Duchess Beware (Secrets & Scandals Book 2)

by Tiffany Green

  Alice, a scullery maid, stepped forward. “And Lady Sab—”

  “Isabella,” another maid corrected.

  “Oh, right. I always get them confused. And Lady Isabella’s coin bag,” Alice amended.

  Godfrey, reeling with the news, shook his head. The duke would not be happy about that. Then he recalled the rest of what had been said and turned to Mrs. Wiggins. “We have guests?”

  Mrs. Wiggins nodded dolefully. “Arrived moments ago. They are a day early, mind, but Her Grace is pleased to have her friends and their granddaughters here.” She paused and pulled a face. “The dowager is determined to see His Grace marry one of her friends’ granddaughters.” Her voice went low. “Especially after the Duke of Kenbrook’s daughter broke their betrothal.”

  Stifling a groan, Godfrey removed the handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and swiped the moisture beading up on his forehead. “I hadn’t realized Her Grace was in residence.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Wiggins said, waving the wooden spoon in her hand, “she and Lady Victoria arrived from London two days ago. Now, what I’m dying to know is why His Grace left so abruptly with two carriages just after his return from Scotland?”

  While everyone waited for him to answer, Godfrey broke out into a huge smile. He couldn’t help it. Thinking of the new Duchess of Huntington always did that to him. “You’re never going to believe it,” he began and paused, prolonging the suspense. But a sour look from Mrs. Wiggins had him speaking quickly. “We no longer have to worry about them peahens. His Grace got married five days ago.”

  Everyone gasped in unison.

  “Married?” Mrs. Wiggins echoed in astonishment.

  Godfrey nodded, knowing the news would cause such a reaction. No one expected the duke to wed so soon, especially after the broken engagement. And no one would have ever guessed His Grace would elope.

  “It’s true, I say,” he continued. “Saw the new duchess m’self. Nothing like you’d expect, either. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he hastened to add. “She’s good to us. But she has a lot of spirit,” he said, chuckling as he thought of how well she managed with His Grace. “It must be all that red hair.”

  A strangling noise sounded to his right, and Godfrey refrained from further praise of the new duchess to glance back at Mrs. Wiggins. Her eyes were nearly crossed, like she would swoon. “Gads, Mrs. Wiggins, you—”

  “What was she wearing?” she choked out.

  He blinked, wondering if the woman had been tipping the cooking sherry.

  “This is important, Godfrey,” she said, clutching the wooden spoon to her ample breasts. “What was she wearing?”

  He sighed inwardly. Women. “Not a fancy dress. It was sort of plain, actually. And kind of a silvery-gray color…” He halted when Mrs. Wiggins’ spoon clattered to the floor like a cannon blast in the still room. Then her eyes rolled white, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

  Godfrey’s mouth fell open as everyone ignored poor Mrs. Wiggins and began to speak all at once.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daniel groaned when he saw them. His grandmother and her guests. Too late to retreat. They’d already spotted him. With a heavy sigh, he continued forward. Bloody hell. He should have walked around the mansion instead of through it. Then, at least, he would have been able to retrieve Silver first. Perhaps even avoided Gran’s guests until tomorrow. But how the deuce could he have known his grandmother had returned from London? And with a gaggle of peahens, as Godfrey would say.

  As he neared, Daniel heard the unmistakable snivel of a woman crying. Curtailing the urge to run in the opposite direction, he increased his pace, wondering what had happened. Probably nothing more than a broken fingernail, but he had better find out.

  Halting before the group, he found the dowager Countess of Havenshire trying to comfort her tearful granddaughter, Lady Isabella, while the others surrounded, murmuring consoling words. “What happened?” he asked.

  “It’s good you’re home,” his grandmother said. “Lady Isa—”

  “It was awful, Your Grace,” Isabella said with a sob, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. “I was ro-robbed,” she cried in a shrill voice, her tears increasing.

