Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

  She pushed on the tops of them, but they wouldn’t budge. She had no choice but to pinch them by the top edges and then peel them all the way down her legs, turning them inexorably inside-out. She sighed as cool air swept around her bare legs. She flung the limp stockings to the floor, where they lay tangled like a pair of discarded snakeskins. She remembered when she was a little girl playing in the garden of their house in London one day, and she’d come across something that looked like a dead snake. She’d called her brother Anthony, who crouched down to examine it—and even pick it up, to her disgust—only to tell her it wasn’t a snake at all, but merely the old skin of a snake who’d shed it in favor of fresh, new skin.

  That meant there was still a live snake slithering nearby, and only then had she screamed.

  Kate pinched the fabric of her shift here and there, so it wouldn’t cling to her body. She removed her drawers, thinking she could at least rinse them out in the washbowl—but only after she washed herself.

  She removed her spectacles and stood at the washstand, pouring water from the ewer into the matching bowl. She splashed water on her face and then unbuttoned her shift, pulling it open to bare her breasts.

  “Come, dear, let me see you.”

  Kate nearly jumped out of her skin as her heart lurched, and she pulled her shift closed, glancing around the room, but she didn’t see anyone. The door into the hallway was firmly closed, and the shutters were pulled over the window. The armoire was securely shut, if only because she didn’t have anything to put in it. She peered behind the screen, but no one was there. Nor did she see anything under the bed except clumps of dust. The lid on Nathan’s trunk was locked, which annoyed her immensely. She could’ve entertained herself rifling through it. He might even have brought a few books along, since he liked to read, too.

  “You can see me, Mr. Driscoll.” That was a woman’s voice—Mrs. Driscoll’s, obviously—and now it dawned on Kate that what she heard was from the room next door. She swept her gaze over the wall but couldn’t find any holes. It was simply as thin as her shift.

  She heaved a sigh of relief, chided herself for being such a ninnyhammer, and pulled open her shift again, this time shrugging the straps over her shoulders.

  “I only see your face, my dear. I want to see all of you.”

  Kate froze, staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the small looking glass over the washstand. All she saw was her own face, covered with dust and surrounded by light-brown hair threatening to give way from its hairpins and avalanche over her shoulders and down her back.

  “I want to see your bosom,” he went on. “I want to see your belly.”

  Kate glanced down at her own pathetic bosom and past it to her belly that wasn’t growling for a change.

  But she did feel something else even lower, something that didn’t sound like a growl but strangely felt like a growl. A quivering, a burning, a longing.

  “Mr. Driscoll, what are you doing? I’m not your wet nurse.”

  Could that mean he was—Kate shook her head. She soaked the sponge in the bowl and then daubed it all over herself, from her neck to her chest, over and under her breasts. Their plump, pink tips puckered in response to the cool water that dripped over them and down her torso.

  She pulled the straps down her arms and pushed the shift down till it rested over her hips. She swiped the sponge down her sides and as far as she could reach to her back.

  Her shift was becoming quite damp, and she would have to sleep in it tonight. She couldn’t very well sleep naked, because—well, because she’d never heard of doing such a thing until she’d seen Nathan the other morning. She pushed it over her hips and stepped out of it just in time to hear Mr. Driscoll say, “Now let’s look at your thatch, my dear.”

  Did he mean…? Kate glanced down at the area between her thighs, as if to confirm that was what he referred to. Or did he mean the hair on his bride’s head? Only which looked more like a thatch? She, for one, would hardly call Mrs. Driscoll’s elegantly coiffed, blonde curls a thatch. So he must mean…Kate pressed the sponge hard against her lower belly, as if she hoped the water would quench the sudden fire below.

  “Must you?” asked Mrs. Driscoll. “I vow, I’ve never been more embarrassed.”

  “I must. I must check to see if any animals are curled up asleep in the thatch, because it’s such a warm place to be.”

