Miss van Konigsberg narrowed her eyes. “What are you speaking about?”
“When the princess dies, I can marry you.”
Rupert’s heart dropped through his stomach. He must have misheard. Still, queasiness overcame him.
Miss van Konigsberg stared at Rupert’s cousin. “But—”
The duke gave her a firm glance, then her shoulders relaxed.
“Oh,” Miss van Konigsberg breathed, and she gazed up at the duke with awe.
Had the duke been teasing his mistress? Rupert furrowed his brow.
Then Miss van Konigsberg threw her arms about the duke and giggled. “You mean it.”
“Of course I mean it,” the duke said. “You are my heart. You are my life.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Rupert said.
The duke stilled and turned slowly to him. His gaze was glacial, and though actual slabs of prehistoric ice weren’t in the room, Rupert shivered all the same.
“This is a private conversation,” the duke said.
“You asked me to be here.”
“Not so you could comment on my personal plans.” Dudley returned his attention to his mistress.
It’s a joke. It’s a joke. It’s a joke.
The duke simply couldn’t actually be speaking about murdering the woman he was planning to marry in a few hours’ time. He was simply appeasing someone who might well be a madwoman for all that Rupert knew.
And yet Rupert felt sick, not amused.
Dudley wasn’t the first person Rupert would think of as humorous, but was it possible he was jesting?
“You really mean to murder her?” Miss van Konigsberg cooed, batting her thick lashes.
The duke grinned and swept his arm about her tiny waist in a practiced manner. He inhaled Miss van Konigsberg’s hair and stared at her in open adoration. “Of course, my treasure.”
“My cousin doesn’t mean it,” Rupert said, then glanced at Dudley. “Tell me, you don’t mean it.”
The duke glowered, and any regality in his face was quickly transformed to pure ugliness. He scrunched his thick lips together, as if contemplating using them as a weapon to attack Rupert.
“Might I remind you that you are my very impoverished cousin?” The duke’s eyes bored through him with an efficiency that carpenters might desire for their nails. “What I do with my future wife does not concern you.”
Rupert widened his stance and resisted the urge to remove his gaze from him. “Murder concerns everyone.”
“I’ll take my chances with God,” the duke said. “And we both know that the law won’t assume nefarious intentions on my part.”
Rupert’s heart sank. His cousin was correct.
“People will think it’s a terrible accident,” the duke said. “My poor new wife didn’t know better than falling out the window in her new place.”
“You’re so wise,” Miss van Konigsberg cooed. She fluttered her lashes.
“I’ll tell them otherwise,” Rupert said staunchly, but his heart didn’t feel as confident as his voice, and his lungs were busy constricting. “I won’t let you get away with it.”
Miss van Konigsberg shot him a concerned look. “Is he going to be fine?”
The duke rolled his eyes. “Sometimes he has difficulty breathing. He’s always been that way. Let’s go.”
The duke grabbed Miss van Konigsberg, and they marched from the room. Miss van Konigsberg shot him a curious look, while the duke’s ample Roman nose curled in customary disgust.
They exited the room, and Rupert rushed toward the door, even as he struggled to breathe. The door slammed in front of him. He reached for the handle, but he was too late. A click sounded in the door. Damnation. He was locked inside.
Blast.
Rupert searched the room. He needed the key. He needed to rescue the princess.
CHAPTER SIX
Aria glided through the castle. The housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson, had volunteered to give Aria and Lucy a tour of the building while their maids unpacked. Aria strolled over the tile stones, past luxurious tapestries depicting people clothed in medieval attire.
Romantic medieval touches fulfilled all her dreams. The palaces in Sweden were newer, lacking this one’s battlements, and Aria had never visited India.
Laventhorpe Castle could have belonged in any children’s picture book, normally accompanied by a ferocious dragon and dashing hero. She smiled. They weren’t terribly far from Wales.
“This is remarkable,” Lucy exclaimed. “You’re so lucky.”
Aria gave a modest shrug. “I am lucky. And even better—happy. Ever so happy.”
Mrs. Simpson wrinkled her brow slightly, evidently bewildered by Aria’s enthusiasm.
Aria sighed. Clearly, the housekeeper needed to read more penny novels.
“Tell me, what’s the duke like, Mrs. Simpson?” Lucy asked.
Aria elbowed her friend. “You mustn’t ask that.”
Mrs. Simpson shot them a pained smile. “He’s a duke.”
“But his personality,” Lucy breathed. “We only saw him briefly when we arrived.”
“You’ll meet him properly soon enough,” Aria said.
Her darling husband-to-be had decided that they should be traditional and avoid each other’s company until after the wedding. The dear man was the epitome of consideration.
Princess Aria had never expected to settle in England. If her dear aunt hadn’t required to take the waters in Bath, perhaps she would have never have ventured onto this island. Indeed, her first impressions of the country hadn’t been particularly exciting until a matchmaker had insisted she meet a local duke, and Aria had been able to meet other prospects. She sighed happily. That was how she’d met Lucy Banks, an American heiress. Now it was difficult to imagine she’d never known Lucy, just as it was difficult to imagine she might never have met the duke, never have begun exchanging letters, never have fallen so completely, utterly in love.