  Daniel swallowed, trying to keep from cringing. He could not abide the sight of a woman crying and wanted nothing more than to turn and leave. But he had an obligation to his guests. Their safety while on his land was his responsibility. A slow fury crept up his middle when he thought of someone behaving in such a despicable manner toward defenseless elderly women and their granddaughters. Had it been a highwayman? He had to find the ruddy thief and deal with him. But first, he must calm the ladies.

  Bloody hell. He’d rather deal with the thief.

  “Come, my lady.” He held out his handkerchief, hoping she’d end her sniveling. “Let us have some tea in the drawing room. Do you think you will be able to tell me what happened?”

  Isabella took his handkerchief and gently dabbed her wet cheeks, her tears miraculously ceasing. “I will try, Your Grace,” she said, batting her dark eyelashes up at him.

  To keep from grimacing, Daniel nodded to the nearby footman, giving the silent command to retrieve the refreshments. As the man bowed and started down the hall, he led the ladies into the drawing room, glancing toward the front of the house where he had left Silver. He pulled his watch out and checked the time, swearing under his breath. Five minutes. That’s all the time he would take before excusing himself to retrieve his wife.

  “I was terrified for my life, Your Grace,” Isabella whined once everyone took a seat. She then released a shuddering sigh as fresh tears formed in her eyes.

  “Pray, my lady, what happened?” Daniel asked from the chair near the sofa, anxious to hear the story and get back to his wife.

  The girl patted her cheeks with his handkerchief. “It happened so quickly.” She paused to hold out her arm. “My limb was nearly torn from my person when she viciously pulled my new drawstring purse—”

  “She?” he interrupted, leaning forward. “The thief was a woman?”

  “This was no ordinary woman, Your Grace,” Ruth Crofton, the dowager Countess of Havenshire interjected from beside Isabella. “This woman was…was…”

  “Incredibly large,” the dowager Countess of Langston said.

  “Yes, that’s it, Lottie,” Lady Havenshire agreed, then turned back to Daniel. “She was incredibly large.”

  “Why, I’m certain she was a man dressed as a woman,” the dowager Countess of Blakely said from her seat beside Sabrina, directly opposite Victoria.

  “Well, of course he was, Helen,” Lady Langston stated. “Any dolt could see that.”

  Daniel sighed, wondering how the conversation had gotten so distorted. A knock sounded, and he called to enter, expecting to see a tea trolley. The door opened and Godfrey spilled into the room looking harried.

  “A word, Your Grace,” the servant sputtered out of breath, his eyes wild.

  With a frown, Daniel rose quickly from the chair. “What is it, Godfrey?”

  Before the man could answer, his grandmother spoke. “This is highly improper, Godfrey,” she clipped, causing the poor fellow to wince.

  “It’s all right, Grandmother,” he stated, grateful for the man’s timing. He would take the opportunity to retrieve Silver. He only hoped she would understand his leaving her alone for over an hour.

  As he approached, he noticed the urgency in the servant’s demeanor and became concerned. “What is it?”

  The man looked at the others in the room and visibly swallowed. “P-Perhaps, Your Grace, we should discuss this in private.”

  Perfect. Now he could go to Silver. Daniel gave a nod and was about to turn toward the door when his grandmother spoke. “Good heavens, Godfrey, if it is that important, just say what it is so it can be taken care of right away.”

  “Indeed it is important, Your Grace,” the man admitted to Daniel, then glanced anxiously to the dowager and back before he continued. “
It’s your wife,” he whispered, “she’s been taken to the magistrate.”

  ****

  “’Ere, eat.”

  Slowly, Silver opened her eyes. And wished she hadn’t. A candle burned low in the corridor, bringing just enough light through the door’s iron bars to show the huge brown and black cockroach her cell mate Bess held between two filthy fingers. Its legs and feelers scrambled about, trying to purchase freedom. She grimaced and turned away. “No, thank you.”

  Then she heard the crunch and shuddered.

  “Ain’t that bad,” Bess said, smacking her lips.

  With her stomach churning, Silver fervently disagreed. She shifted her weight to try and find a more comfortable position on the grimy, old hay that surely harbored thousands of those disgusting creatures Bess ate. With another shudder, she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around her calves. The iron manacles biting into her wrists clanked against the rusty chain holding them together. She tried not to breathe in the moldy air laced with urine and vomit, tried not to hear the wretched pleas and groans from the other cells, and tried not to feel the freezing damp air penetrating deep into her bones. She rested her forehead on top of her knees. For the hundredth time that hour, she prayed for Daniel to hurry.