  Kate groaned. Not because she was aroused by what she was hearing while she stood here naked, stroking her body with a sponge as cool ribbons of water trickled into some of her more sensitive places, but because what he was saying was so terribly stupid. No wonder Mrs. Driscoll was embarrassed. Kate was embarrassed for her.

  Next she thought she heard Mr. Driscoll say something about a pussycat curled up in the thatch, and how he, or maybe it was the cat, would have to chase something down a hole.

  “Oops, I found a hole in the thatch,” Mr. Driscoll remarked. “I shall have to plug it up.”

  Kate dropped the sponge into the bowl with a splat and gaped once again at her wide-eyed reflection in the mirror, for her likeness was the only one with whom she could share her consternation.

  Mrs. Driscoll suddenly shrieked.

  “Hush, woman! It can’t be that bad.”

  A thump suddenly shook the entire wall, and Kate lurched back from the washstand.

  Then another thump.

  Then another scream from Mrs. Driscoll.

  “Damn it, woman, do you want everyone to think I’m trying to kill you?” her husband growled.

  “But you are!” she wailed and cried out again as another thunk reverberated against the wall. “Stop it, please stop it!”

  Bang—bang—bang!

  “Aah—aah—aaahhh!” Mrs. Driscoll yelled. “Stop! The pain! Oh, please stop!”

  “Be quiet before I smother you with this pillow!”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “My God, you’re tearing me apart! You’re killing me! Killi—mmm—” Her cries were suddenly muffled.

  Heavens above. He must be smothering her with that pillow.

  Thunk—thunk—thunk!

  Kate swore the whole inn was shaking now, as if they’d been hit by an earthquake. Or maybe it just seemed that way because she was now trembling all over with trepidation at the violence taking place only inches away from her, with nothing but that hairsbreadth of a wall shielding her from Mr. Driscoll’s savagery. Yet the water in the washbowl rippled, and the flame on the candle actually flinched.

  The cur was brutally attacking his bride, and surely everyone in the inn could hear it, yet no one seemed to be coming to Mrs. Driscoll’s rescue, though it was clear she was in sheer agony from being smothered and torn apart and—the poor woman let loose with another piercing scream as Mr. Driscoll exclaimed, “Finally! I thought it would never break!”

  What did he just break?

  “Maybe now you’ll stop screaming,” he grumbled as his wife groaned as if in her final death throes.

  Where was the innkeeper? At the very least, he should have been standing outside the Driscolls’ door loudly reminding them that he ran a respectable establishment and would brook no murder on his premises.

  For that matter, where was Nathan? Surely he would come to Mrs. Driscoll’s rescue? Here he’d come to Kate’s aid in more ways than one the past few days, and he even tried to help the undeserving, backstabbing Freddy Hathaway only to lose his carriage and cattle in the process. Nathan seemed to have a soft spot for strangers in distress, a regular Good Samaritan when he could have easily been the Bad Certain Priest or Uncaring Levite passing by on the other side of the road.

  She wondered that he couldn’t hear all the tumult from downstairs, unless he thought there was a thunderstorm raging outside in addition to the downpour of rain. Still, that didn’t account for Mrs. Driscoll’s screaming, unless he assumed she was afraid of thunderstorms. Kate herself was afraid of thunderstorms, though she certainly didn’t scream when they broke out. Instead
she usually hid under the covers of her bed. It was also possible that Nathan had fallen asleep already and was out cold. Still—

  Thump—thump—thump!

  “Oh—oh—ohh!” Mrs. Driscoll yowled.

  “Come, it can’t hurt that much now,” Mr. Driscoll said in exasperation. “You shouldn’t be feeling any pain now.”

  Did he think his wife should’ve been unconscious, or even too far gone with those death throes to be aware of what he persisted in doing? What sort of blackguard was he?

  Bam—bam—bam!

  Kate couldn’t take this anymore, which was not to say she’d been able to take it from the start. If no one else would bring an end to this debacle, then she would.

