Page 5 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
“My dear boy,” Ethella sighed, “why do you think Eddington agreed to such generous terms in the first place? He has no intention of waiting for her to become a docile bride. She will be his one way or another.”
Violet clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the ragged breath that threatened to escape. Lord Eddington—twice her age, thrice her enemy, and entirely devoid of decency—was coming to claim her like a piece of livestock.
“When will he arrive, Mother?” Nigel asked, clearly not looking forward to the prospect.
“He is en route now. With the condition of the roads, it's anyone’s guess. Tonight, perhaps, possibly even sometime tomorrow or the day after. We need to be in readiness however and that means, that when Violet returns from wherever it is she’s gotten off to, we lock her in her chamber. We can’t have her galavanting all over the countryside.”
She had heard enough. There was only one chance for escape. And unfortunately, the only person she could think to run to was perhaps the single most frustrating man she had ever met. The insufferable Duke of Alstead.
Alstead Manor, Later That Same Evening
Max was enjoying a rather pleasant evening in the solitary comfort of his study, accompanied by a decent brandy and the welcome absence of any need for pointless conversation.
No sooner had he taken a moment to appreciate that peace and quiet than it was immediately shattered by the violent pounding of fists on his front door. He didn’t bother to rise.There would be no need. Whomever it was, his butler would send them away. After all, no one would dare come to call at that time of night. And if it was an emergency, then he would be informed and respond appropriately.
Max sighed deeply, running a hand over his face as his butler appeared in the doorway, looking rather harassed.
“Your Grace,” the man said, wearily, “Miss Honeywell has… arrived.”
Max blinked. Violet? “Has she?”
“Yes, Your Grace. She appears… distressed.”
Violet wasn’t the sort to be distressed. Angry? Certainly. Peeved? Frequently. Infuriating? Daily. But distressed implied she was the damsel sort and nothing further from the truth.
“Shall I fetch tea?”
Max muttered something unsuitable for polite company under his breath and pushed to his feet. “Fetch whiskey, Harris.”
With a grim nod, the butler disappeared.
Max strode into the entrance hall, only to be greeted by a disheveled, wind-tossed, and thoroughly furious-looking Violet Honeywell. For a moment, he simply stared at her.
She was flushed from the cold. Her riding habit—the same one she’d worn earlier that evening—was askew. And her hair, deep red and fiery, was half-unpinned, no doubt freed by the wicked winds that were blowing outside.
And—he realized with some alarm—she was shaking.
“Violet,” he said, his voice sharper than intended, “what in the devil?—”
“I can’t go back to Wellston. Not yet. It isn’t safe.”
“Safe?” he asked. “I realize that Nigel and Mrs. Cavender are scheming but surely they do not pose an actual threat to you.”
“You don’t know what I know. You certainly didn’t overhear what I did. Their plots and schemes have sunk to an all-newlow… and the fate they have in store for me is one that I would rather die than face.”
Her voice had broken on the last bit, cracking with emotion in a way that he had not heard from her since they were children. Not since she’d run across the fields to reach James and to tell him the awful news that their parents were dead. Whatever had happened, it was something truly horrific.
“Come into my study,” he urged her. “Harris is bringing whiskey and you will drink it. You’re half frozen from the wind and rain.”
“Don’t be kind, Alstead. I don’t think I can bear it,” she murmured.
“Then what should I be if not kind?”
She looked lost. At that moment, he could see in her very adult face the girl she had once been, the girl who had trailed after her brother and him. All she’d ever wanted was to be included in their adventures. Well, they were about to embark on one, he thought. One that would rattle the entire county.
Chapter Three
There were three plagues in Max’s life.
