a piece of toast before Lady Holland started accusing the duke of kidnapping and ravishing her companion.”

  Messalina grabbed for the plate, but Lucretia had been her sister for over three and twenty years. She moved the plate to her other side without blinking.

  Messalina huffed.

  “Well?” Lucretia asked.

  “Well what?” Messalina muttered. She’d gone back to watching the byplay.

  Lucretia sighed as if long put upon. “Do you think they ran off on purpose?”

  “No,” Messalina said, and rose.

  “Where are you going?” Lucretia hissed, following her still clutching the plate.

  “Outside,” Messalina said.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’ve already searched the house.”

  “Oh, that does make sense,” Lucretia replied, mouth full of cake.

  She trailed behind, but Messalina had other matters on her mind. She might not be friends with Freya anymore, but Messalina knew her.

  Freya would never have done something as silly as run away with Christopher. Even if she had been lovesick over him when they’d been children.

  Which meant either that Christopher had kidnapped her forcefully—unlikely, unless he’d changed quite a lot since they’d all been children together—or something else had happened to them both.

  Messalina quickened her step.

  Possibly something very bad.

  “Not so fast,” Lucretia called from behind her.

  Messalina ignored her, striding into the stable yard. She caught movement at the corner of the stables. A flash of something black and sinister.

  Her step faltered.

  But no, there was nothing there now.

  And besides, he couldn’t be here.

  She went to the stables with the thought that she could request a horse. Riding would be preferable to—and quicker than—tromping over the estate. But no one seemed to be around as she entered the cool darkness of the stables.

  She wandered farther into the building, murmuring to the horses as she passed occupied stalls. Wherever were the grooms?

  “Hi there!” Lucretia suddenly said from behind her, and Messalina spun.

  A gnarled groom was standing with a pitchfork, blinking at them.

  “Where is everyone?” Messalina asked impatiently just as she heard a muffled whine from behind the man. “What have you there?”

  “Jus’ a cur,” the groom said nervously. “Nothing to be worried over, my lady. Shall I ready two horses for you?”

  But Lucretia had already slipped behind the man and was making for a low door with a latch on it.

  “Oi!” the groom called.

  Messalina moved past him and was just in time to see as Lucretia pulled open the door.

  Inside was Christopher’s dog. The animal had a scarf tightly tied around her muzzle and had been tethered to a pillar.

  “Isn’t that Tess?” Lucretia said indistinctly. She was still chewing on a cake.

  Messalina arched an eyebrow at her. “How do you know her name?”

  Lucretia shrugged. “I like dogs.”

  Messalina rolled her eyes and rounded on the groom. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you tied up the duke’s dog?”

  “Had a note, didn’t I?” the man said, looking wary. “Wrapped around a guinea. Said to put her there and muzzle her. Not my fault if dukes got odd orders.”

  Messalina shook her head, dismissing the man.

  She went to the lunging, whining dog. “There, there, darling. We’ll get this muzzle off you right away.”

  The dog wriggled and whimpered, obviously overjoyed to be found.

  Messalina had to pry the scarf off with her fingers, worried that she’d hurt Tess, it was tied on that tightly.

  But the dog proceeded to lick her hand when the scarf finally came off, so all appeared to be forgiven.

  She moved on to the knot in the rope around Tess’s neck, contemplating who might’ve ordered this. She very much doubted that the note had been from Christopher. Not only did the man bring Tess everywhere with him, he had the habit of sneaking food to her as well. Quite obviously they adored one another.

  Lucretia watched her struggle with the knot for a moment and then wandered off.

  Messalina glanced at the groom. “Fetch some water in a bowl, please.”

  He
stumped away.

  Lucretia returned with a huge knife just as the groom set down the bowl of water.

  “Where did you get that?” Messalina huffed at her sister.

  Lucretia shrugged vaguely. “It was sitting around.”

  The groom had taken the opportunity to disappear.

  “Hm.” Messalina looked back at Tess, now sitting alertly, water dripping from her muzzle. “If I hold her head, can you cut off the rope without hurting her?”

  Lucretia cocked her head. “I think so.”

  The minute Tess was let loose, she ran out of the stables.

  “Dash it,” Messalina said, “now we’ve lost her.”

  But then Tess came galloping back into the stables and barked at them.

