Page 36 of The Duke's Tempting Widow
Lydia’s skin heated. Tendrils of warmth sparked inside her, recalling exactly what it had felt like to have his lips on her skin. The intimate places that he had touched her… she wanted more. There was a craving for him that she did not think that she was ever going to be able to quench.
If for some reason the duke rebuked her—which she could not imagine that he would have cause to do—then at least she would have answers. They would be out of this insufferable limbo where she never got quite what she wished for. Her husband would wish for her happiness, that much she was certain of.
A knock on the cracked open office door nearly startled her out of her skin. Lydia’s hands snapped down from where they had been roaming over her body indecently and her heart jackhammered in her chest. She could hardly breathe normally for the way her head swam at neatly being discovered in a compromising position.
Her voice was fragile and awkward as she called out to the intruder. “Y-yes?”
“My lady!” The familiar voice of her steward rushed, sounding frantic enough that the daydreaming portion of Lydia’s brain shut right off.
She pushed up off of the desk and hurried to the door, hoping the flush of her skin was not noticeable.
“You must come quickly, there is an urgent visitor in the drawing room. Please, hurry.” The steward announced and Lydia allowed herself to quickly be escorted down from the office and down the stairs. Despite her very best efforts, her mind unhelpfully started to provide as many worst-case scenarios as she could possibly imagine in the short time it took to reach the drawing room.
That sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach seemed to triple the moment that she saw the constable from the village standing in her drawing room. Her heart plummeted and her knees buckled. It was a mercy that her steward was there to catch her before she crumbled to the floor.
“My lady,” the constable nodded politely, and then started to fidget with his uniform. That meant that whatever he was going to say was going to make her feel even worse. Her lips pursed, Lydia was half tempted to beg him not to tell her whatever horrible news was about to pour of his mouth, but she felt frozen.
“There has been an accident.”
There were flashbacks to the news of her husband’s death all over again. The same hollow feeling of grief and hopelessness. She clung to her steward, who stood steadfast at her side. It meant more than she could verbally express.
“A-accident?” What sort of accident? Please, tell me quickly I cannot bear it.” Lydia stammered.
“We received a bandit attack earlier this morning, and when my men arrived at the road, we found an overturned carriage. One that we believe belongs to your patron, the Duke of Somerfield. The coat of arms on the doors matches that of our records, however--”
“And the duke? What of the occupant?” Lydia interrupted. She could lament about her rudeness another time.
“The carriage was abandoned, my lady.” The constable said somberly. “The duke is presumed missing.”
Lydia shook her head. It was not possible. She would not allow it. “Take me there.”
“The road is not safe at the moment, my lady. The bandits who must have attacked the carriage are clearly still at large. It would not be the proper place for a lady such as yourself to be.” The constable explained, but Lydia was having none of it.
“I did not ask for your opinion on my personal safety, sir, I told you to take me to the carriage.”
She needed to see it for herself. There was absolutely no way that she was going to be able to spend the next few daysthinking that she could have possibly lost the duke all over again without seeing it for herself. She turned to her steward, steeling herself against the hollow ache that was spreading inside of her. “Reach out to the men in the village, take Lord Baxter with you to enlist the help of any who can spare the time and are of able body.”
“Yes, my lady.” The steward answered quickly, though he seemed rather reluctant to move away from her. Part of her was grateful, she certainly did not feel very stable on her feet at the moment, but there was far too much to do for her to stand here and focus on herself or her own comfort. She could not lose him again.
“I want a search party assembled at once. I shall find my sister, please have the governess stay with the girls. I do not wish them to leave the house until all of this is sorted out. But do not frighten them. I do not need them to worry.”
Lydia said as she felt herself start to slide into the familiarfix itmode that she was so used to operating within. She could fix this. Somehow. The duke could not be missing because there was no way that she could lose him again. She just needed to cling to that finally shred of hope, no matter what.
No matter how small the clue might be, she was going to find it.
Chapter 23
It was well into the night before they found their first lead. The pub in town was not a place that Lydia had ever had any cause to attend herself. She was not even certain if her husband came here the few times that he was in town or not.
Given how often that he traveled, it was unlikely that he had made too many close friends there. But much to her fortune they all seemed to recognize her, even if they did not much care for the fact that she had a constable in tow.
“Greetings, my lady, can I get you a drink?” The man behind the counter offered. He had a kind face, ruddy features, and seemed perfectly pleasant as he wiped down a glass.
“No, thank you. I am here hoping that there will be somebody who can assist me in obtaining information.” Lydia spoke flatly. The stress of the day was heavily wearing on her, there was no denying that. However, she could not stop. Thinking that Weston might be out there alone, or injured… or worse? She simply could not stand for it. She could not allow it. It was all that her mind kept looping through every minute of the hours that had passed since she left her home.
The constable moved behind her, walking slowly into the pub and taking his time in looking at each and every face that he passed. It was an obvious intimidation tactic, but it was working.
“What sort of information do you need, my lady?” The bartender asked her, forcing her attention away from the constable.
