Page 126 of Never Beguile a Duke
“How brave of the two of you to come alone.”
“Grisham and Mr. Braddock were inside the gaming hall,” replied the Duke of Beaufort with a grimace. “Neither man witnessed the attack on Roxburghe nor my chase of Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Are they still waiting there?” Winifred’s voice spiked. “You must release them from their obligation!”
The Duke of Beaufort wrapped his arms around her, his intimate proximity silencing the rapid thoughts tumbling through her brain.
“I will send a missive to the gaming hall as well,” he said and dipped his head, pausing less than a millimeter from her lips. “We won’t have any solitude when you return… Do you swear to visit your fiancé this evening in his bedchamber?”
“This evening and every other until the end of our days,” she replied, leaning forward and kissing him.
His arms tightened, molding her body against his, and he backed her against the wall, his hard length grinding into her abdomen.
“If I don’t leave now,” he growled against her mouth, “we won’t depart this house for some time.”
“How long?” she panted, her eyes closing as his lips nibbled along her jawline.
“The morrow.” He lifted her, winding her legs around his waist, and pinned her against the wall with his hips. “Possibly the day after that.”
“And if I prefer your bed over the one upstairs?”
He grinned. “One week.”
“I will hold you to that promise, Your Grace,” she replied as he slowly lowered her to the floor.
“I shall only be a few moments,” he said, his fingers closing around the door handle.
He exited before Winifred could ask if she should lock the door, a question she debated for several minutes before giving in to her fear and fastening the door.
It wasn’t that she expected Mr. Curtis and Mr. Hollingsworth to burst into the house and abduct her a second time—logically, since both men were dead, that situation wouldn’t occur—but her mind refused to release the possibility of a second attack. So, she darted forward, secured the door, and peered through the green section of an ornate stained-glass window at the Duke of Beaufort’s shrinking back.
After he turned the corner and vanished, Winifred held her sentry position for several long minutes, her gaze darting back and forth across the green-tinged snowy landscape.
A creak echoed softly through the house, sending a shudder rippling through her body. Steeling herself, she peeled her face away from the stained-glass and glanced over her shoulder.
“Hello?” she said, cringing as her voice cracked.
She spun around and took a step toward the staircase, her narrowed eyes inspecting the lengthening shadows. “Is anyone there?”
The door rattled, and she screamed.
“Miss Fernsby-Webb?” The Duke of Beaufort’s panic leaked into the foyer, and he shook the locked door with such force, Winifred feared he would break the wood. “Is everything alright?”
Diving toward the lock, she unlatched the door, flung it open, and jumped into his unexpecting arms.
“Did something happen?” he asked, balancing her weight and peering into the house.
“I heard something,” she replied as a light blush crept into her face. “And though I knew Mr. Curtis was deceased, I feared…”
She swallowed and glanced away.
“You feared his ghost had followed you?” The Duke of Beaufort tugged her face back. “While that would make an argument for never returning to your mother’s house based upon her potential new spiritual guests, I’ve not heard of a ghost attaching itself to a person.”
He shifted his hold on her, then pulled Miss Braddock’s front door closed and grinned. “If that were the case, your sister would also have her own personal specter.”
Winifred laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “The Duke of Roxburghe would never allow it.”
“And neither will I.” The Duke of Beaufort brushed a soft kiss across her mouth, then strode through the garden toward a waiting hackney coach.
