by Claudy Conn
“No, the sorry truth of it is I am on a repairing lease. Recouping my finances while I see to the upkeep of my lands at Turndale Grange…not far from here, about few miles south actually.” He carried his drink and tipped it before taking a sip and sitting on the leather bound chair opposite the duke. He eyed the duke curiously and asked, “What brings you all the way from London?”
“The Sherborne twins. I am their legal guardian and Skip made me aware that more than their finances were in need of attention.”
“Indeed,” Sir Owen said slightly surprised.
“An understatement, I suppose, considering the seriousness of the situation at hand,” stuck in the duke watching for a reaction. “Tell me, what is your interest in the business, for I must surmise that is why you are here?” the duke inquired, his one dark brow up, his tone while not quite threatening, certainly cool.
“Friendship,” Sir Owen said quietly.
The duke was struck by Sir Owen’s reticence. Why was he being so cautious? He felt himself bristle. He was already irritated by the fact that he had witnessed the man take Mandy into his arms. How had he known she would be there? He was however, interested in keeping Sir Owen talking, so he did nothing to give his agitation away. He wanted to get a true measure of the man for himself.
Ignoring Sir Owen’s clipped response to his question, he shifted in his seat and changed the subject for the moment, asking, “Have you found your repairing lease an answer to your troubles?”
“Indeed,” Sir Owen shrugged, “I have managed to settle most of my debts with the sale of many valuables I had sitting about in my home. However, returning to London just now is not feasible. I have a great deal more to attend to.” He frowned thoughtfully and added, “It is my hope that the future will hold better times…”
The duke wanted to land him a facer and tell him just what his future would hold if he accosted Mandy in the woods ever again. However, as he contained himself, he was saved by the sound of the door opening once more, and this time he saw the viscount standing at its threshold, looking from Sir Owen to him with one arched brow.
The viscount strode into the library, exchanged a quick glance with the duke and said as he turned to his new guest, “Sir Owen. This is unexpected.” Again, he gave the duke a heartfelt glance, and sighed to hurriedly add, “Brock, forgive me for keeping you waiting. My dratted man wouldn’t let me go. But I see you two have been amusing yourselves in my absence.”
Skip strode to the sideboard table, also apparently, in need of a drink. He poured himself a snifter, put it to his lips and sipped before he pulled up a chair, sat and looked at Sir Owen to ask, “Right then, I have a notion, you have a specific reason for coming to see me, so then Owen, what is it?”
“It is a delicate matter…” Sir Owen said glancing at the duke.
The duke got to his feet, “Of course, I’ll…”
“Sit, sit,” the viscount waved Brock back into his seat. “Delicate meaning something to do with the twins, I’ll wager and if so, you may speak freely. As you must know, the duke is their guardian.”
“Yes, his Grace just mentioned it, though I can’t imagine how that came about,” Sir Owen said curiously.
“Nor I,” the duke almost snorted, shook his head and said, “Alas, as it is the sorry truth, if you have anything that concerns them, it does also concern me.”
“Very well then gentlemen, I shall get to the point. Today, and quite by accident, I ran into Aman…er, Miss Sherborne near the stream that runs through Abbey Forest.”
“Good God!” ejaculated the viscount, his eyes opening wide. “Why would she be running about in the open? Madcap.” The viscount shook his head but his eyes spoke of the great affection he had for her as he said warmly and with a touch of admiration, “She has always had a mind of her own.” However, a frown descended over his pleasant features as he added, “Indeed, but this is not good. Bound to land herself in the basket if she runs about in the open.”
“Exactly so,” agreed Sir Owen. “There is no telling who she could run into if she goes about so freely while she is still with her brother in hiding and I must assume that there is where she intends to stay until she can prove him innocent.” He shook his head and clucked his tongue before adding, “I tried to talk some sense…well, she has her own mind, as you said and hence I fear she won’t take my advice seriously.
“Aye, she won’t leave him in this mess. Loyal to a fault. I can’t think of another woman who would put herself in such harm’s way…” remarked the viscount and this time there was no hiding the approval he felt for Mandy’s behavior. “Did she tell you where they are hiding?”
“No, of course not. I fear she does not trust me…at all,” Sir Owen said grimly. “I had hoped otherwise, but she seems to think I believe her brother guilty. She actually thinks that I have laid such beliefs against him to the authorities, which is of course, ridiculous.” He threw down the remaining contents of his glass and heaved a long sigh before saying, “I thought, perhaps, you may be able to get word to them to be more careful.”
“I have no way of doing that, as they did not confide their destination to me,” Skip said.
“That is odd,” Sir Owen remarked. “You are their closest friend, are you not?”
“Indeed, but knowing Mandy, she would not wish to cause me trouble and put me in a situation that could take me there.”
“Then I am disheartened,” Sir Owen returned with a shake of his head. “It is time to take action.”
“Action? What action?” the viscount expostulated worriedly.
The duke had quietly been listening and watching this exchange but was moved to ask dryly, “Indeed, I am curious, what action do you have in mind?”
