Page 80 of Never Beguile a Duke
Ducking behind the lid, Winifred rolled her eyes. “No one believes that.”
A strange rustling drew their attention.
Raising up on her elbows, her mother’s gaze zeroed in on a small scrap of parchment partially trapped beneath the door. “What is that?”
Before Winifred could stand, her mother launched off the bed and snatched up the paper. Hovering beside the door, she unfolded the page, perused the missive, and lifted her narrowed eyes to Winifred.
“I must speak with you immediately,” she read aloud, a low growl in her voice. “Sneak away from your mother and sister and meet me in the stables.”
The temperature in the bedchamber dropped. “Meet with whom, Winifred?”
Winifred rose, crossed the room, and snatched the paper from her mother’s hand. Scanning the words, her heart fluttered.
But why would the Duke of Beaufort write a missive? He knew the importance of keeping their intimate connection secret.
“Oh, Winifred.” Shaking her head, her mother trudged to the fireplace and dropped into a large wing chair. “Please tell me that you didn’t throw away the connection with Mr. Hollingsworth for a weeklong lark with a gentleman who’s uninterested in marriage.”
“First,” Winifred said, spinning around, “my answer to Mr. Hollingsworth was based upon his previous treatment of me and the belief that should those circumstances be repeated, his actions would also repeat.”
“And second?” Arching her eyebrows, her mother folded her hands and set them on her lap.
Damn.
“Should anything unfortunate occur, the gentleman under discussion has enough funds to shelter me from the issue.” Crumpling the missive, Winifred strode past her mother and dropped the note into the fireplace.
“Are you certain?” Her mother’s gaze locked on the burning paper. “You believed Mr. Hollingsworth’s lies.”
“This man is different.”
Her mother snorted. “No man is different.”
“A titled one is.” The words were out before she could stop them.
Eyes glowing, her mother rose and embraced Winifred, crushing the oxygen from her lungs. “The only men of title present this weekend are dukes, and with three of them spoken for—one by your sister—it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to determine the man.”
“Urgh!” Winifred broke free of her mother’s arms. “If I reveal the name, you are not to utter one word about the connection. One whisper regarding my indiscretion and I will ensure no one offers you a shred of kindness for the remainder of your years.”
Silence stretched between them, then her mother nodded. “I’ll agree to your terms.”
Winifred exhaled a slow breath, attempting to calm her racing heart, which sped up at the thought of mentioning his name. “The Duke of Beaufort.”
“Our host?” Her mother’s eyes bulged. “You managed to secure the interest of the elusive Duke of Beaufort!”
“I’ve secured nothing but a few stolen moments,” Winifred corrected, pinning her mother with a stern glower, “and a promise that nothing negative will come from our interactions.”
“Nothing more?” Striding to Winifred’s open trunk, her mother crouched and, hand hovering over a chemise, glanced back. “Surely, he must harbor some concern regarding Mr. Curtis’ nefarious focus on our family.”
“He’s taken every precaution to ensure Mr. Curtis is not a guest.”
“And when this week is concluded,”—she held the chemise out to Winifred—“is there a scheme in place to protect you?”
“I’m to reside with Nora and the Duke of Roxburghe,” Winifred replied, tugging the delicate material from her mother’s grip.
“Until their wedding, after which I’m assuming you’ll reside somewhere else while they are traveling.”
Pursuing her lips, Winifred turned away, pulled her nightdress over her head, then yanked the chemise into place.
A petticoat floated into view. “Who volunteered to safeguard you?”
