The Duke's Mysterious Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  He cocked an eyebrow. He knew he had her. She was helpless, the fight almost gone out of her. But she would rather die than spend her life with Rupert. He could kill her so easily.

  She wondered why he hadn’t. It wouldn’t be his conscience, surely. She understood now. His fury was laid bare. The source, something beyond either his or Rosie’s control. He was filled with hate.

  He hated that he had not inherited Merryville House—hated that her father had refused to change the ancient entail, which left the estate to her. He had never accepted that his father was the second son, and when he died, he left Rupert almost penniless.

  Rupert hid all this under a layer of charm when he’d come offering to help her father. Then he’d taken over the running of the estate as soon as her father’s control had slipped.

  Almost against her wishes, Rosie remembered that awful morning when her father had lain upstairs, his final breath spent. How she’d frozen with horror at finding all her faithful servants dismissed. But not Jim. Rupert knew better than to dismiss him; his skill with the horses was invaluable.

  Why hadn’t she tried harder to stop Rupert? Was there a time when she could? She seldom left her father’s bedside after he became desperately ill, and this left Rupert to his own devices.

  Too late did she grasp the true extent of his villainy.

  She must not think of how shocking it had been. She was determined not to show Rupert any sign of weakness.

  “I expected you to head for town,” he said. “I have had my men searching every inn between York and London. I didn’t expect you to appear in Bath, but I sent them there just in case. And there you were, strutting about like a princess, with the Merryville locket round you neck. But you covered your tracks well, Cousin. You made me very angry. You know that mare, Jessie—your favorite?”

  Oh no, not Jessie. Rosie’s stomach contracted in fear.

  “I’m afraid I took my anger out on her.” Rupert laughed that light, dry laugh of his, as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone. “That groom of yours, Jim, I’ll swear he whisked her away somewhere, for when I went to ride her the next day, he told me she had broken loose and bolted. I didn’t believe it, of course, but I let it go. I had bigger things to worry about, did I not? For you had to be found.” He tried to take her hand in his, but she recoiled. He scowled. “I will deal with Jim when we get home. He’ll learn who is boss.

  “Now, Rosie. Tell me, please, how you came to live with the Duke of Vale, no less. I want the whole.” He settled back and crossed his legs.

  Thank God for Jim. She wouldn’t argue now. She would discover how best to handle Rupert by the time they reached York. “You lied to Father, didn’t you?” Rosie stared him down.

  His gaze slid away. “He was always such a weakling, your beloved father.”

  “He couldn’t help being an invalid.”

  Rupert shuffled on the seat, pulling at his gloves. “He was too much in his books and he neglected his duty to you. He should at least have taken you to London, given you a Season there. No doubt, he knew he’d lose you then.”

  Rosie was incensed for her father’s sake. “He begged me to go. It’s probably hard for you to understand, being so fond of Society and the gaming tables, but I was happy at Merryville House. Father and I enjoyed our life there, and our quiet times. Breeding horses, reading and talking together. I loved him. You are too cruel, Rupert.”

  He leaned forward and pulled a lock of her hair. “Glad you didn’t cut your lovely hair. You were always a tomboy, Cousin. A game ‘un. All those summers we spent together. Why, you’d climb a tree higher than any boy dared to go.”

  Rosie bit her lip. Hadn’t she accused Hugh of that same flaw? She straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t a failing; it was a desire to live life to the full, not hide away in fear of censure. She would never be prepared to live that way again.

  “My uncle sought to tame you, and keep you close,” Rupert continued, coiling a lock around his finger.

  Rosie jerked her hair away from his hand. “He did not, I tell you! It was my choice to stay.” She refused to blame her father for wanting to protect her.

  He gave a wry grin. “I can’t believe you didn’t want more from life than that, my adventurous and passionate Rosie.”

  At the sad pull on her heart, Rosie said nothing.

  “Enough of this,” Rupert replied, eyeing her with impatience. “I want details.”