  Silver jumped when a scream rose above the moans and clatter, coming from the cell across the hallway, then it ceased as abruptly as it started. Her heart pounded in her throat. She dropped her head back down on top of her knees and closed her eyes.

  She would very much like to kill that magistrate, Mr. Booth.

  The dolt hadn’t taken her to Huntington like she’d supposed. No, indeed. He’d shackled her up like a criminal and brought her here. An asylum for the insane. Where, of course, no one believed her, either. Humiliated and angry as hell, Silver had been hauled into the unsightly brick structure, propelled down several dim, smelly corridors, then thrown into this cell where she met the black-toothed old crone named Bess.

  Keys jingled in the lock. Silver lifted her head. A man opened the door and bent down to enter. Tall and thick-limbed, his round stomach protruded over the front of his pants. She prayed he was here to release her.

  “Well, now. You must be the new dawpate.” He crept closer, his features indefinable in the shadows. “Are you really loose in the crown, or did someone just wish you gone?”

  “What?” she asked, uncertain what he wanted to know.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Y’know, caught quiffin’ the master’s son or some such?”

  Because she had heard her cousin, Colin, use that term before, she knew what it meant. Feeling her cheeks heat, she shook her head. “I think not. There has been a terrible misunderstanding. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  The man sighed. “That’s what they all say. That is, the ones that ain’t addled.”

  Silver gasped in horror. “You mean there are others who shouldn’t be in here?”

  “Not the women.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked with rising hope.

  He shrugged his meaty shoulders. “We let ‘em go.”

  She closed her eyes. Oh, thank God.

  “For a price,” the man added in a low voice, thick and somewhat breathless.

  She wrenched her eyes open, not liking the sound of that. “A p-price?”

  He nodded slowly and began forward. “Don’t you move, Bess,” he told the old woman, keeping his attention on Silver, “and I’ll get you some nice, juicy worms.”

  “Fat, brown ones, Mr. Deeks?” Bess cackled with glee, her wild gray hair bouncing up and down as she clapped her dirty hands together.

  “Yes,” he said, halting inches from Silver. “Fat, brown ones.”

  She could only stare up at the man, terror freezing her limbs in place. From the weak light, and with him standing at the right angle, she could see the outline of his hardness between his legs pressing against his pants. Her heart hammered, and her mouth went dry. Although she knew what he meant to do, she had to ask anyway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He kneeled before her and raked his eyes over her body, lingering on her breasts. “I’m trying to get you out of ‘ere.”

  She had to keep him talking. Talking instead of…she shuddered, unable to finish the thought. “How do you plan to get me out of here?”

  “Like this.” He struck like a snake, grabbing her upper arms, trying to wrestle her down onto the smelly hay.

  She thrashed about, determined not to give up. Freeing her arms, she swung them with all her might, hitting the depraved man on the side of the face with the protruding iron hinge of her manacle.

  He rocked back on his heels and gingerly touched the knot growing on his cheek. “Now yer going to pay, bitch!” he said, once again seizing her upper arms. This time, his grip was much tighter, making her wince.

  Light poured into the cell, and Silver squinted against the sudden brightness. With his grimy hands still on her, Mr. Deeks glanced up to his left just as a man’s low, chilling voice rose above the moans from the other cells. “Unless you wish a slow and painful death, I suggest you let go of my wife this instant.”

  A moment passed before Silver recognized that voice, then she sagged against the wall.

  Mr. Deeks jerked his hands away and rose. He eyes darted from Daniel standing there in his wealthy garb to the servants outfitted in emerald and gold Huntington livery flanking either side of him. “Yer wife?” the idiot sputtered nervously, shuffling several steps back. Beads of perspiration clung to his forehead. “I-I didn’t know—”

  “Enough,” Daniel ordered, his hand slashing through the air. Silver watched him glance down at her, his expression softening. “Are you all right?” He stepped forward and held out his hand.