  “Oh, please, Mr. Driscoll,” his wife begged piteously. “Please…”

  Kate didn’t even bother to dry herself. She snatched up her shift and stepped back into it. It immediately clung to her wet skin, making it harder for her to yank it up and pull the straps back over her shoulders. She fumbled with the tiny buttons as she rushed to the door, not caring if she was matching them with all the wrong buttonholes. Even so, she had to ask herself why she was even bothering, since it seemed there was no one else around to see her naked in the hallway.

  Of course, if Mr. Driscoll bothered to answer his door when she knocked—though if he was like most criminals, he might not appreciate being disturbed while in the commission of a felony—he would certainly see her naked and she simply didn’t want him to see her naked.

  So she was right to make some effort at concealing her nakedness as she stumbled down the dark hallway to his door.

  “How much longer?” she heard Mrs. Driscoll wail.

  Her husband seemed to grunt with exertion. “Till—I’m—done!”

  Kate pounded on the door with her fist. “Stop, Mr. Driscoll! Stop what you’re doing right now!”

  She wasn’t too surprised to hear him yell, “Go away and mind your own business!”

  A door across the hallway creaked open, and Kate craned her neck to see a man peer out.

  “Sir, can you summon the innkeeper? There’s a man in here trying to kill his wife and—”

  The man slammed the door shut, and Kate heard the click of a key turning in the lock, as if he feared she might come after him next.

  She tried the Driscolls’ doorknob, but of course he’d locked it, as if he’d known someone else might hear his wife’s screams and want to know just what the devil he was up to. She hammered on the door again. “I know what you’re doing! I’ll see you clapped in irons for doing something so beastly to your wife—and only hours after you married her!” As if it might have been more acceptable had he waited till they’d been married a few years.

  “Obviously you don’t have the slightest notion of what I’m doing,” Mr. Driscoll shot back. “Now be gone, you meddlesome, old harpy!”

  “Help me!” Mrs. Driscoll cried out. This was followed by more muffled sounds, as if he might have put the pillow over her face again.

  Kate banged on the door again. “Mr. Driscoll, open this door before I break it down! Or fetch someone to break it down!”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when a light appeared at the opposite end of the hallway where the stairs were, and she spotted one of the serving girls with a candlestick.

  She rushed toward her. “Oh, please, you must summon the innkeeper! There’s a man in the room next door to mine who’s killing his wife!”

  To her astonishment, the serving girl only cackled. “Another one, eh?”

  “What do you mean, ‘another one’?”

  “Is that why ye’re makin’ yer own man sleep in the taproom? Honestly, luv, ye’ll get used to it after a while. Ye might even get to like it.”

  Another agonizing scream tore from the Driscolls’ room.

  “There! Do you hear that?” Kate threw an arm in direction of the scream. “Now please summon help. I’d go, but I’m not dressed.”

  “I’m done workin’ for the night,” the girl snapped as she continued down the hallway without a care in the world. “Ye should know it’ll be over soon.”

  Indeed, one would think it should have been over by now, since he’d been beating his wife repeatedly and already tried smothering her and even broken some part of her.

  A nearby door opened, this time revealing a matron wrapped in a shawl with a ruffled lace cap on her head. “Upon my word, what is going on out here? Who are you and why are you shouting and banging? And even more importantly, why are you unclothed?”

  Kate said, “The man in the room next to mine is—”

  “Innkeeper!” the matron bellowed toward the staircase. “Innkeeper, summon the watch at once! There’s an unclothed madwoman running amok in the hallway up here!”

  “Wait! It’s not like that at all!” Kate cried.

  The woman raked her sharp gaze from Kate’s disheveled head of hair down to her bare toes. “Oh, I’d say it’s very much like that! Here I thought this might be a respectable establishment where my companion and I could spend the night without fear of being exposed to wanton lightskirts who bang on other people’s doors at all hours, looking for what?”

  Trouble, it would seem, but something told Kate the matron would not react too favorably to such a response, no matter how accurate.