  “I believe she wants us to follow her,” Lucretia stated, as if this were something Messalina hadn’t already realized.

  Messalina sent her a jaded look. “What are you still doing with that knife?”

  Lucretia swished the knife through the air as if it were a very short sword. “I like it.”

  Tess barked again, as if to remind them of more important matters.

  “Fine,” Messalina said to the dog, and they set out.

  Tess bypassed the house altogether and then led them past the garden. When she entered the small wood nearby, Messalina began to feel uneasy.

  “It’s just as well you kept the knife,” she muttered to her sister.

  “Do you think so?” Lucretia brightened. “Perhaps they’ve been captured by highwaymen.”

  Messalina looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Highwaymen?”

  Lucretia shrugged. “More likely than pirates, you must admit.”

  “Humph.”

  Ten minutes later Messalina began to wonder if Tess simply enjoyed running through the woods. But then the path they were on turned and an odd, small stone house came into view.

  Tess barked at the door.

  “Hello?” came a voice from within.

  Something relaxed in Messalina, and she realized suddenly that she’d been bracing herself all this time for tragedy. “Is that you, Freya?”

  “Oh yes,” Freya’s voice sounded weak from relief. “Messalina?”

  “Yes, it’s I.” Messalina pressed her palms to the door as if she could get closer to Freya inside. “Are you by yourself? Only Christopher is missing, too.”

  “We’re both here,” Christopher shouted. “Can you open the door?”

  Lucretia looked at the door at the same time as Messalina. There was a huge rusting padlock affixed to the door.

  Someone had locked them in.

  “I don’t think so,” Messalina replied slowly. Who could have done this? “We’ll have to go for help.”

  She turned to Lucretia, but at that moment Lord Stanhope stepped from the woods. Behind him was Lord Lovejoy, Aloysius Lovejoy, and Lord Rookewoode.

  “What are you doing?” Lord Stanhope asked disapprovingly as Tess circled the newcomers.

  The earl shot him an irritated look. “Obviously the same thing we’re doing—searching for the duke and the companion.”

  “Open the door, Rookewoode,” Christopher shouted from inside the house.

  The earl’s eyebrows rose. “And you ladies have found them. Well done.”

  There followed a few minutes of debate before Aloysius Lovejoy volunteered to go get an ax and some sturdy footmen.

  The little group waited in uneasy silence before Viscount Stanhope said, “I can’t think who would play such a vicious joke on Miss Stewart and His Grace.”

  “You think this a prank?” Lord Lovejoy asked. “If the dog hadn’t led the Misses Greycourt here, the outcome might have been dreadful.”

  In fact they might’ve died. “Who do you think did it?” Messalina asked.

  “A poacher or the like,” Lord Stanhope said with disapproval. “A ruffian of the lower classes.”

  “He’d have to have done his poaching whilst equipped with a padlock,” Lord Rookewoode said mildly. He straightened from where he’d been examining the lock and the door and frowned. “Seems dashed unlikely. Do you have many poachers here?”

  “We do,” Lord Lovejoy replied.

  Lord Rookewoode shrugged. “Perhaps a poacher, then.” He still looked doubtful, though.

  Lucretia idly whacked at the bushes with her knife.

  Lord Stanhope stared at her with pursed lips, disapproval fairly radiating off him.

  Messalina turned to Lord Lovejoy. “How did you know to come here?”

  “Aloysius remembered the well house.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.” He paused, glancing at Lucretia, who was still destroying the vegetation. “Perhaps you should take your sister back to the house.”

  Lord Stanhope nodded. “All this must’ve been terribly wearying for a young lady.”

  Messalina tilted her head, still smiling with effort. Was the viscount implying that she was no longer young at seven and twenty? Of course there were many who considered a lady on the shelf if she wasn’t married by five and twenty. But they didn’t usually tell her so to her face. “I think we’ll stay.”

  “How did you think to come here?” Lord Stanhope inquired suspiciously.

  “We had a guide.” Messalina pointed to Tess, who had sat down by the door, patiently waiting for her master to emerge from the well house.

  The arrival of the rescue party was announced by voices and tromping feet. Mr. Lovejoy emerged on the path, followed by two imposing footmen.

  Lord Rookewoode greeted his friend with a muted, “Huzzah!”

