Page 52 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

With one final glance in the mirror, my lips screw up into a grimace as I look at my disguise. But what else is there to do? I nod at my reflection and leave from out of Foxford’s door. It’s surprising to me how well such a simple action works.

When I wish to get around the house unseen, this is the only way I’ve been able to manage it. It’s as if no one thinks about the fact that the rooms adjoin. It’s laughable, really.

Slipping down the hallways, I take the servant’s route and end up in the stables just moments before Foxford does. Ducking behind some hay, I listen as he instructs the groomsman to take the evening off, that he will see to his own horse when he gets back.

Again, my heart pounds until my head swims. I have to time this just right. Too fast, and he’ll see me. Too slow, and I’ll not see the duke’s path. I wait in the dark as his stallion nickers. I know which horse I wish to take, but it’s right across from the stall Foxford is now occupying.

Soon, the thunderous clack of hooves tells me that he’s gone. Now, I just have to wait for the groom. Luckily, he seems to be thrilled with having time off and flings open the door hard enough that it clacks against the stonework, alerting me that he’s gone.

Slipping through the stable, I come to my horse, the one thing besides my pipe I was grateful to have from my old house. Asher put up a fuss to be sure, but quieted when Foxford pulled out some pounds. It’s little things the duke does for me, these sweet actions that make me so unsure of where we stand.

And it’s more than just the horse. It’s having my favorite treats on hand. It’s seeing flowers that just so happen to match the exact shade of my eyes. It’s the soft looks he passes to me when we eat dinner.

If he was cruel all the time, I could understand and even get used to it. But it’s things like the horse, him purring for me, kissing my forehead that keep me discombobulated and unable to outright hate him. Rubbing my hand over the nose of my mare, I speak softly to her, telling her what my plans for tonight are.

As if she’s conspiring with the duke himself, she shakes her head back and forth, tossing her mane from side to side. Stifling a chuckle, I make quick work of putting on her saddle and bridle, pausing long enough to glance upward and send a prayer of thanks to my father. If he had raised me like a normal daughter, I’d be unable to help myself in so many ways. I’d be beholden to the duke even more than I already am.

Climbing up, I sit astride, knowing that if I’m caught, it won’t be my manner of riding that will be the main transgression of the night. With soft clicks and gentle nudges, I ride her out of the stable and into the night. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to catch up with him without being seen.

* * *

From an adjoining street, I watch as Foxford descends from his horse and hands it off to a nearby groom. The place he’s entering is not one I’ve seen before, but that’s not really saying much. Even when Father and I visited London, it was not as if I chose to explore. There were far more entertaining things to do.

But as the door opens, spilling light out onto the street, I still cannot determine what it is. No doubt it’s a gentleman’s lounge of some sort. Would my disguise be enough to get me in the door? Probably not.

Frowning, I continue to watch. Surely an answer will come to me. And that’s when I see a few ladies walking down the street, tittering and laughing. They greet the groom as old friends and walk past him a little ways to another door. When they knock, they’re allowed entrance.

Is this what my husband has been doing with his nights away? Carousing with women that are far louder and more rambunctious? Could it be he’s doing to them the scandalous things I’ve denied him? Angry tears burn hot in my eyes as I nudge the horse forward.

First, I will try the male’s entrance. If that doesn’t work, I now have a fallback. Clearing my throat, I tip my hat to the groom, nodding but not saying a word. If he thinks I’m anything other than a man, he doesn’t acknowledge it, but he does hide a laugh behind a cough.

“Allow me to store your horse, Sir.”

Again, I clear my throat, drawing my voice into a deeper timber. “Very good.” I swing off and land on the street, barely pausing before I make my way to the door.

When I rap against the hardwood, it swings open, revealing another large man, nearly rivaling Foxford in size. This is a mistake. I know it in my core, and yet, I’m far too gone to change tactics now.

“Password.”

Blazes. Of course they’d have something like a password. I watch as he and the groom exchange a smile. “Ummm.” I pause to think, wracking my brain as to what a man would use as a password. Trying not to blush, I straighten my shoulders. “Pussy.” In truth, it’s the only word I can think of from that night between Foxford and me.

They both laugh as the door’s guardian crosses his arms. “Still wet behind the ears, ain’t ya? I’ll bet you’ve never even seen a woman’s breasts, much less smelt a pussy. Get out of here before I find your mother and have her come drag you home.”

With that, the door shuts soundly in my face. But what else did I expect? The groom holds the reins out for me, but I shake my head. “Keep her warm and feed her. I’ll return anon.”

Again, his wide grin splits his lips, but he says nothing. It’s as if I’m just one big lark to everyone. I suppose it’s the least I deserve. Part of me screams to just go home, but I fear I’ve come too far now.

Walking around to the other door, I rap on it soundly and wait for it to open. When it does, it’s another man, but this time, he just crosses his arms and looks me up and down.

“A bit small, aren’t you?”

“For what?” I try to growl out.

Without answering, he grabs at the hat and yanks it up, spilling my hair out around my shoulders. “Bit small for a male,” he finishes, tossing the hat inside where I can’t get it. “Even beta males aren’t as small as you. Leave before things get unpleasant.”

“You don’t understand-”

“I. Said. Leave,” he growls, turning my insides to mush.