SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  She faced the physician with all the bravado she could muster. As long as everyone was aware of her indiscretion, she might as well determine the doctor’s role in this affair. Perhaps it would set the duke off to hear the details. “Hedges told Ahlquist about our…brief encounter. How did the baron know?”

  “He offered compensation for information.” His smile broadened. “As does His Grace.”

  “So you seduced me?” He nodded and she continued, “So you would have some information to sell.”

  He shrugged. “You were willing.” Realizing he’d been speaking of the future duchess in front of a glaring duke, the doctor recanted. “Only the one time with Lady Sibley, I swear.”

  The duke grasped her again, higher up her thigh this time. “The past is behind us. I have my heirs, now I want to build my legacy. I hope you don’t mind long hours.”

  She scrambled to divert him. “Aren’t you concerned about the earl’s translation?”

  He scoffed. “I saw a copy. It’s a mishmash, a fake to put Hedges off your scent. You knew that, of course.”

  “I never saw what he sent to have copied.”

  He released her and reached for the Sapphos. “Read to me.”

  Asking him to turn the coach around would be akin to spitting into the wind, so Cathryn took the text. It was not yet nine in the morning. If Edna reached Fiona or Melina, they would come to Waverly Castle to rescue her, and Cathryn would dine with her dear father by six. In the meantime, she needed to stay calm and focus on defending herself against the duke’s steely grip.

  * * * * *

  Fiona’s mind raced as she stared at the frail woman recounting the incredible tale of Cathryn and the Duke of Clarendon. If Clarendon claimed Sibley, that would leave Julian completely open—and deeply wounded. The advantage would be hers, and she did so want an Ahlquist heir.

  “Tell me again, slowly. What did she say exactly?”

  “She said that you were her friends, and you would know what to do.”

  Damned honor. It was an inconvenient trait to carry, even if done lightly. She glanced up to see Melina glaring at her. This was not the time for selfishness, a good soul was in need.

  Resigned, she returned to the earnest messenger. “Do you wish to join us, or have you had enough?”

  A light shone in the housekeeper’s eyes. “Sunrise to sunset, I’m hard at work. It’s not yet noon, and I’ve been too long idle.”

  “The best troops feel the same.” Fiona patted her on the back as she headed to confer with Melina. “We leave in half an hour, refresh yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Cathryn’s cautious optimism continued until the duke himself ushered her into his vast library. Help was on the way. She merely needed to stay alert to trickery. The nobleman appeared to be fairly rational, and the expansive collection of leather-bound volumes distracted her, so she nearly missed the blond boy sitting at a large oak table off to one side of the room. She recognized him as Percival’s student with the blissful demeanor and curly yellow locks. He glanced up when they approached but quickly went back to the piles of papers before him.

  “You may take a recess, Lawrence,” said the duke, and the boy set down his pencil at once.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “How is your progress?”

  “I’m missing a section of our master list, and that has slowed me, Your Grace. If I could return to Lincoln, I believe I know where it might be found.”

  “Tomorrow, perhaps.” The duke’s grasp tightened as he pressed her forward. “Lady Sibley will supervise your efforts.”

  Cathryn’s jaw dropped, and she glanced at the stacks of paper, reference books and Lawrence with a growing sense of frustration. “Sir, I’ve never—”

  “You will rise to the occasion.” He cut her off as he patted her on the cheek, and she was grateful he hadn’t grabbed her chin, as he’d done several times in the coach. “Consider it a betrothal gift to me.”

  “Sir, I am betrothed to Lord Ahlquist.”

  “No, you’re not. The man has moved on, and so must you.” He nodded to a nearby footman, who rushed to pull out a straight-backed seat for her. “We will lunch together in two hours. That will allow Lawrence ample time to show you the state of the translation.” The duke urged her into the chair, and she reluctantly complied. “I want this to go to the press before Christmas. I met with the publisher last week, and he’s anxious to begin at double the print rate. We can send him pages as you complete them. We might as well profit from Hedges’ notorious death.”

