Winning the Duke

by Jenn Langston

  His eyes narrowed. “How long have you been walking around, then making everyone around you go out of their way to help you?”

  The bitterness in his voice slashed at her. “What happened to you?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I can’t walk. Didn’t you just see? I can barely hold myself up.”

  He shook his head as he crossed his arms. “So my sweet, innocent, little wife has secrets. And she lies. Tell me, Grace, did you write the letter?”

  “W-What letter?” Her pulse accelerated as her eyes darted to her writing desk. It held a pen and paper, no other proof of her journalistic writings. Had he found her hidden ramblings? Considering the mood she’d been in each time, her anger couldn’t be denied.

  “The letter to Lady Lorrian. The reason why she came here in such a hurry. Did you write it?”

  Realization dawned on her. Someone must have written a scandalous letter with the hope Braiden wouldn’t see it. Was that why her questions last night bothered him? The missive must have been scathing in order to put him in such a mood. How could he believe she would do something that would damage his reputation or harm him in any way?

  “Don’t act with me. However, if you want to play games, we’ll play.” He tossed a paper and pen on the bed beside her, the ink splashing on her white night dress as well as the sheets. “Write your name down and your position here.”

  “My position?”

  “Yes. Whatever you call yourself. Wife. Lover. Mistress. Temptress. Liar. Troublemaker. Pick one.”

  She glared at him. “Your hate is worse than anything I’ve seen before. I don’t like you right now.”

  “What are you going to do about it? Run away again and fake breaking your leg this time?”

  “Maybe. I suppose it’s a good thing I have the good doctor on my side to make my case more believable,” she quipped sarcastically.

  His face blanched. “He’ll pay for that.”

  She felt sick. How could he believe that after all they’d been through? Anger boiled up in her stomach. She deserved better than this.

  “Get out!” She screamed and threw the pen at him. Then she reached for the pillows and lobbed them as well.

  After shaking his head, he spun around and slammed the door.

  Throwing herself back on the bed, she stared at the ceiling, too angry to do anything else. What had happened? He was correct about one thing; she wanted to leave. Right now.

  Scooting to the edge of the bed, she grabbed the post and lowered herself to the floor. Gathering her gown, she crawled to the bell pull and rang for Sally. Part of her wanted to complete the tasks herself and prove she could do it, but exhaustion already tugged at her.

  Her anger also began to dissipate, leaving a hole in her chest. Leaning against the wall, she cried. Boiling hot tears dripped down her face. Living with him hadn’t been easy from the moment they’d left the church, but she loved him. God save her, she still loved him.

  Wiping at her tears, she calmed herself down. Somehow she would be able to prove she hadn’t sent out slanderous letters about him. She just wanted everything to return to how it was before Lady Lorrian’s visit. Spying the parchment on the floor, she crawled over to it, and fulfilled his request. It was a start.

  When Danvers delivered her downstairs to the drawing room, she discovered Braiden had ridden out after their confrontation this morning. A pang of regret crossed through her when she thought of the doctor. Then hope glimmered. Surely Dr. Pinkert would tell Braiden the truth. After all, her husband might listen to a respected man like the doctor.

  “Good morning, my dear,” the dowager duchess greeted as she joined Grace in the drawing room. “It’s such a lovely morning. Would you care for a walk through the garden?”

  Before Grace could answer, the woman unlocked the wheelchair and pushed her toward the doors. Grace decided it would be better to oblige the woman instead of arguing.

  “I’d love to. Thank you.”

  The weather was pleasant, and Grace tried to let the cooling breeze relieve her of the anger and sadness inside her. How could anyone remain angry when the beautiful day welcomed them? She simply had to remain positive and keep faith in her husband.

  Their marriage hadn’t been an easy one, but she was willing to devote her life to changing that. If they could move past this, surely nothing could come between them again. Grace forced herself to smile. Everything would work out. Matters were bad now, but time changed everything and healed all wounds.

  “Braiden certainly left early this morning, didn’t he?”

  Grace stiffened. “Yes. I believe he had some business to attend to.”

  “I’d hate to be the person he was going to see. The boy was so angry, he was practically growling. Did you make him that way?”

  “I’m sorry, but I will not answer that. Anything passing between my husband and me is private.”

  The dowager chuckled. “Have it your way. But don’t think the ‘husband’ title is permanent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The woman set the locks on the wheelchair as she quietly hummed to herself. The sound was eerie, and an uncomfortable chill made Grace shiver. Why was the dowager setting the locks? Why were they out here so far from the house?

  “He’s rid us of one wife. Now it’s time for him to dispose of another.”

  “What? Braiden didn’t kill Tabitha.”

  The woman cocked her head to the side. “I never said he did. Have a pleasant day.” She turned and practically skipped down the lane.

  “Wait. Come back. Why are you leaving me out here?”

  Fear grasped Grace’s throat when she heard a twig snap in the opposite direction from where the dowager disappeared.