  Rosie was so weary of it all, she could barely get out the words. Wretched and tired, she struggled not to break down. To edit it into a palatable tale for him was too much for her. Despair that she would never see Hugh again, and her vulnerability for what lay ahead, rendered her silent.

  Rupert would never understand such emotions. What it was to love someone, and be loved in return. To find yourself in another.

  “I took clothes from the stable boy. I had to get away…before…”

  Rupert’s eyes lost their lazy cynicism. A flash of emerald lit their depths. “You will be mine, one way or t'uther, Cousin.”

  “I waited until you drove into town to make arrangements for Father’s burial.” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t even get to see him laid to rest.”

  He looked at her oddly. “It was properly done. You could have waited for the funeral. I would not have insisted on my conjugal rights until it was seemly.”

  Married! She didn’t want to face it. With her father’s body still warm, she was held against her will and forced into a marriage ceremony with a strange preacher Rupert had brought from somewhere far away. And then that mad, headlong, desperate escape before he could lay his hands upon her. She must get away again, before he claimed his rights as her husband. But where could she go?

  Not back to Vale Park. She mentally shook herself, refusing to give in to dark thoughts.

  “Please continue.”

  “I had my locket, and a few other trinkets I hoped to sell in London. I would have retrieved the family jewels from the bank vault if I’d had time. I had a little money, but I didn’t dare wait to catch the mail coach from York, so I drove the trap until the horse was almost blown. I left it at a hostelry.”

  “I found it.”

  As she spoke of it, she was back there, at the squalid inn with the dust rising. She had eaten little in the last few weeks of her father’s illness. Hunger and fear weakened her resolve. So did the coarse innkeeper’s curiosity. His look made her doubt her masquerade would hold up for long. She waited on tenderhooks for him to see through her disguise as her plans for an orderly escape by mail coach deserted her.

  “I overheard a merchant stacking his dray with goods say he was heading for London. When he left the yard for a moment, I climbed onto the wagon and hid behind some sacks.”

  “A rough ride for one bred in cotton wool!”

  “Worth every bruise and bump to get to London.”

  “Who’s left of the family in London?” Rupert mused, his eyes watching her keenly. “Don’t bother to lie. I know. It is Aunt Rebecca.”

  “I don’t even know if she’s still alive,” she confessed.

  “Well, she is. It was the first place I had my men check. Without her knowing, of course. You would have had no help from that source. Your father saw to that too.”

  “Father wanted to mend the rift. He wished me to visit her and planned to write to her. But then his health grew worse, and I couldn’t leave him.”

  You were such a dutiful daughter, Cousin. Go on with your sad tale, please.”

  She caught a glimpse of something other than amused spite in his face. Could it possibly be respect, or affection?

  She doubted him capable of either, but she might use it to escape. She continued, “When the merchant stopped to check his load, he found me.”

  She closed her eyes, back there, and swallowed as her belly roiled.

  The man turned over a sack and found her crouching behind it.

  Cursing her, he yanked her off the cart. His small eyes lit up whe
n he discovered her sex. Holding her hard against his chest, he dragged her away from the road, into the bushes. His sweaty hands pawed at her.

  Bile rose in her throat as she realized his intent.

  Fear made her strong. As he held her with one hand and attempted to undo his trousers, she pushed him back and slipped from his grasp.

  She climbed through a hole in a fence. The big man bellowed in frustration when he couldn’t follow. Finding herself on a farm, she ran in search of the farmer. He wasn’t about. In the far corner of the barn, she hid under the hay, piling straw over herself as she struggled to control her rasping breath.

  The cart driver found a way in and crashed about, threatening to kill her when he got his hands on her. He came so close to where she hid she could smell him. She lay motionless, her limbs cramping from the tension. Swearing, he stabbed at the hay with a pitchfork; its prongs landing so close it pulled her hair.

  Rosie bit her lip to stop from crying out and tasted blood.

