Page 60 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
With her hands still bound, how would she defend herself?
The light was before her now, harsh upon her eyes, which had known only darkness since she’d woken.
She saw his feet first, encased in leather boots, then riding breeches and a sturdy jacket.
“You!” her voice faltered.
He raised the lamp between them, so that she saw his face fully.
“Who else were you expecting?” Lord Studborne’s expression was impassive.
Rosamund closed her eyes, as if doing so would send him away. “What do you want?”
“Haven’t you guessed?” he sounded surprised. “Why else did you run away? Blasted inconvenient having to drag you here from the folly and that damned dog yapping. The route from your room would have been so much easier.”
Rosamund’s temper flared. “If you’ve hurt Pom Pom, I swear you’ll regret it.”
“Not as timid as you appear, Miss Burnell?” The duke raised an eyebrow. “I like you better for it. As for your little beast, he’s safe—for now. Do as you’re told and he’ll remain that way.”
Rosamund glowered but felt relief. She could bear whatever was in store for herself better, knowing Pom Pom was alive.
Lord Studborne carried the lantern to one side and, taking candles from his pockets, placed them at intervals, igniting each flame until their surroundings were revealed more clearly.
Rosamund had been sitting not against the wall but pressed to the cold stone of a sarcophagus.
The earthen tunnel she and Benedict had found on their exploration of the crypt was a little way off—and her skirts and boots bore evidence of her having been "dragged" as the duke had said.
She was filthy.
“Untie me, won’t you?” Rosamund adopted a reasoning tone. “Whatever you want”—she fought a surge of revulsion—“I’ll oblige. There’s no need to restrain me. Don't you want me to use my hands?”
“Really my dear? For one so demurely virginal, you’ve a vulgar streak.” The duke’s eyes narrowed. “It’s your American upbringing, no doubt. A great shame—for you’re quite perfect in other respects.”
Rosamund gritted her teeth. “And you’re no gentleman, no matter your grand title. I don’t believe my mother took the excess of laudanum by accident. It was you, wasn’t it! You made her take it. You’re a murderer. The blackest villain! The Queen would be ashamed of you!”
He threw back his head, his laughter hollow. “But her Majesty is unlikely to hear of me. Certainly, you won’t be telling her, will you?” The smile he bestowed on Rosamund was one of menace.
“As for your mother, left to her own devices, she would have exceeded the recommended dose eventually. She’d quite a taste for the drops. I only hastened things along.”
“That’s not true. She’d given up taking them, before—” There was no point in arguing. The whole household had seen her mother incapacitated for several days, knowing she’d the laudanum at her side. No one had questioned the doctor’s verdict.
As for the girls who’d disappeared, Bessie included, Rosamund could have no doubt the duke was responsible.
“Now, we’ve business to attend to.” He hauled Rosamund to her feet. “Introductions must be made, and I know my beloved is anxious to meet you. It’s only one more night until the full moon after all.”
Rosamund couldn’t help but quail.
Was this the moment?
He was going to murder her, as he’d doubtless done those other young women?
Though she dug in her heels, the duke had no trouble guiding her to the stone vault upon which he’d placed several candles.
The lid was slid partially to the side.
“No! I won’t! You can’t put me in there!” With all her might Rosamund pulled against Lord Studborne’s grasp upon her arm.
For her trouble, she received a sharp slap to the side of her head.
