Page 29 of A Tale of Two Dukes

At the mention of Birchleigh’s other conquests, my blood runs cold. I knew he had other mistresses in theory. Yet, hearing about them brings about a jealousy I never expected. I have no right to his person and thus have no right to be upset about who he had before me.

Either way, I need to do something to take my mind off of everything. Since clothes shopping is on the mandatory list of things to do, then that’s what will happen. Storming out of the room, I put on an unfeeling and uncaring facade.

However, the moment the door opens, and I’m confronted with the outside, my heart rises to my throat. Never before have I been afraid to leave the confines of a house. But now, hearing the London noise, terror takes over, gluing me to the spot.

I stand there, half inside and half out, not sure of where to go or what to do. In the street, a carriage pulls up at the end of the walkway, presumably for me. But I don’t want to go. I want nothing more than to stay put where I’m safe.

“Do you require assistance, Miss?” the footman inquires, his soft gaze filled with concern.

This won’t do. What happened to the woman who ran from home, risking life and limb to traverse from the countryside to London? What happened to the woman who flirted with the duke, pretending to be a knowledgeable courtesan when deep inside she was quaking in fear?

Tossing my head back, I exit the house and make my way toward the carriage, looking neither left nor right. This is a simple excursion. If anyone asks about my business in London, I could always say I was visiting a friend for the season. Such things are normally done and not at all looked down upon.

However, the moment I reach the edge of the walkway, a strong pair of hands reach out and drag me back behind a large row of hedges. From their vantage point, no one manning the carriage can see me or my abductor. Terror rises, flooding my veins with adrenaline.

Kicking out, I do my best to get away, and yet, the hands hold firm, dragging me back against the hard plane of their body. Their hand slides over my lips, keeping me from crying out and alerting others to my distress.

Soon, the stench of anger, aggression, and dirty sea water assaults my nose, and I know exactly who it is that holds me captive. “Shhhh, little minx,” Mr. Beaumont’s voice rasps against my ear. “Wouldn’t want you harming yourself needlessly. Now, I’m going to remove my hand so we can talk. Make any move to scream or otherwise draw attention to this little rendezvous and I’ll slit your throat. Do not test me.”

A loud schnick fills the air moments before cold metal brushes against my skin. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand there, motionless. Again, the memory of that threatening letter flashes in my mind. The moment I saw Mr. Beaumont standing there in the club, I knew it was he who sent it.

Now that he’s once more threatening my life, I have no doubt. “What do you want from me?” My voice is harsh, raspy, so unlike the strong woman I wanted to portray mere moments ago.

“A simple conversation. That’s all. Now then.” He turns me around so I can look him in the eye. “I know it was you who made my brother swing from the noose.” When I open my mouth to deny his accusation, he brings the knife up, tapping it against my lips. “You misunderstand. I aim to talk, and you will listen.”

I nod, inching away from the sharp blade. “Good girl.” For some reason, when Mr. Beaumont says it, it makes my stomach churn in revulsion, unlike the arousal caused by Birchleigh.

“As I was saying. Your meddling ways sent him to the gallows. And so, I was hoping to procure you as my mistress, punishing you in every deviant way I could think of. Alas, I found myself thwarted. You will listen to me and heed my words. No one is to know about you, your life before venturing into whoredom, or our little meetings.”

“What’s to keep me from going to the duke? He’s already stripped your family of your lands and titles. He can keep me safe.”

“Oh, of that, I have no doubt. You see, it’s not your safety that will keep you silent.” Lifting his hand, he opens his palm, dangling a necklace in front of me.

My blood runs cold as I study the pendant swinging in the wind. It belongs to my sister, Josephine. “Where did you get that?”

“Oh, this little trinket? Let’s just say, your sister could make a fine whore in my household.”

Anger infuses my limbs, driving away the fear that kept me stuck. “You will watch your words in her regard.”

“Or what? Pray tell, what can you do to me?”

“I could tell Birchleigh everything.”

“And condemn your sister to my affections?” He makes a soft tsking noise as he shakes his head. “Even you cannot be that cruel. I have not touched her. Yet. Keep everything about us a secret, and she’ll enter the marriage mart with her maidenhood intact. If not… Well, let’s just say your deflowering was gentle compared to what I have planned for her.”

“You’re a monster,” I whisper, desperation clawing at my insides.

“Yes. You have no earthly idea just how correct you are. But remember, my dear,” he whispers, moving in even closer to me. “I hold your sister’s heart in the palm of my hand. It would be a pity to have to crush it.”

With a wink, he tips his hat and leaves, winding his way through the hedges. I stand there for several moments, unable to force my legs to move, fingers fluttering over my chest. My poor sister. I don’t want to believe it.

I want to lie to myself and convince my mind that Mr. Beaumont merely intimidates me with idle threats. But seeing her necklace swinging from his fingers makes it clear just how serious this fiend is.

Turning, I head back into the house. I need to rid myself of his stench pounding in my brain and lacing my body. With an efficiency I don’t truly feel, I order the maid to draw me a bath.

Thankfully, though she gives me an odd look, she does as commanded without fuss or argument. With nimble fingers, she tears at my stays, undressing me and laying the clothes over the edge of the bed. I don’t give them another thought, as I dip myself in the warm water.

It should loosen my muscles, bringing ease to both my body and mind. But I find myself unable to relax. Clutching a rough rag in my fingers, I set myself to scrubbing my skin, nearly flaying myself in my attempt to drive the sickly scent of mildew from me.