  A footman entered the room and spoke quietly to the duke, who appeared disappointed at the message. Cathryn sensed his ambivalence over leaving her unattended, but he left without another comment.

  As soon as the duke was gone, the boy rose and gave her a deep bow. “Lawrence Clarke at your service, Lady Sibley.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clarke.” Cathryn gave him a slight smile as he resumed his seat. “It seems we’ve been conscripted.”

  “His Grace is a hard master. We’d best not dally.”

  “You worked with Sir Percival?”

  “For the last year, my lady, until his accident.”

  “Yes, that was horrid.” She knew he must think her an uncaring widow in not attending the funeral, compounded by her alliance with the man suspected of murdering her betrothed. “I hope you understand, I barely knew Sir Percival. Our contract was my dying husband’s concept…”

  “Master Hedges didn’t want to marry you, either.”

  That stung. She wondered if the boy had witnessed Julian’s attack at Oxford, and hoped not.

  Lawrence continued, “He was a bit rough at times, but Master Hedges was a good fellow.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Slim shoulders shrugged. “I’m sorry for yours.”

  Which one—losing Percival or Julian? The duke’s mention of Julian’s moving on was unnerving. “Thank you.”

  Delving into a complex translation was a daunting task, but the awkwardness of the situation gave it an undeniable appeal. “Why don’t you tell me where you are in the process?”

  “We’re nearly done, my lady, only twenty pages left.”

  “Out of seven hundred?”

  “Nearly eight hundred. I worked on the last four hundred.”

  “Sir Percival mentioned your contributions, he thought very highly of you.” Glancing at the stacks of papers, she asked, “Why don’t I start at the beginning and pick up your cadence and word choices? Then I can assist you with the finishing touches.”

  His incredulous tone spoke volumes as he reached for the top pages of a far stack. “You know the Digenis Acritas?”

  “Somewhat. My father and first husband were Greek scholars, and I worked with both of them.” Glancing at what he handed her, she nodded. “I’m familiar with this version.” She felt him watching as she scanned the text, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “I’ll need a pencil and paper, to make notes.”

  The young man hesitated.

  “I was a poor fiancée, Mr. Clarke. Perhaps I can redeem myself through polishing his legacy.”

  He slid a notepad and pencil across the table.

  “I expect to leave here this afternoon, but I will correspond with you from my father’s home in Newtown Green.”

  “I’ve been here two days, milady, since Master Hedges’ funeral. His Grace says he’ll speak with my tutors about finishing the term under his guidance.” He glanced at his luxurious prison. “I wish I were home or back at Lincoln…anywhere but here.”

  A knot of fear threatened her stomach, and she took a deep breath to dislodge it. Stay calm. Fiona and Melina would certainly arrive today and offer some protection from the duke’s less rational actions.

  And Julian would come when he received her conciliatory letter and Edna’s message about the duke, two or three days at most. She prayed she knew him that well.

  The Duke of Clarendon’s fists clenched the dispatches as hi
s secretary recounted the latest news. “Ahlquist left York yesterday, making haste back to London, we presume, or possibly Newtown Green. He and Lady Sibley may have corresponded, and the morning papers announced her destination quite clearly.” The bald baronet bowed mid-speech, always a sign of bad news. “I’m afraid the fresh intelligence about the earl and his blonde mistress retracted earlier accounts of a reunion. Apparently, it was the marquis seen with the woman’s sister.”

  “That makes it possible the earl is still intent on the baroness.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He pondered the competition for a moment. “Trenchford’s an arrogant pup. He could use another cuff to his conceit.” The duke chuckled at his witty wordplay. “And I rather like Lady Sibley.”

  Her clever ways would serve him well, and he’d been too long without a lady. His cock twitched at the thought of bedding the buxom beauty. He would take her in ways she’d never experienced, he would train her to please his specific tastes, he would teach her the pleasures of submission. Once she was his wife, she could deny him nothing.