  The thunder of booted footsteps rumbled ominously up the staircase, along with the glow of candlelight that steadily grew brighter. “What’s going on up here?” demanded a man’s voice.

  Kate darted back to her room, where she finally allowed herself to feel relief that help was on the way. She panted for breath as she tried to discern sounds from the other side of the wall.

  “There now, my dear,” she barely heard Mr. Driscoll say. “That’s it…”

  She jumped at the sound of a sharp rap on her own door. “Katherine?” Nathan called out.

  Heavens, she couldn’t let him see her like this, even though she’d seen quite a bit of him the other day. She was about to dive under the covers of the bed when the door swung open almost in her face, blocking what little path she’d had to the bed. “Katherine!”

  He peered around the edge of the door and then closed it behind him. As he stood only inches away from her, she had a sudden, inexplicable urge to throw herself against him, and not because he was something dry and warm.

  Naturally he swept his gaze over her, making her insides tremble in a way she hadn’t felt when the matron had done the same thing out in the hallway.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” she whispered.

  A tiny, vertical crease appeared between his dark brows. “Why, did you want to seduce me?”

  Kate couldn’t help thinking that was a good question, but matters more pressing kept her from giving a direct answer. “I think Mr. Driscoll has done something dreadful to his wife.”

  The vertical crease vanished. “Oh, you mean because of all the thumping and screaming?”

  “Then you heard it!”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole village did. The innkeeper said it happens every so often. What doesn’t happen so often is a woman next door to the bridal couple who is convinced that murder most foul is afoot.”

  Bewilderment swamped Kate as she stepped back, bumping into the bed.

  Nathan continued, “To that end, he rather strongly advised me to retire to our room in lieu of my sleeping downstairs, lest we find ourselves out in the rain.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, offering her an enticing view of his muscled chest, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. “So whether you like it or not, I’m afraid for the sake of appearances we shall have to share this bed tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Share the same bed?” she burst out in a raspy whisper. “Are you mad?”

  He removed his shirt. “Am I mad? I’m not the one who was running up and down the hallway unclothed, knocking on other people’s doors and meddling in affairs that are none of my concern.”

  “I had every reason to believe h
e was beating her to death!”

  He offered her a crooked smile. “I concur it certainly sounded that way, but I promise you that is not what he was doing. Must I spell it out to you? They were engaged in c-a-r-n-a-l n-o-w-l-e-d-g-e.”

  She stared at him for a moment with wrinkled brow, obviously putting the letters together in her head, before saying, “I believe you left out the k.”

  Did he? He’d take her word for it. “Then you understand what they were doing.”

  She looked thoroughly—and, he thought—adorably appalled. “That’s what they were doing?”

  “Yes, that. She’s fine and very much alive. You don’t hear her screaming now, do you?”

  “Maybe that’s because she’s already dead.”

  He chuckled softly. “Katherine, Katherine. Here you are, eight and twenty, and yet you really don’t know what happens between men and women.”

  “At least I know how to spell it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just a plain old spinster who’s never been courted by anyone.”

  A plain old spinster? Hardly. Certainly not now. Nathan could scarcely take his eyes off her as he reveled in the sight of her damp shift clinging to every curve of her body. To think this was what lurked beneath her heavy wool pelisse and shapeless frock! He clearly saw the outline of her small but delicately upright breasts, with pink nipples threatening to poke holes in the flimsy fabric. A dark, triangular smudge drew his gaze to the juncture between her thighs, and he felt a heated stirring in his own juncture. To his amusement, she seemed too transfixed by the sight of his bare chest to realize he was seeing parts of her she probably didn’t want him to see.

  Or did she?

  Finally, he said, “Have you no idea why husbands and wives share the same bed? How babies come about?”

  “Yes, I do know that, but that’s not what it sounded like they were doing.”

  “And how do you know what it sounds like?”

  “I don’t. But surely it’s not supposed to sound like that.”