“As the charges against Ned are absurd, we should be working to get them dismissed,” Sir Owen said sharply. “We need to take action to do that.”
“Just so, how do you propose we go about accomplishing that?” the viscount returned impatiently.
“What have you been doing to find the maid, Elly Bonner?” Sir Owen asked.
The duke’s brows rose. Was Sir Owen fishing for information? Was he worried that they were getting close to finding her? Was that because Chauncey and Ned had found the woman’s beau? Did Sir Owen already know that?
“I have set about inquiries, of course. To date, those inquiries have turned up absolutely nothing. The girl and the diary have vanished,” the viscount answered on a heavy sigh. “My fear is that the diary has already been thrown into the fire.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” said the duke. “This maid took it for a reason. I believe, when we find her, we find the diary and that both will reveal the name of the father of Celia’s unborn child.”
Sir Owen looked more worried than he should have at this conclusion, “Just so,” he said quietly. “As it happens, I have found some information about the maid. Apparently, Elly Bonner was spotted in York three nights ago.”
Both the duke and the viscount were on their feet. The viscount made a blustering sound of excitement, but the duke asked grimly, “Why wait until just now to tell us this? Was she alone at the time?”
“I…I was leading up to it. She isn’t there any longer, but she was seen with someone. A brute of a man.”
“How do you come by this information?” the duke asked watching Owen’s face.
“From one of my servants,” he smiled ruefully. “‘Tis the only way to get any information. They have quite a grapevine.” He shrugged, “At any rate, I immediately sent my man to York to see if he could find any more information about her whereabouts, but although he confirmed that she had been there, she had already left.”
Was Owen trying to send them off in another direction? What was his game, the duke wondered. He was surprised when the viscount interjected at this point, “‘Tis all a hum. The poor girl is probably dead…by the same hand that killed Celia.”
“Upon my soul!” Sir Owen frowned as he rounded on the viscount. “What makes you thin
k so?”
“Stands to reason, don’t it? Look here; this was carefully put in place, step by step to make Ned look guilty. First Ned is delayed from meeting Celia because Elly took him a note which he no longer has…but was no doubt was written by the real murderer. Then, a page of the diary is found. Then Elly and the diary go missing.” The viscount shook his head impatiently, “Dash it to hell! Planned, the entire thing, planned to an inch,” the viscount said with some disgust. “The real murderer saw she was his weak link, this Elly Bonner and must have immediately set out to kill her.”
“Agreed that he wanted her dead, but I believe she realized this and took off. I don’t think he had an opportunity and you are quite correct, Skip, she is his weak link. No doubt he is looking for her as well. She is running for her life which will make it very difficult to find her,” said the duke quietly.
“I believe you are right,” Sir Owen said and turned to the viscount, “One more thing, Skip…” her paused.
“One more thing?” the viscount encouraged him archly.
“Indeed, it has come to my attention…well, how do I put this? No way but openly, I suppose,” he said answering himself and hurriedly saying, “It has come to my attention that you and Celia were intimately acquainted for some months.”
“Good Lord! Is that all? As a matter of fact and though ‘tis none of your business, yes, we were close for a time during the winter. It was over long before spring set in. I don’t mean to be glib about it, but there it is in a nutshell,” the viscount said sitting back in his chair.
“You have not disclosed it all, have you?” Sir Owen put up a chin. “As it happens, you are now courting a young woman and I believe you would be loathe for her to know about your…situation with Miss Celia, as she might not be so very understanding of it.”
“Dash it man, do you think I would murder the poor girl, rather than allow my affair with her be known? You are a fool to suggest such a thing.”
“An affair is not what would make a bachelor so very concerned…but a child of his as a result of an affair…”
“Damn your eyes!” the viscount jumped to his feet. “You dare to suggest I would kill a young woman and one that was carrying my child? Get out of my home with your filthy accusations. Celia and I were over long before she was with child.”
“So you say,” Sir Owen pursued.
“Devil seize your heart and then feed it to the lions,” the viscount shouted. “Get out of my home.”
Sir Owen was up already and started for the door, “As a true friend of the Sherborne’s, I have to explore every possibility.”
“As do I,” the viscount shouted after him. “We all know that you and Celia were as you called it ‘intimately involved’ and that you were seeing her clandestinely up until nearly the moment she died, even when you were attempting to court Mandy. I think you have a sight more to answer for than I, my man!”
“Indeed,” put in the duke. “I think your involvement with Miss Celia trumps that of the viscount’s with regard to timing. After all, you must marry well in order to fully come about, must you not? Would the fair Miss Sherborne understand how you could so quickly drop her cousin and profess your love of her?”
“How dare you,” snapped Sir Owen. “I think you owe me an apology, if you are man enough…” Sir Owen snapped towards the viscount as he glared at the duke.
“Apology? You come into my house and insult me and turn around looking for an apology. You have a loose screw, my man, a loose screw,” Skip retorted.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Sir Owen said and slammed out of the library.
The duke turned to the viscount and said, “Well, this puts things in a new light. Sit, my friend…let’s talk.”