Love.
Her heart soared happily, as if doves had taken hold of it and were flitting toward a magnificent rainbow in the heavens.
“The duke is the most marvelous man in the world,” Aria said dreamily.
The housekeeper’s mouth fell open, but she hastily adjusted it.
Aria frowned. The housekeeper shouldn’t be entirely shocked. After all, she’d worked for the man for years. She must be entirely cognizant of his virtues.
Perhaps the housekeeper was simply impressed Aria had discovered so much about the duke’s soul from merely exchanging letters with him.
Had the housekeeper imagined she’d dismiss the duke simply for his portly physique? Such shallowness belonged to other women, not Aria, and Aria bestowed a patient look upon Mrs. Simpson. “I look forward to getting to know you better. You must share all the duke’s favorite meals.”
“Yes. He—er—generally likes game.”
“Oh? Deer? Pheasant?”
“The important thing is that he killed the animal himself,” the housekeeper said. “Makes for more entertaining stories at the dining table, I believe.”
“Ah, you can look forward to that,” Lucy remarked.
Aria wrinkled her brow. “Well. It is good to make sure the animals lead a happy life until their death. Being the victim of hunting is surely less painful than being eaten alive by another predator.”
Lucy shuddered.
“It’s not the animal’s happiness the duke dwells upon in his stories,” the housekeeper muttered, then her cheeks reddened. “Pardon me, Your Highness.”
This time, Aria narrowed her eyes. “I imagine you were not in many dining rooms with His Grace.”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Then you can hardly know what goes on in them.”
“I merely meant the other servants—”
“Are you telling me the duke has enemies in the household?” Aria asked loyally.
“Er—” Mrs. Simpson swallowed hard. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
“I should c
hoose your words carefully,” Aria said. “It is not good to do a great man dishonor.”
Mrs. Simpson’s eyes widened, then she nodded her head rapidly. “Of course, Your Highness. I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” Aria said coolly.
Aria didn’t like to remind people of her position, but sometimes it was necessary. Aria couldn’t bear to tolerate injustice, and gossip about a man who was not present to defend himself certainly counted as malice.
“I think it would be a good idea to return to our rooms,” Aria said. “We need to dress for the wedding.”
“Very well,” the housekeeper said, keeping her words clipped.
“I don’t think she likes you,” Lucy murmured to Aria.
“The important thing is that she knows to respect the duke.”
Lucy tilted her head. “You truly love him.”
“Of course I do,” Aria said. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Indeed, her father would be happy if she were in Sweden, waltzing around with a tiara on her head in her uncle’s court.
Aria and Lucy spent the rest of the walk in silence. It was a shame the duke’s servants did not recognize his caring qualities. The other servants had even seemed scared when the duke was mentioned, even though the man’s spirit was so innocent and pure. She’d exchanged lengthy letters with him each day for five weeks: she knew him.
The duke’s mere title was sufficient to cause fear. Certainly, there could be no other reason for them to be wary.
Aria’s heart grew heavy, and she was relieved when she was returned to her room. A maid dressed her in a wedding gown. Father had decided it would be unfair to ask her lady’s maid to move permanently to England, and she had remained in Bath with her aunt. Father had decided that her aunt needn’t make the unnecessary journey from Staffordshire. The point of visiting the waters hadn’t been for Aria’s aunt to then be exposed to stressful journeys.
She sighed. She missed her family. She missed her servants. When she’d left for England, she hadn’t realized she would be saying goodbye to them permanently. She’d simply wanted an adventure. Accompanying her father and aunt to Bath had seemed like an appropriate one.
Still, she was eager to create a new, utterly wonderful life with the duke.
The maid stepped back with a proud look on her face. “You look beautiful.”
Aria gazed in the mirror. She wanted to look her very best for darling Dudley.
The white dress was entirely appropriate, and she was thankful she only had a short walk to go from the castle to the chapel. It would be a pity for the beautiful lace hem to become dirty.
“I will wear my ruby necklace.” Aria opened her jewelry box.
The maid’s mouth dropped open. “It’s magnificent.”
Aria smiled. “I know.”
The maid helped her put the necklace on, then Aria assessed herself in the mirror. “This wedding will be perfect.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blast.
Rupert marched through the room and opened various drawers. There must be another key. He rummaged through the duke’s attire, then crawled under the bed.
Nothing.
Finally, he glanced toward the window.
He rather wished the first Duke of Framingham had decided to put his bedroom on the ground floor. If only that duke had had a premonition of the viciousness of one of his descendants and his propensity to go about locking relatives in bedrooms. Evidently, the duke’s success at fighting the French so many centuries ago had not translated into an equal ability to foretell the future.
Rupert attempted to open the balcony door, but it was locked. He scowled, before hastily moving to the window.
Rupert unlocked the hinge on the window and pushed it open. A brisk wind met him. Birds chirped merrily, and the sun was in full force. He squinted into the light. Then he lowered himself carefully from the window until his feet touched the battlement.
