Page 123 of Never Beguile a Duke
“I certainly hope so.” The corner of Silas’ mouth crooked. “I need to confirm that suspicion, but I don’t want to leave you unattended.”
“I’ll be fine for a few moments,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “With both Mr. Curtis and Mr. Hollingsworth deceased, what more could happen?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WINIFRED
“Let’s not tempt the Fates,” the Duke of Beaufort replied, a grimace replacing his easy grin. “Swear you won’t move from this location until I return.”
“Please be cautious,” Winifred said, and nodded her consent to his request. “Mr. Curtis is a dangerous and desperate man.”
“As I am.” The Duke of Beaufort lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers, and rose. “I will only be a moment.”
Unless Mr. Curtis isn’t really dead…
The Duke of Beaufort descended the staircase, his dark blond head slowly disappearing as he moved to the lower steps. A moment later, a low curse word floated up the stairs, followed by silence.
“Your Grace?” Her throat closed around the words, her heart pumping terror through her veins.
The Duke of Beaufort didn’t respond.
Swallowing, she tried again, increasing the volume of her question, “Your Grace, has something occurred?”
Again, she received no answer.
The bottom riser of the main staircase groaned, expressing its displeasure at having an unknown weight placed upon it.
Her eyes rounding, Winifred scrambled backward, scooting away from the staircase as echoing footsteps ploddingly ascended the steps. Eyes locking on the second-floor landing, her muscles tensed as she waited for the top of Mr. Curtis’ black hair to materialize.
When the Duke of Beaufort reappeared, she exhaled a deep sigh. Then, her gaze drifting lower to his blood-stained muslin shirt, she screamed and scrabbled to her feet. Unsteady, she raced toward him and fell into his arms.
“It’s not my blood,” he said, crushing her against his chest and drawing his hand across her hair. “While searching Mr. Curtis’ body, some of his blood transferred to my clothing. There’s quite a lot.”
“Then, Mr. Curtis is definitely dead?” Winifred asked, lifting her eyes to the Duke of Beaufort’s.
“No man could survive injuries of that extent.” Silas held up the sack of coins. “Warwick will be grateful that I returned the payment in full.”
Winfred glanced at the bag. “Is he the one to thank for collecting the funds so quickly?”
“You should express your gratitude to all of us.” Grinning, Silas jingled the contents. “This is the winner’s purse from our wager.”
“Then I should give my sentiments to you, the Duke of Warwick, and the Duke of Mansfield, as only the three of you are still involved in the bet.”
“In truth,” the Duke of Beaufort said, leading her down the stairs, “you should only thank Warwick and Mansfield for their generosity.”
“Are you no longer participating in the wager?” Winifred averted her eyes as they reached the first floor and Mr. Curtis’ battered body.
“I lost.”
“You have?” Winifred frowned and tried to pull free of his embrace. “To whom are you engaged?”
“You.” The Duke of Beaufort dropped to his knees. “However, I’d like to make that request official.”
“Please,” Winifred whispered, her gaze sliding to the grisly scene in the drawing room. “Don’t ask me here. This house holds nothing but horrible memories, and I’d loath to attach such a happy occasion to the residence.”
“May I ask you at the house next door to this one?” The Duke of Beaufort opened the front door.
“Miss Braddock’s residence?”