Chapter Nine
MANDY SAT UP and pushed the thin blanket away from her body. The darkness of her self imposed cell was all encompassing, yet she strained through the blackness in an attempt to see her brother lying some few feet away.
Although she could hear his breathing, she could not make out his form. She tried calling to see if he was awake, “Ned…Neddy, are you sleeping?”
She received a caustic response, heard some grumbling and then his deep breathing again. She grimaced to herself and sighed wearily and loudly. No response. She tried again—still no response. The sound of his heavy breathing continued.
It was musky and uncomfortable and her straw bed was certainly not what she was used to—nor did time seem to be an aid to adjustment. Her small bones ached. She was dismal and restless, and her thoughts for no reason at all were always about the duke. What was he doing and with whom was he doing it with? Where was he and did he think her desirable? Could he think her desirable and, would he if she put some effort into it?
She lay back down and her mind focused on the blue forever in her thoughts—the color of his eyes. Such deep sky blue and forever twinkling; at least when he wasn’t glaring at her. He seemed to wear an expression that said he found the world at large absurd, which is how she often felt. They were alike in many ways—rule breakers, independent, and wildly passionate about life. A heavy sigh escaped her as she thought about her life and what a mess she was in.
She thought about what her life had been like for the last almost two years and crinkled her nose. Life? She hadn’t had much of a life. Even this cold discomfort at least made her feel alive, as for months and months everything she had been doing had left her listless and hungry for something else, something more. There had to be more.
She no longer had a place, what with her friends all attached romantically. All of them, every single last one of them had whispered rapturously about the kisses they had enjoyed with a variety of fellows and then how much more they had enjoyed with their husbands.
Life for them had moved on and now here she was a fugitive. Kisses? Ah, but none of the few stolen kisses she had experienced had prepared her for the duke’s kisses. He had taken her out of her world and made her body and mind explode with sensation.
Sir Owen’s kiss had been the only kiss that had come from an experienced man. She had thought it very nice, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing when compared to the duke’s. When Sir Owen kissed her, she had thought it very exciting, but now she knew what it was to ‘feel’ really feel desire when a man took her into his arms, and she knew and admitted to herself that she desired the duke.
She had always been honest with herself. She might end an old maid, as her reputation was now ruined. Hiding out like a common criminal, would soil her for any guest list. So there would be no invitations to balls or routs in her future.
She sighed over this, for even if they saw themselves extricated safely out of this situation, she was ruined.
Her part in her brother’s escape would never be forgotten. No one, but a fortune seeker would want her. It was a very lowering thought.
And the problem here was, the man, the one man she seemed to think about above all others, was her guardian.
Even if he was attracted to her and the more she thought about it, the more she believed that because he was a duke, he would never soil his family’s name by aligning himself with a common criminal and that was what she had become.
Why had fate done this to her? Why was it that the man, whose kiss had driven her to distraction, was her guardian?
Why had fate turned her needs inside out and spelled his name as the director of those needs? Why?
And she knew she needed him—wanted his kisses to continue, wanted to learn everything his touch could teach her. She wanted him—only him.
Life at the moment had given her a kick in the stomach.
He was not only a duke but a rakehell. She was sure he had had many women. What would he want with her?
She knew this without anyone having to tell her it was so and still she wanted him, if only to experience lovemaking at his hands. She was outrageous. However, she had been good and sweet and decent and look where it gotten her! With nothing and no one.
Well, if she
was going to die a spinster, she was at least going to experience the joys of passion while she was still young. She wanted to experience those joys with the duke, because she dashed well did not want anyone else.
And there was the rub.
Would the duke kiss her again? Did he want to? He had pulled away, because her kiss had been inadequate.
It was a demeaning and lowering thought.
When would she see him again? Did she want to? Oh yes, annoying and domineering he might be, but she wanted to be with him again. She rolled over and closed her eyes.
Quietly, and with a presence that sent heat rushing through her blood and coursed anticipation in her wildly pumping heart, he appeared and stood before her. His shirt was open displaying his broad muscular chest and his eyes spoke volumes.
The world around them did not exist. They were alone...
He reached for her and took her ardently into his embrace. He touched her lips with his own, parting them so that his tongue could enter and literally make her toes curl.
She held on to him and felt a wave of intense need shoot through her body. Her tongue melded with his and sparks of desire burned through her blood. She had been waiting for this.
His hand moved to her breast, sliding in beneath her shirt as his fingers found her hard nipples and…
She awoke with a start. Faith! She had been dreaming. Only dreaming.
It was over too soon.
Why did she have to wake up?
And what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be a ‘good’ girl and wait for marriage, but what if she never got married? This returning question seemed to stand out and haunt her. Why should she wait? A man wasn’t expected to wait…why should a woman?
She wasn’t alone in asking this question. Closeted with her friends, it was all they had talked about in school days past, after reading articles by the Godwin women about women’s rights.
She was being absurd. As though the duke would ever even notice her again. And if he didn’t, what then?
She simply had to stop thinking about him. And still she heard his voice whisper in her ear…