Page 22 of Never Beguile a Duke
“I haven’t decided if I should.” Winifred chewed her lower lip. “If you were in my position, would you?”
The skin between his eyes pinched. Had she blinked, she would have missed the subtle reaction.
“I lost my mother at a young age,” he said, his eyes following Miss Juliette as she rounded the house’s far corner. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice for one more day with her… including three months in prison.”
He fell silent, trudging through the snow, and then, as if he recalled Winifred was beside him, he glanced over and forced a smile. “However, our situations are different.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Winifred’s gaze dropped to her mother’s discolored face. “As incarceration wouldn’t deem you unmarriageable.”
“Who called you unworthy?” the Duke of Beaufort growled. “I’ll expel him immediately.”
“No man,”—she took an unconscious step away from his sudden ire—“or woman would dare express that opinion in my presence, save my mother.”
“Hmm.”
He made no other comment, leaving Winifred twisting the noncommittal response over and over in her mind as they slogged around the side of the residence.
Did he think she’d lied about her damaged reputation? Surely, he’d heard the rumors.
Before Winifred could pose the question, Nora jerked open the front door, her face paling when she caught sight of her stepmother’s unconscious body.
Stepping aside, Nora asked, “Do you know what happened to her?”
“No,” Winifred replied, closing the door behind the Duke of Beaufort. “However, if Miss Juliette hadn’t discovered Mother, she would have died.”
“She may still,” the Duke of Beaufort said as he trudged toward the staircase. “We need to warm her body as quickly as possible.”
Nora wound a comforting arm around Winifred’s waist and strode across the foyer. “Put her in my bed.”
“And where do you intend to sleep?” Winifred’s mouth crooked.
“In your bed.” Nora tilted her head. “Does that amuse you?”
“I assumed you’d use the opportunity to secure yourself a private chamber,” Winifred said as they climbed the stairs.
A deep red blush coursed through Nora’s skin. “I doubt my sister would approve of that request.”
“She would not.” Winifred indicated the Duke of Beaufort. “However, if you wanted to enjoy the festivities without the responsibility of caring for Mother, I’d hold my opinion this one time and allow the modification to be made.”
Horror slid across Nora’s face. “I wouldn’t abandon you in favor of amusement.”
“You cannot forego the banquet!” Winifred grabbed Nora’s upper arm, preventing her from climbing to the next step. “This week is meant to celebrate your engagement.”
“His Grace would understand.” Nora pulled free.
“I. Do,” the Duke of Beaufort panted, stopping when he reached the second-floor landing to adjust his hold on Winifred’s mother. “Your fiancé may not.”
Nora growled.
“One hour,” she said, skirting around the Duke of Beaufort and hastening toward their chamber. “Then, we switch places.”
Winifred chased after her sister. “As much as I appreciate your fiancé’s humor, I have no desire to marry him.”
The Duke of Beaufort choked, swallowed his laughter, and, avoiding eye contact with her, strode into the chamber, where he gently deposited Winifred’s mother onto Nora’s bed. He kept his head bent, fussing over Mrs. Webb, which Winifred presumed meant he didn’t quite have control of his faculties.
“I’ve brought Mr. Aylett,” Miss Juliette, hands clasped in front of her waist, announced from the doorway.
Mr. Aylett bustled past her carrying a mound of blankets, on which he’d balanced a tray holding two bowls of water and a stack of cloth bandages. When his gaze fell on Mrs. Webb’s face, he paused for a fraction of a second, then continued toward the bed as though unbothered by her injuries.