The birds jerked their heads toward him from their perches on the parapet, before flying away. A few servants were outside, marching to the chapel with flowers.
Where was the princess?
Would she be in the chapel now? In the drawing room? Still touring the castle?
Her dressing room.
Rupert lowered himself down and hurried to the other wing, crawling along the crenellations. He wasn’t certain which room she’d been placed in, but he assumed it was the best one. The wind brushed against him, as if urging him to reenter the house. A few leaves, which had no doubt laid in the battlements for months, flew into his face. He pushed them away, and they crunched against his fingers.
Damnation.
Why was the castle so large? Evidently, no one had calculated the utter inconvenience the large size would be when someone was forced to circumvent it on one’s stomach.
The chapel bells rang, and Rupert scurried forward. Carriage wheels crunched against the gravel, and Rupert poked his head through a crenel.
A man with a white collar descended, and Rupert frowned. Clearly, this was the minister, though oddly, it was not a man Rupert recognized. This wasn’t a bishop, and this certainly wasn’t the village vicar.
How odd.
The duke had never mentioned he would be getting someone else to marry him to the princess.
Rupert sighed. Perhaps he hadn’t been as in touch with the church in Staffordshire as he’d thought. Still, he’d thought someone would have told him if the vicar had changed. Usually, the church was at the center of village life, even if the duke only attended services sporadically.
Never mind that.
Rupert focused on reaching the other wing. Finally, the other end of the castle was in sight. He’d done it! He’d actually done it.
Now he just needed to inform the princess and her father of the duke’s utter despicability.
He halted. A horrible thought struck him: perhaps they wouldn’t believe him.
His throat tasted sour, but he continued on. He glanced to his right, noting an empty bedroom. He pressed against the window tentatively. It was shut.
Blast.
He crawled to the next window and pressed against that one. It was also shut.
Damnation.
Still, the princess hadn’t married yet, and her father wouldn’t be keen on learning that the duke intended to murder her for her jewels. In fact, once Rupert explained to the princess he’d written the letters, she would believe him.
He hoped.
He crawled to the next window and poked his head up.
A shriek sounded immediately, and a woman with red hair rushed toward him. This must be Lucy Banks, the princess’s friend.
He smiled. “Open the window!”
The woman’s eyes widened, but she ran toward it.
Well, she was certainly efficient. Perhaps she sensed his urgency. Instead, she stretched out her hands, and in the next moment, thick brocade curtains obscured his view of the room.
“Wait!” He pounded on the window, but Miss Banks did not open it.
He sighed, then scurried to the next window. This room was empty, and the window was locked. He was running out of time. He looked around the battlement, found a rock, and tossed it into the window. The glass cracked.
Success.
Rupert beamed and used another stone to clear away the glass shards. Then he climbed through the window. The glass shattered on the floor, making a loud noise, but it didn’t matter. All the better for someone to hear him. The princess’s dressing room must be near.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward him, like an elephant gleeful to have spotted some water.
“Who’s that?” A tall, muscular blond man appeared. His eyes widened when he saw Rupert, then he snarled. “Intruder!”
Rupert shifted his legs and gazed at the man warily. “I suppose you’re the princess’s bodyguard.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
Evidently, the man was not inclined to be friendly. Well, Rupert could hardly blame him
; he would also be skeptical of someone’s intentions if someone broke a window to enter. It rather implied that a person had been refused entry from the butler or did not desire to be seen.
Rupert flashed a smile. Generally, it was better for people to see him as not intimidating. “Your name is Demon, right?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “You’ve been researching the names of the princess’s security?”
“Well, it’s only you,” Rupert said.
“And the numbers!” Demon’s eyes goggled.
“I—er—” Rupert stepped back.
“Intruder!” The man yelled.
“No!” Rupert exclaimed. “I just want to speak with the princess!”
“Wrong answer!” Demon shouted. “No one speaks with the princess.”
“But I’m really not a stranger,” Rupert said.
“I doubt that!”
“And I have an important message for her,” Rupert added hastily. “You must let me speak with her.”
“Never!”
“Or her father, the king’s brother!” Rupert amended. “She’s probably dressing now, after all.”
Demon’s sizeable eyebrows shot up. “Never mention the king’s brother.”
In the next moment, Demon swept Rupert up and hauled him over his shoulder. “You’re leaving now!”
“But I’m a guest,” Rupert exclaimed. “I’m the duke’s cousin!”
Demon hesitated and lessened his speed.
Rupert no longer thought he was in danger of having his legs impaled on any of the duke’s centuries-old furniture. “I have some information on the duke.”
Demon grunted.
“He’s not a good man.”
Demon snorted. “You want to destroy the wedding?”
“Yes!” Rupert said, relieved. The princess’s bodyguard understood. “So you see, I must speak with the princess.”
“Or her father?” Demon asked.
“Yes! Yes!”
Demon quickened his steps.
“Aren’t you taking me past their rooms?” Rupert asked.
“Yes,” Demon replied curtly.
“But—”
“Be quiet,” Demon said in an irritated voice. “I don’t have time for this.”
The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club) Page 4