  A fortnight was out of the question. She had two days to warm to him, and then the doctor could assist if necessary, but he would have her. A special license was on the way. “The damned bishop had better not be tardy, or he’ll forfeit that new gold chalice he thinks I owe him.” His secretary’s bald pate bobbed attentively. “Lock all the gates, double the watch and loose the dogs. Keep the bishop out of sight until I call for him. No other visitors today but keep me informed.” The baronet scurried out of the room to carry out the orders.

  Perhaps he would seduce the baroness this very night. The riding crop he kept in his bedroom loved to draw streaks of crimson on a lily-white bottom. He wandered restlessly around his study, picturing the lady bent over his desk, spread on the leather chaise, on her knees on the Aubusson. Strong women loved a dominant man, once they’d sampled the freedom of obedience. His second wife had begged to be whipped, lying legs open wide as he used her for hours. Perhaps Lady Sibley would follow in her delightful manner. One never knew what a person’s bedroom proclivities were until a full range of activities were attempted.

  Unfortunately, the translation took precedence over lust. He adjusted his breeches, shifting his balls to ease the pressure of his expanding prick. I’ll have a maid tonight to tide me over.

  Hedges had dragged his feet for years, and each delay of publication was another public embarrassment. The damned project would die without a final effort, and the student lacked the wherewithal to lead the endeavor. Clarendon slammed his hand down on a windowsill and considered his new bride from a less erotic angle.

  Lady Sibley presented a triple advantage: intellect, poise and beauty. Staring out at his manicured gardens, he could see her walking there, entertaining his guests on sunny afternoons. Her extraordinary Sapphos would undoubtedly outsell the less popular Digenis Acritas. He would consider it her dowry.

  * * * * *

  Julian resisted the urge to order another brandy as he re-read the last sentences of Cathryn’s letter.

  Defending me was your only fault, and it’s one I welcome. Your kindness and generosity of spirit were constant in our affairs. I promise no more deceptions, and pray you agree with my justifications.

  We are too well-matched to abandon one another. Let us begin anew. You may reach me at my father’s in Newtown Green for the next week.

  My heart is yours,

  Cathryn

  His own heart started beating normally again the first time he read her letter, and now he was anxious to see her, but it was past midnight and his coachman and footmen were already abed. The roads were slick and the night moonless, so he knew better than to tempt fate by riding ahead. Tomorrow morning would have to suffice. He rose from his seat by the fire, wishing himself in Newtown Green so he could walk to her door and claim her. Glad that her letter had reached him, elated that she shared his sentiments, relieved beyond comprehension that they were on the path to recovery, he searched through his travel bag and found his journal. She deserved new tributes, and he knew exactly how to begin.

  Show me, please,

  Your measure of love.

  As you wish.

  At ten the next morning, Julian entered Cathryn’s childhood home, now a book-lined sanctuary for a retired scholar. Howard Bradford and his son, George, seemed only vaguely concerned that the Duke of Clarendon had abducted Cathryn, and Julian spent little time debating the possibility that she had come to harm. He glanced again at the note in his hand, given to him by the Bradford butler ten minutes past.

  Lord Ahlquist,

  Lady Sibley’s gone off with the Duke of Clarendon, and fears for her safety. I’ve gone to Gorham House for help.

  Signed, Edna Lewin

  “The duke is a man of character and a friend of Geoffrey and Cathryn’s. Her housekeeper exaggerated the danger.” A stout man in his fifties, Sir Howard bore no resemblance to his comely daughter in appearance or sound judgment. A portrait of a lovely woman hung over the fireplace, which reassured Julian. Look to the mother to see the daughter’s future.

  “I’ll send her your regards when I see her. If you are correct, that will be in less than two hours.” Guilt over having sent the duke her Sapphos, and drawing her to the light-fingered man’s attention, propelled him out the door.