  With a snarl of impatience, he threw the fork away and stamped out. After what seemed like hours, his curses grew fainter. He was moving away. Then silence.

  When she finally left the barn, the sun had lowered in the west and the shadows lengthened. Her teeth chattered with the shock and cold. The farmer would appear at any moment, but she was afraid and trusted no one. She had never felt so alone.

  She opened her eyes and the scene faded. “When he found me to be a woman, he became …difficult.”

  “Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.”

  “He took my jewels and bag of clothes. After that, I had no recourse but to borrow—”

  “Steal!” Rupert interjected.

  “If you like. But I intended to have the horse returned as soon as I could. It wasn’t used to being ridden.”

  “And you bareback, I suppose.” Rupert hooted with laughter. “I would have given anything to see you arrive in Oxford like that!”

  She felt oddly out of place, light-headed and disconcerted by their shifting lives. The cousin she had grown up with had murdered her father.

  Her anger was hot and vengeful. She would bide her time.

  “You must have been off your game. I know what a good rider you are.”

  “It shied at something. A fox, I think. And the brute must have thrown me. The horse found its way home. I’ve been staying in a cottage on the estate ever since, as you know.”

  Rupert raised a brow. “You couldn’t have remained there long, surely. Unless the duke took a fancy to you?”

  She looked down at her hands, knowing he watched her.

  “Did he force you, Rosie?”

  “You think I would remain there if he raped me?”

  “If he did he’s dead,” he said smoothly, with no expression on his face. “What did he want with you, then?”

  “He’s a generous, nobleman. He only wished to help.”

  “You think so? Everyone wants something. Time you realized it.”

  It mattered not what Rupert thought. She turned her gaze to the countryside rolling past the window. She would not allow Rupert to destroy what little she had.

  “Well, it’s good to have you back. You should rest. We have a way to go until we reach the inn.” He appeared confident she would remain compliant. She might use that too.

  The Oxfordshire landscape disappeared as the carriage carried her away, back to Yorkshire and Merryville House. There was no joy in returning to her home. Life there would never equal the contented, peaceful years of her youth, gone forever with the passing of her father.

  And, worse, Rosie now bore a new longing, just as painful and raw. That night in the wood with Hugh awoke in her a desire to give herself to him, heart, soul and body. She was filled with despair that Hugh would think badly of her, believing she’d broken her promise to wait for his return. Rosie was helpless to set it right.

  She sighed, knowing he would be better off with her gone. Felicity may have been trying to make Hugh jealous. To be assured of his love. Whatever Felicity had said, and for whatever reason, Hugh would marry her, and forget Rosie had ever come to Vale Park.

  Tears she no longer cared to withhold stole from her closed lids and crept unheeded down her cheeks.

  If Rupert saw she cried, he said nothing.

  When the coach finally pulled off the road, the inn was a dilapidated Tudor building, its roof in need of repair. The innkeeper, a rough fellow, came forward to greet them. He knew Rupert, doffing his hat and addressing him by name.

  Not the sort of establishment Rupert would normally frequent, which could work in her favor. She may find an ally here.

  Rupert left her at her chamber door, instructing her to freshen up for dinner. Her mind busy conceiving a way to escape,

  Rosie roamed the threadbare room, with little more than a bed with a thin coverlet, a chair, and a basin and jug on the dresser.

  When a servant entered with hot water, Rosie spied the big man in the corridor, standing guard at her door.

  “He’s as stupid as he is large,” the maid said with a laugh. “What’s he doing hanging about?”

  “What’s your name?” Rosie asked, her as she poured water into the basin.

  “Sally, Miss. It’s very romantic, Miss,” the girl said, with a gap-toothed smile. “You and your husband just wedded.”

  Rosie put her fingers to her lips. “I am being abducted,” she whispered. She grasped the maid’s sleeve. “Please can you help me?”

  The girl’s eyes widened, but then she giggled. “The master told me you’d be shy about it. That’s the fashion with your set. I think it’s a waste me self. I’d bed such a fine clothed gentleman given half a chance.”