  “Such a lovely gift for me,” a tall middle-aged man said as he stepped in front of her. “She knows exactly what I like.”

  Grace stiffened her spine. “What do you want?”

  The man took another step toward her. “Not much. I only want the duke to suffer, and you have got in my way.”

  Realizing no one would be along to save her, Grace threw herself from the wheelchair and crawled as fast as she could under the bushes. The man cursed, and Grace hoped his height would make following her through the vegetation difficult.

  Her heart thundered in her chest as she ignored the rocks and twigs stabbing into her hands and legs. She bit her lip as pain shot through her leg. Something sharp had cut through her skirts and tore at her skin.

  Laughter reached her before large hands gripped her around the waist and the man tossed her over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of her.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever had a woman crawl away from me. Although amusing, it’s not very effective.”

  She kicked and hit him and, after a few steps, he dropped her to the ground. Ignoring the slicing pain through her ankle, she attempted to get away, but once again she didn’t make it far.

  One hand grabbed her shoulder as pain exploded over her head. Then darkness.

  Braiden prowled his study. That miserable doctor had been in the drawing room with his mother for over an hour. What was taking so long? When he fetched the man this morning, Braiden had intentionally not mentioned Grace. He wanted to confront the man when his wife was near in order to have access to the proof. But his mother came first.

  Shoving his hands in his hair, he fell to the sofa. This had quite possibly been the worst day of his life. This morning he had intended to take his time questioning his wife, but he lost it when he saw her standing by the bed. How could she lie to him?

  Obviously her injury hadn’t stopped her from seeing to herself this morning. It hadn’t escaped his notice she’d been absent, yet the maid he’d assigned to help her had been here.

  Perhaps sh
e’d left him again. The thought only added another knife to his heart. He didn’t trust her anymore, and she wanted to destroy him, but he couldn’t live without her. In the end, he would have to determine what she wanted in order to remain with him, so he could survive.

  A knock at the door had Braiden on his feet. “Enter.”

  Dr. Pinkert came in, holding his hat in his hand. “I’d like to speak to you, Your Grace.”

  Braiden waved to a chair while he moved to the seat behind his desk. “Please, sit.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been talking to your mother for some length, and I must say I’ve never encountered anyone with her illness. At times, she is aware of everything around her and completely normal, and then she gets confused and begins speaking of the past as if it were happening now.”

  “I have noticed this as well. What can be done?”

  “You could send her to the Bethlem Royal Hospital where they have the facilities to help someone in her condition. Or you could let her remain here until her mind has completely deteriorated.”

  Braiden let out a long breath. He couldn’t send his mother to Bedlam. She only wanted to help her family. No. He wouldn’t do that to her unless she became a liability to herself. But not now.

  “Perhaps we can schedule weekly visits for you. Each time you and I can discuss what is best for her.”

  The doctor nodded, satisfied. “Then I shall return in seven days. However, while I’m here, how is the duchess?”

  Pleased with the opportunity to confront the doctor, Braiden linked his fingers on top of his desk, one at a time.

  “Much better than I expected. This morning I saw her standing in her bedchamber.”

  The color drained from Dr. Pinkert’s face, and Braiden’s heart sank. Deep down he hadn’t wanted to be right. He felt like such a fool. Breathing became difficult as he stared at the man. How could he allow a corrupt doctor to help his mother?

  “You made her stop, didn’t you?”

  “Why should I? Clearly she has no need to continue with this charade.”

  With a wince, the man swallowed. “I understand keeping someone handy to attend to her needs is difficult, but it’s necessary. At this time, she shouldn’t be experiencing pain, but if she applies pressure to her ankle, the healing that has begun will be ruined. She will re-break her ankle.”

  “If it was injured at all,” Braiden commented.

  The doctor jumped to his feet. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I can’t sit here while my professional opinion is questioned. I felt her ankle. Her bones had been cracked and wrenched out of place. Have you so quickly forgotten her pain when I set them back? I have not. The sound still comes back to me from time to time.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Braiden studied him. He remembered. But oh, how he wished he didn’t. His anger had cast the memory from his mind, but the sound reverberated through his mind even now.

  “Then why was she standing this morning?” Braiden asked, as if the doctor would know what ran through the duchess’s thoughts.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace, but I certainly wouldn’t let her do it again.”

  “Thank you.” Braiden stood, indicating the man do so as well. “I look forward to your visit next week.”

  After a deep bow, the doctor left the room. Although Braiden felt bad for accusing Grace of not really sustaining an injury, she still could have intentionally hurt herself. Guilt swamped him. How had she managed by herself this morning? And where was she?

  He stood and slowly left the study, prepared to apologize. Then he stopped. The letter. She might have written the letter to Lady Lorrian. He couldn’t forget that. He battled with himself. If she loved him at all, she wouldn’t have done such a thing. And to do such a thing to Tabitha’s mother. What should he do?

