Page 87 of Never Beguile a Duke
“Who is?” Miss Webb’s soft voice came from the doorway.
Roxburghe spun around, wrapped his arms around her, and crushed Miss Webb to his chest.
“Hi,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Has the performance concluded?”
“Miss Sutton just sat down at the pianoforte,” Miss Webb said, raising her eyes to his. “However, I decided to forego the experience because my fiancé is hiding something from me.”
“It’s nothing to concern yourself over,” he replied, cupping her face and rubbing his thumb over her lower lip. “Have I told you how lovely you look this afternoon?”
“I’ll not allow you to distract me.” She pulled free of his arms. “Who were you confirming was in the drawing room?”
Sighing, Roxburghe took her hands. “You.”
“Me?” Her eyebrows floated to her hairline. “Why would you be concerned about my whereabouts?”
“I’m always thinking about you.” He grinned and drew her closer.
“Nora, there you are.” Mrs. Webb hovered in the doorway, a shawl wrapped tightly around her torso. “Have you seen your sister?”
“Not since last night,” Miss Webb replied, a tiny crinkle appearing between her eyes. “I thought she was resting.”
“She’s not in the chamber.” Mrs. Webb’s gaze landed on Silas. “Your Grace, perhaps you know her location?”
“Why would I know?” Silas asked, striding forward. “I’ve been hunting most of the day.”
Mrs. Webb paled. “You didn’t request her to meet you at the stables this morning?”
“No...” Silas’ head whipped toward the fireplace, his gaze finding the burning missive.
Diving toward the fireplace, he yanked the cover away from the opening, snatched the paper from the flames, and dropped the page on the hearth. He stamped out the flames, but the missive disintegrated when he lifted the sheet from the floor.
“What did it say?” Silas flew across the room, grabbed Roxburghe’s lapels, and backed him against a wall. “Tell me!”
Roxburghe’s gaze shifted to Miss Webb, who moved beside Silas, blocking Roxburghe’s escape, and then back to Silas. “Fifty thousand pounds by midday tomorrow or Miss Webb dies.”
“They took Winifred instead of me!” Miss Webb shrieked, flinging herself at Roxburghe and beating her fists on his chest. “You must rescue her.”
“I would, except…” Roxburghe swallowed, his usual swagger draining from his face.
“Except?” pressed Miss Webb.
“I don’t recall the location to deliver the money.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WINIFRED
Why are my feet cold?
Head throbbing, Winifred opened her eyes and gasped. Blackness surrounded her. She strained her eyes, twisting her head back and forth in a futile attempt to clear her vision, and a faint rustling met her ears.
She was blindfolded!
Her shoulders jerked, desperate to rip the covering from her face, but her hands wouldn’t budge. Yanking her arms in opposite directions, she struggled to break the rope binding her wrists behind her back and failed.
“Hello?” The word came out as a tiny squeak, barely audible over her racing heart.
No one answered.
