Page 34 of The Duke
“You would have me question the servants?” Ashmore finally looked up, fixing her with a perceptively dark glance. His glance sought her out, awaiting her answer whilst she had been thinking about her past.
For a moment, Elsie considered saying yes. They could work their way through the servants, narrowing down the potential suspects. But then of course, they would have to think about the guests too. Could someone have been invited and snuck unseen upstairs to wreck such havoc on the ball? And what would remain would be the question of why. “Surely it would be better for us to just leave?”
“To the safety of London? Where my predecessor was murdered in cold blood? Has your sister had any luck finding the culprit?”
The memory of the older duke, her sister’s father, lying sprawled on the floor before her, caused tears to spring to her eyes. All this death, this destruction hurt… biting at her sensitive heart and the idea that someone could also target Margot. Or Kit. But Margot hadn’t written, which must mean she’d had no luck finding the man responsible.
“Don’t cry,” Ashmore ordered. His tone was abrupt and for a second Elsie wished to stomp away from him. To act as scared as she felt. Being ordered not to cry, made Elsie want to as a mere act of childish defiance, how dare he order her around? Sometimes the emotions Ashmore stirred in her pulled her in two directions—to scream and run away from him and to step closer and kiss his stubborn face.
“I would have us leave,” Elsie repeated herself. She didn’t say they should go to London. But getting out of this manor house seemed the wisest course of action. Who cared what the rationale was for the attacks on him, it was better just to escape and perhaps work out who the plotter was at a later date. If they could not make sense of the mystery, then he could employ someone who might be able to—as a prominent member of the nobility he’d have enough clout to hire as many Bow Street runners as he wished. “I haven’t heard from my sister. She has not written at all while I have been here.”
“If she had found the murderer, she would have written toinform us,” he said, “which means she has not, or someone has gotten to her.”
That thought had never occurred to Elsie and fear swelled in her stomach, the image of Margot felled in the same position as the dead duke, made tears gather in her eyes. Surely it could not be the case. Her sister was too bright, too good…
“No,” Elsie said almost to herself at the picture of Margot bleeding. Her mind rushed for answers. Surely if that had happened, then there would be something in the papers? A notice from her parents? She swallowed and forced herself to be sensible. If something terrible had happened, then Mrs. Bowley, her sister’s companion, would have written to tell her. Clinging to that idea, Elsie straightened.
Abruptly Ashmore put his arm out towards her. “Let us leave this room. No good can be done this late at night. Or rather this early in the morning.”
She took his arm, her fingers sinking into the material of his ruined shirt. “Will we leave in the morning?”
When he looked away from her, Elsie already knew the answer. Ashmore had no intention of ever leaving this bloody manor. She dug her feet into the floor, and he turned back to her, concern marking his face mingled with a touch of frustration. “What is the matter?”
“You won’t leave here, will you?”
“This is my home,” he said.Even in the darkness, Elsie knew he felt no fondness for the place, and she did not blame him in the slightest, when she finally was able to leave Tintagel, she would never wish to return. It was a haunted place, rich with the memories of what had been lost, which seemed real enough to linger on with the living.
“So, you will force yourself to stay here and welcome an early death?”
“If it is my fate, it is what I deserve.” He sounded fatalist and dropped his arm walking to the door. In annoyance Elsie followedafter him, her steps quick to catch up with him.She desperately wanted to call him by his name, to whisperKit, and have him respond, for the lover to return to the fore, rather than the hard, sharp noble before her.
“No,” she said. Surely, there was something to make him see sense.
“I’m afraid that isn’t enough. Simply saying no, and it won’t happen, can’t change the facts of the matter.”
“If you don’t fight, then you aren’t the man I thought you were.” Anger flooded her voice. He wasn’t being a coward, nor was it something else at play and it made Elsie furious. How could Kit reveal himself so intimately and yet not tell her what thoughts were forming in his mind?
“I am trying my best to protect my sister and even yourself.” Ashmore grabbed her, moving Elsie up against the wall bending so their eyes were on a level. “You can both leave this house for your safety. It is the best and wisest course of action.” There was a finality to his words which brooked no argument, but to Elsie, who considered leaving him here to be tantamount to a death sentence, it was an absurd notion.
“But you would stay, knowing someone wants you dead?” It was hard to keep her face straight when she asked him this.
“Of course,” he snapped back, before sighing and regaining a semblance of calm. “I will draw their attention from you both. Can you not see my logic there? It is the curse my father feared made manifest. If it is meant to be my turn, so be it.”
The fury that had bubbled through her suddenly shrunk, and Elsie wanted to cry. He was going to sacrifice himself. That was his master plan, and since Flora could not inherit, he presumably thought it would stop all this.
What about me?She wanted to ask.Don’t you care about me? What will I do without you? I have dreamt since you rescued me on that fateful night of being in your arms, and now she had tasted it, he told her it could never happen again.
She searched Ashmore’s face, seeking out some touch of softened or affection she felt but there was only the expected harshness. Stiffening her spine, Elsie nodded, pulling herself away from him.
“Very well, Your Grace.” She marched the remaining steps to her bedroom, snatched open the door and hurried inside.
It feltbittersweet to be away from his infuriating presence. How could one man stir up such feelings? Elsie leaned back against the doorframe and let out an uneven breath. In annoyance, she realised she was waiting for him to knock, to apologise, to try to talk to her. Instead, she heard the soft steady beats of his footfalls as he moved away, presumably back to his own chamber.
“Hush,” she whispered to Lancelot, who had raised his little head at her entrance. Watching her from his position in the softest armchair. She gave him a wan smile.
Returning to stare up at the dark ceiling, Elsie wished he would return and prayed that he wouldn’t. It unnerved her that she had no idea what to make of him as a man, as a survivor, or as a duke. He didn’t want to wed her, that was not a surprise… she wrapped her arms protectively around herself, shielding her frame from any criticism, yet he desired her. Presumably he thought he was protecting her, but surely, she was vulnerable as an unwed woman too, given they had been intimate.
With a heavy sigh, she concluded—she was going to have to tell Kit everything about her sister. The whole truth of the matter—of Margot’s bastardy, of his uncle’s treatment of their mother, and that Margot and Kit were cousins. With a rush of guilt, which pulled her in two ways, Elsie knew she should have told him sooner and yet she felt responsible since Margot wished her to wait. Would it look grasping? Greedy? Theyneeded his blessing for Margot to receive her annuity from the dead duke.