  Mr. Lovejoy grinned and bowed while Lord Stanhope sniffed at their drollery.

  The footmen consulted with the gentlemen on the best way to break the padlock, and then a ginger-haired fellow stepped up to the door and took a mighty swing with his ax.

  The padlock broke with a loud clang.

  Immediately the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Freya and a pale but composed Christopher.

  He gestured for Freya to exit the well house before him.

  She stepped into the clearing and straightened, turning to Messalina. “Thank God you found us.”

  “We didn’t do it,” Lucretia said cheerfully. “It was Tess.”

  They all turned to where Christopher was on one knee over Tess, ruffling the delighted dog’s ears.

  Beside Messalina, Freya gasped softly.

  Christopher looked up sharply and then followed her gaze.

  Messalina did also, peering into the well house. There, high on the wall opposite the door, was a carving, illuminated by the light shining in.

  “Is that a W?” asked Lord Rookewoode, sounding intrigued.

  “Oh no,” Lucretia said, shaking her head. She’d come to stand on Messalina’s other side. “It’s two V’s crossed together. Virgo Virginum.”

  Everyone turned to stare at her, including Messalina.

  “The Virgin Mary.” Lucretia blinked. “It’s a sign to drive out witches.”

  “Witches?” Lord Lovejoy exclaimed.

  While at the same time Mr. Lovejoy cried, “What rot!”

  “Rot indeed,” Lord Rookewoode mused. He’d entered the small building to peer closer at the letters. “But this is freshly carved.” He turned and smirked at Lord Lovejoy, his face oddly highlighted in the dark well house. “Perhaps someone nearby has cause to fear witches.”

  * * *

  A witch’s mark.

  Freya brooded over the matter on the trek back to the house. Was the mark a coincidence? Surely not. The Crow had warned her about a Dunkelder in attendance at the party. And now to find a witch’s mark?

  No. No coincidence.

  Usually a witch’s mark was simply a sort of good luck charm, meant to ward away any evil—or evil persons—from a building. This witch’s mark, however, felt like a warning. Had the Dunkelder discovered who she was? Had he followed her as she followed Harlowe, then snatched her and locked them both up in the well house?

/>   Except the mark was already carved in the well house when they were locked in. And why involve a duke if the Dunkelder was only after her?

  Damn it. Nothing made sense.

  “Are you all right?” Messalina asked her.

  “Yes.” Freya cleared her throat because that had sounded curt and she didn’t want to offend Messalina. “I’m sorry I missed our meeting last night.”

  “I think, under the circumstances, that I can forgive you.” Messalina’s tone was very dry.

  Freya felt her mouth quirk. “Shall we try again tonight?”

  “Yes, please.” Messalina sent her a grateful glance.

  Freya felt a near-giddy burst of warmth in her breast as she smiled back. “Your room?”

  Messalina nodded, and for several minutes they walked companionably in silence before she said, “You must’ve been frightened to be locked in all night. How did it happen?”

  Freya shrugged and, because she was tired and really couldn’t think of anything else, told the truth. “I was following Harlowe when I was grabbed and a neckcloth tied about my eyes. I was pushed into the well house. Then someone slammed the door closed behind us.”

  Messalina raised both brows. “Did you have an assignation there with Christopher?”

  “Erm, no.” Freya supposed she should feel insulted, but she was just weary. “He told me later that he’d received a note to meet Mr. Plimpton in the well house. I saw him leave the house and…” Actually, now that she thought of it, it was rather hard to explain. She ended rather lamely, “I just…followed him.”

  “Ah,” Messalina said, sounding doubtful.

  Freya had a sudden urge to blurt out the whole complicated matter to Messalina. Years and years she’d been alone, living under a false name. And although the Hollands were quite kind as employers, she couldn’t ever confide in them. Couldn’t really talk to anyone.

  Once, she would’ve told Messalina everything.

  She wanted that closeness back with all her heart.

  Freya glanced at the other woman out of the corner of her eye and said softly, “Thank you for looking for us.”

  Messalina shrugged. “We—Lucretia and I—didn’t know what we were about. We simply followed Tess. I’m afraid she’s the real heroine.”

  Freya glanced at the dog trotting along beside Harlowe, her head lifted adoringly to him. “I wonder why she didn’t come find Harlowe last night? Was she locked in the house?”