  “You don’t understand. That man outside is standing guard. My life is in danger!”

  Sally’s mouth dropped open. “In danger?” she repeated.

  “Please keep your voice down. I can pay you later, if you help me.”

  “Oh no, Miss. I don’t want your money.”

  Exasperated, Rosie shook her arm. ‘Will you help me anyway?”

  “But how can I do that, miss? I’m just a servant here.”

  Rosie drew her over to the window. The thatch roof was steep. Impossible to climb down.

  “After supper, I’ll try to return alone. They will lock me in for the night. All you need do is unlock the door for me. I’ll return to thank you as soon as I can. And I’ll bring some of my clothes. You and I are about the same size.”

  The maid studied Rosie’s fine riding habit. “Your dresses?”

  “Yes. My green sprigged muslin would suit your red hair.”

  “Ooh. I like the idea of sprigged muslin.”

  Rosie grew impatient. Time was growing short; any minute someone would arrive to take her to Rupert’s private parlor.

  “Later tonight,” she spoke slowly as if to a child, “when that man outside the door goes down to the tavern. Will you come?”

  Sally nodded her head. “I can’t promise, mind. Not if that giant be outside the door.”

  “Please do your best, Sally. My life depends on it. I’ll be so grateful. You shall have my pearls.”

  “Pearls! Well I never…and the muslin?”

  “And the muslin,” Rosie assured her.

  Sally nodded. “I’ll be back later, now don’t you worry!” She hurried to the door, threw it open, glared at the man outside and banged it shut.

  Rosie washed her hands, dipped a cloth into the bowl, and pressed warm water to her face and neck. She smoothed her hair back from her brow, not feeling much better. Sally could change her mind, or the door might be guarded. And even if she could escape, Rosie had no idea how she would reach London. But she had to try.

  Rupert’s big henchman banged on the door and escorted her downstairs.

  In the private parlor, Rupert sat at the table abusing a servant. He wasn’t enjoying the comforts of this inn any more than she was. She only half-listened to his complaints about the food: the meat was tough, t
he soup salty.

  He had a point, but it hardly mattered. She had little appetite. She picked at the cold meat, and pushed the soup plate away. Would Rupert come to her tonight and force himself on her?

  It was unthinkable.

  A morsel of food threatened to lodge in her throat, and she quickly took a sip of wine.

  “You would be wise to eat something. We’ll be on the road again at first light. There won’t be time for a decent meal until we reach home.”

  It’s my home! She fumed. Not yours.

  “I have a terrible stomach ache,” she said. “That horrid drink your men forced down my throat has made me bilious.”

  Rupert looked at her with distaste. “A good night’s sleep will put you to rights.”

  Rosie took a deep breath. “Yes, I trust that it will.”

  After the plates were removed, Rupert sent her to her chamber. She sat on the bed still dressed in her riding outfit, waiting for the inn to grow quiet.

  Hours passed, and rowdy singing still floated up from the taproom. She began to lose hope and curled up on the bed. Her eyelids drooped as sleep threatened to overtake her.

  A clunk as a key turned in the lock.

  Rosie came wide-awake with a jolt. She was on her feet, her heart pounding. She almost sobbed with relief when Sally crept into the room holding a candle. “That big oaf is in the taproom. Won’t leave until he’s drunk his fill,” she said. “And that will take a goodly amount.

  You’ll have to go out through the kitchen. It will be all right, Cook has gone to bed.”

  Rosie followed Sally out the door. Thankfully, the corridor outside was deserted. She had decided to steal a horse.

  She would ride until she came to the first respectable house she came to and throw herself on the mercy of its occupants. They may take pity on her and help her get to London. Such an idea was fraught with danger, but she could think of nothing else.

  Rosie tiptoed down the stairs after Sally. They moved slowly along the corridor. Drunken laughter erupted through the taproom door. She doubted Rupert would consort with that lot.