  Silver nodded, overwhelmed by the concern she heard in her husband’s voice, and put her hand in his. She hadn’t realized until that moment just how scared she was he wouldn’t come for her. What if he had changed his mind about marrying her? He could have simply left her here and no one would have ever found her. She shivered at the thought. But Daniel had come for her. He hadn’t abandoned her.

  As the rusty chains clanked together when she rose, Daniel lifted her hands to examine the manacles around her wrists. His brows snapped together and his lips pulled down. Then he shifted his gaze to the man trembling to her left. “The key,” he growled and held out his hand.

  Mr. Deeks paled and scrambled for the ring secured to his pants.

  As Daniel lifted her wrists with exquisite gentleness and inserted the key into the shackles, Silver started to ask how he’d found her, but stopped. She could read the guilt pinching his brows and tightening his lips together. He tried to conceal his remorse but that would not do. Once the rusty iron fell free and hit the floor with a loud clank, she shook the dirty straw from her dress, praying nothing had crawled up the material, and turned to her husband. She gave an annoyed sniff—an exact replica of Aunt Prudence—and cocked a brow at him. “It’s about time you got here, Daniel. These accommodations are dreadful. They don’t even serve tea,” she said, then sailed past him.

  As she suspected, he chuckled as he rushed to assist her from the cell.

  When the coach turned onto Huntington’s long drive, Silver grew nervous about facing Daniel’s grandmother, the very woman who had ordered her taken to the magistrate. She held up the glistening diamond ring Daniel had slipped back on to her finger after leaving the asylum, careful not to show her bruised wrists, and noticed the smudge on her hand. With a grimace, she rubbed the spot away and prayed she looked presentable enough. Without a brush and mirror, she had no idea how the twist she’d managed to arrange in the swaying coach looked. She also couldn’t be certain she’d sufficiently removed the dust and dirt from her face. The lingering, yet thankfully slight, stench of the asylum, however, could only be rid by a long bath. She turned to her husband. “How do I look?” She swiped the cravat he had pulled from his neck once more over her forehead. For some odd reason,
he had no handkerchief.

  Daniel gazed at her, a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Let me see.” He leaned forward and lifted her chin with his forefinger. “You look—” he lowered his head “—like you need—” his warm breath fanned her lips “—a kiss.”

  Silver slid her eyes shut, the initial contact with his hot, soft skin sending a tremor through her. And as Daniel drew her against his solid chest, she melted against him, giving into the rhythm he set with his tongue and lips.

  The need for air caused Silver to pull away several minutes later. She smiled as Daniel continued to move his lips along her jaw then to her ear where he nipped at her lobe, sending gooseflesh and thrilling little jolts down her body. His hands had wandered to the gown’s buttons, and he nearly had one unfastened when she realized the carriage had stopped.

  Turning her head, she gasped and jerked back when she saw not only the door open, but a rather large audience gawking at them.

  “What the devil…?” Daniel halted and turned his head, obviously making the same discovery.

  Silver wanted to crawl under the seat as he left the carriage. Then he turned and held out his hand to assist her down the iron steps himself instead of the waiting footman. She smiled at the gesture, and her embarrassment lifted. Until her feet touched the gravel and her hairpins gave way. So much for the repaired twist, she thought, feeling the heavy tresses spill down her shoulders and back. Several pieces of moldy hay fluttered to the ground and she wondered just how much was sticking out of her hair.

  “My ladies,” Daniel said, causing all eyes to swing in his direction. “I present Sylvia Claiborne, the Duchess of Huntington.”

  Watching every one of the elegant ladies that before had looked at her with such utter contempt now give a respectful curtsy struck Silver as absurdly hilarious. She swallowed back her laughter for Daniel’s sake and gave each lady a regal nod in return, praying that was the right reply, and noticed more hay falling to the ground.

  The grandmother, however, stood stiff and unmoving, her cold eyes shooting thunderbolts of contempt. “A word, Daniel, in your study,” she snapped before turning around and marching away, spine straight, head high.