  He dropped his shoulders, deciding to at least find out where she was.

  A quick glance in the typical rooms proved she hadn’t been there. Neither Danvers nor Mrs. Brodrick nor Sally had seen her either. Turning to his mother’s quarters, he realized he had no other choice than to bother the poor woman.

  She didn’t answer his knock, so he entered anyway. He found her at her dressing table looking over some papers.

  “Mother?” he softly called as he took a step forward.

  Her shoulders stiffened as she grabbed at the papers. “Braiden. I didn’t know you were here.”

  One parchment fell to the floor, so he scooped it up for her. Seeing the familiar handwriting, he froze. It appeared to be a letter far too similar to the one Lady Lorrian received. A false attempt, perhaps.

  “Mother?” His voice barely emerged loud enough for him to hear.

  Her sigh moved her frail shoulders. “I didn’t want you to see them. I found them in Grace’s bedchamber. I had hoped to destroy them and save you from the truth.” She offered a sympathetic smile. “What should we do?”

  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. The proof of Grace’s betrayal broke him into pieces. The fraction of hope he’d harbored shattered. Snatching up all the letters, he turned on his heel and swept from the room. His mother cried out his name, but he paid no heed. The damning contents in his arms would give him the answers. First, he needed to determine the level of hate the woman he’d married felt for him.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he entered his bedchamber and slammed the door. He certainly didn’t want to be disturbed. Throwing the letters on his dresser, he paced the room. Part of him didn’t want to read them. Didn’t want to know the truth.

  Grabbing a glass, he picked up the brandy decanter, then put it back, choosing water instead. Alcohol wouldn’t aid his decision. Desperate to get this over with, he slid the first paper forward.

  As he scanned the contents, he frowned. Then selected another. Reading quicker his breathing increased as an ache settled in the pit of his stomach. The majority of the discarded attempts were more scathing toward Grace than himself. In addition, some of the activities mentioned were not known by Grace. She couldn’t have penned them.

  Relief and guilt made his knees weak as he fell to the floor. He didn’t deserve happiness. He’d found it with Grace, and then ruined it. Grace. Where was she? Jumping to his feet, he practically ran to the door adjoining his bedchamber to hers, all the while praying to find her inside.

  Thrusting open the door, he found it empty. However, he saw the pen and paper he’d brought to her this morning set upon the neatly made bed. Picking it up, he found the last piece of the puzzle. It simply said:

  Lady Grace Everett, Duchess of Donetic. Position: Wife, lover, helpmate, listener, friend, and anything else you need me to be, my beloved.

  In an instant, his heart mended, then subsequently broke. He’d treated her abominably, and accused her of a horrible crime, and this was her response. Sweet, wonderful Grace couldn’t even bring herself to hate him.

  Heading downstairs, he instructed his butler to conduct another search for Grace. He felt foolish having to do this again, but he deserved any discomfort. After all, it was his fault she wasn’t happily chatting in the drawing room with his mother right now.

  Knowing Grace would take solace in the garden, he joined the group assigned to search outside. After nearly ten minutes of aimlessly wandering around, he heard commotion from some of the staff nearby. Turning towards the voices, he ran in their direction.

  Seeing the abandoned wheelchair with leaves on the seat made his blood run cold. How long had it been out here?

  “Find her,” he bellowed to the people who uselessly gathered around.

  They scattered. Approaching the chair, Braiden touched the cold seat. There was no telling how long ago it had been abandoned. How did she get out here alone? Noticing the brake engaged brought terror clawing at his throat. She hadn’t maneuvered the chair out her
e on her own.

  Someone had left her here. She could have crawled back. Dropping to his knees, Braiden noticed some limbs on the bushes had been broken off as if someone had crawled through. Following the trail, pain ripped him in two. The aching in his chest made his heart seize. He could hardly breathe past it. Picking up the torn fabric with shaking hands, he examined the reddish brown stain. Blood.

  Someone had hurt her, and then stole her away from him. Braiden was going to find out who did this. Then he would kill him.

  Biting her lip to fight against the pain, Grace lifted her throbbing head from the bed to survey her surroundings. She appeared to be in some sort of small room. Unlike what she was accustomed to at Braiden’s, this tiny place sat in disrepair and, judging from the filth, was seldom used.

  She tugged on her arms, but they didn’t budge. They’d been tied together on to the headboard. Trying her feet next, she sighed in relief to find them free. At least now she had a way to defend herself.

  Another scan of the room brought no sign of anyone else. Why confine her here? Why not kill her and leave her for Braiden to find? Although grateful for the second chance at life, she didn’t understand it.

  Hearing the click of the door brought terror snaking up her body. Should she pretend to be asleep? Was he going to kill her now? The thought made her body shake, and she couldn’t seem to make it stop.

  “Good. You’re awake,” the man who captured her said. “I want some answers. Who are you?”

  She clamped her lips closed. How could he kidnap someone and not know who they were?