Page 92 of Never Beguile a Duke
“You couldn’t know that unless you were working with someone,” she said, leaning back in the chair as far as possible; the knife followed.
“That wasn’t an answer.” Mr. Curtis slid his hand behind Winifred’s head and grasped her skull.
“Perhaps, his friends possessed the sum between them,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Perhaps, I should remind him of the cost of not following through with my instructions.” The knife moved down her throat.
Grasping her bodice, Mr. Curtis sliced the knife through the delicate material. “What shall I send him?”
“A piece of my dress should be sufficient,” Winifred said, trembling as Mr. Curtis ripped the garment off her shoulders.
He shoved his hand into her corset, his fingers brushing inappropriately against the swell of her breast. “Come now, Miss Webb, you can be more creative than that.”
The corset ripped, slashed open by Mr. Curtis’ sharp blade, and fell from her body.
Only the chemise remained.
“I’ll give you a choice,” he said, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Would you prefer I sent your fiancé a part of your arm or your leg?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
“He’s here!” Juliette raced into the parlor, loose hair flying behind her, and flung herself at Silas.
“Who’s here?” Silas asked, peeling Juliette from his legs and kneeling.
“Mr. Black!” she said, glancing behind herself as though she expected the man to burst through the doorway.
Silas grabbed Juliette’s slight shoulders. “Where did you see him?”
“This morning, by Miss Fernsby-Webb’s door.” Juliette pointed in the direction of the staircase. “I thought he saw me, but I darted back into my chamber and hid in the armoire.”
Miss Webb gasped and took a step toward the young girl. “You’ve been hiding there all day?”
A grave expression crossing her face, Juliette nodded. “I fell asleep for a bit; I don’t know how long.”
Silas drew her into a tight hug. “You’re very brave to leave your chamber and seek me out. Are you certain it was Mr. Black and not someone else, such as Mansfield?”
Juliette leaned back, her face scrunching. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you saw someone this morning,” Silas replied, brushing a mousey-brown piece of hair from the side of her sweaty face.
“I know what the Duke of Mansfield looks like, Father.” She pulled free of Silas, marched across the room, and pointed at the aforementioned man. “This is he.”
“In the early morning hours, two men with the same coloring would look similar,” Silas replied, rising.
“I agree,” Juliette said, clasping her hands behind her back. “However, the Duke of Mansfield’s presence doesn’t induce fear.”
“Thank you,” Mansfield muttered, plunking down his glass.
She turned her hazel eyes to him. “You’re still quite surly, though.”
The entire room laughed.
“Who is Mr. Black?” Mrs. Webb asked as the laughter subsided. “And why was he near our bedchamber?”
Silas shifted his attention to her. “Your daughter and I think Mr. Black is Mr. Curtis, the same man who attacked you several days ago.”
