Page 14 of Never Beguile a Duke
I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with the Duke of Beaufort!
“With his focus on hosting, perhaps we should consider one of the other dukes,” Winifred said, ignoring the strange tightening of her chest. “Do you know the other ladies attending this week’s engagement celebration?”
“I know one who refused.” Nora leaned closer and lowered her voice, despite their privacy. “Miss Creasey through her mother’s acerbic quill.”
“That is one lady who shouldn’t have foregone this celebration. However…” Winifred tapped her fingertip on her lips, her mind seeking a phrase that wouldn’t sound venomous.
She failed.
“Do you detest the Dukes of Mansfield and Warwick so much that you’d encourage a connection to Miss Creasey?”
“Winifred!” Nora’s eyes widened. “Miss Creasey’s family has lived in this town for generations.”
“And despite constant exposure to this lovely locale, their attitudes have not improved one whit.” Arching her eyebrows, Winifred dared Nora to contradict the observation.
Instead, Nora burst out laughing.
“Against the societal expectation of my future title, I agree with your statement,” Nora said, dabbing her fingers beneath her eyes to collect the evidence of her mirth. “And I do not believe the Duke of Roxburghe would express his gratitude for my drawing Miss Creasey into our intimate circle of friends.”
“Then whom do you suggest?”
“To match with the Duke of Mansfield or the Duke of Warwick?”
“Either man.” Winifred half-raised her shoulders. “I didn’t assist with the invitations.”
Nora licked her lips and glanced out the window. “Nor did I.”
“Only the Duke of Beaufort,” Winifred snickered, “would hold a weeklong engagement celebration shrouded in mystery.”
“As long as there are no dead bodies in attendance?—”
“They wouldn’t be dead on arrival,” Winifred said, regretting the dark direction of their conversation. “Someone would murder them during the event. That’s how it happened the last two times, is it not?”
Nora pressed her lips together and nodded. She didn’t speak for the remainder of the voyage, and the half hour of silence left Winifred with the macabre preoccupation of imagining which of the ton’s members would next lose their life and how.
The coach slowed and turned right, following a long drive of bare-branched beech trees toward the Duke of Beaufort’s residence. Before Mr. Dunn stopped the horses, the carriage door ripped open, and the Duke of Roxburghe stuck the upper half of his body into the cabin, tension marring his handsome face.
“I was concerned you’d become lost,” he said, offering his hand to Nora.
“We stopped at Miss Braddock’s residence to retrieve an item Winifred forgot,” Nora said, climbing from the coach and curling into his embrace. “With the Duke of Beaufort occupying your time, I assumed my absence would go unnoticed.”
“First,” said the Duke of Roxburghe, raising one finger, “at all times, know that I am thinking about you.”
A light pink flush crawled into Nora’s cheeks.
“And second,” he said, holding out his free arm to Winifred, “Beaufort has been occupied most of the afternoon with a personal matter, leaving me to greet the arriving guests, none of whom have been my fiancée.”
Leaning over, he murmured in Nora’s ear, and her blush deepened.
“Who else has arrived?” Winifred asked, a sharp pang slicing through her chest as she averted her gaze from their intimate moment.
The Duke of Roxburghe lifted his head. “Mr. Venning and his daughter; she seems quite well recovered after discovering her cousin’s body in the foyer.”
“Based on what observation?” Winifred ignored the dark look Nora shot at the borderline disrespectful question.
“She’s currently tending to the Duke of Lennox.”
Nora gasped and twisted around. “Is he ill?”