  When Julian arrived at the duke’s front gate an hour later, two guards told him to wait at the inn a mile down the road until the duke sent for him. Dumbfounded, he briefly thought to threaten the gatekeepers with a pistol but deemed that overly dramatic at this early juncture. With a heavy heart, he instructed his coachman to drive to the Duck and Cock.

  He found Fiona and Melina in a side room of the tavern. The two petite women filled the spacious quarters with their anxious presence.

  “Yes! I said you’d come.” Fiona shot Melina a glance Julian recognized, a wager placed and won.

  A sheaf of papers lay strewn across a table with what appeared to be battle plans of the duke’s property. He scanned the documents, relieved at all the detail. “I see the advance guard has reconnoitered the area. What’s our status?”

  “We spent the night here, after the duke sent us away. A note came this morning saying he would receive us tomorrow for lunch, if we care to wait.”

  “So Cathryn’s alone at Waverly?”

  “No. Mrs. Lewin is with her, she went in yesterday afternoon as her maid.” Fiona glanced at the door expectantly. “Mrs. Lewin plans to meet us here after the household has settled in for the morning, if she can break away.”

  “She had hoped to come last night, but she didn’t, so we can’t rely on her,” countered Melina.

  Fiona pointed to the drawings. “The estate is impenetrable. No open gates, no breaks in the hedges and a dozen hounds patrol the perimeter.”

  “How did Mrs. Lewin get in?”

  “In a plain hired hackney at the back gate, with a satchel of clothing and personal items.”

  “Yes, staff are often invisible.” He looked between the two women. “Have you considered sending another?”

  “It would not be unusual for Lady Sibley to require a woman to dress her hair, but both of us are known.” Fiona cast Melina a rueful look. “We made a bit of a scene when we were denied access.”

  Julian could not repress a smile. “I look forward to hearing the tale when we have Cathryn back.”

  Something in Fiona’s expression warned of an imminent attack and he stiffened. “The innkeeper’s wife told us the Waverly gatekeepers have a fondness for big women.”

  He backed away from the table and readied himself for a fight. “No!”

  She took in his new hairstyle and smirked. “Bad timing on shearing your mane, now you’ll need a wig.”

  “This is not up for consideration.” His entire body rebelled at the thought of donning women’s attire. His hands fisted, and he very nearly reached for his dagger.

  The witch just smiled at Melina. “Blonde or brune
tte?”

  “Blonde. He might as well get the full effect of being a woman.”

  He rocked back on his feet. “No, not me. Why not another woman?”

  “To do what, dress her hair?” Fiona scoffed as she headed for the table. “We need to free her from her velvet prison, not make her more appealing to the duke.” She shot him a lancing glare. “Would you send a footman?”

  “Of course not. If a man goes in, it should be me but not in a skirt.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from choking her.

  Grabbing a carpetbag, she retrieved a smaller purse and dumped the contents onto the table.

  Julian’s anger flared higher when he recognized rouge, lip paint and kohl. “No, Fiona. I’ve come to win her back, not humiliate myself. There must be another solution.” This was not an option he could support. “What about a priest? I could go in as her priest—couldn’t I?”

  “We have no robes, and the village vicar is shorter than me.” Her familiar authoritative tone was back. “We’ve considered the alternatives, Julian. This is our best chance to reach her without endangering her. Remember our enemy, the duke, is ruthless and, should you get caught, you’re the only one of a stature he’ll respect.”

  “He’ll not respect me in a dress!” His mind scrambled for other options.

  A timid knock on the door interrupted them, and Julian was relieved for the delay. Two young village boys entered, hats in hand, eyes down.

  Fiona stepped forward. “You have a report?”

  “Yes, missus.” The older boy spoke. “A fine carriage just passed through the gate, with a bishop’s seal. We’ve seen it at Waverly Castle before.” He gestured to his companion. “Bobby saw purple robes inside, so it may be the bishop himself.”

  Fiona faced Melina. “He’s secured a special license. He means to wed her today.”