Page 65 of A Tale of Two Dukes

“They don’t know,” he admits, his tone full of regret. “They were so intent on watching the fire. They assumed she was with them.”

Behind him, a soft sob echoes, bouncing around the tent. I can almost feel the despair drip from the duchess's small frame. The others, the ones Catherine worked with, stand by, fiddling with their hands.

“What aren’t you telling me?” They quake in fear as they lower into a curtsy. “Your Grace, we know nothing.”

I scent the air, looking for any hint of deceit or malice and finding none. “Surely you must know something. Did she confide in either of you? Something? Anything?”

They glance at each other, confusion drawing their brows downward. “Your Grace, why would she confide in us? We barely know her.”

My blood runs cold at her proclamation. “But all the time in The Rose and Thorne…”

The other steps up, resting her hand on the arm of the girl that had been speaking. “Your Grace, I’m not sure what Kitty told you, but the night you found her was the night she entered the establishment. We never saw her before that. None of us are privy to the inner workings of her mind.”

Of course. In all my need to ensure her interactions with Hugh were circumspect, I neglected to really poke at the memories concerning her time at The Rose and Thorne. I saw the images I wanted to and left it at that. I should have dug further, but with the rut overtaking me, all I cared about was her feelings for the man who threatened every bit of our happiness.

Rage floods my system as I pace about the tent. Off in the corner, Whiteport pokes about, his lips turning down as if in deep thought. Eventually, he brings her glass to his nose and sniffs.

The irrational part of me, the part that wants to rend England apart until I find my mate, longs to rip the glass from his fingers and punch him in his smug face for even daring to do something so intimate as to scent her. However, I must force my mind to focus. To my knowledge, he feels nothing for her.

“Find something?” My voice is tight, controlled, but he sees right through me.

I detest the look of pity in his eyes as he nods his head. Once more, he leans forward, his nostrils quivering as he confirms his original assessment. Reaching in, he runs two fingers along the glass before holding them up to the light, rubbing them together ever so slightly. “Opium, if I’m not drastically mistaken. Your courtesan isn’t known to imbibe, is she?”

Grinding my teeth, I breathe, commanding my lips to not correct him, revealing that she’s my mate. There could be ears and eyes everywhere, especially here in the pleasure gardens. Instead, I take in a deep breath and shake my head.

“To my knowledge, she is circumspect, even going as far as to eschew too much drink.”

Again, he leans forward, but this time, his tongue touches his fingertips. A deep grimace twists his features as he swirls the glass, studying the remaining liquid. Setting it down, he takes a deep breath. “There was a lot in here. More than just recreational use. Whoever took her must have wanted her pliant or unconscious.”

It explains why I can’t see into the bond. Damnation. I should have known something was wrong the first time I felt that vast pit of tranquility when she had been so anxious before. Hell, I should have gone to her the instant I felt that spike of panic. No doubt that was the moment the fiend nabbed her.

Stepping over to him, I pluck the glass from off of the table. It’s still warm. No doubt from Whiteport’s hand, but I can still dream of her warmth, fooling myself into thinking it was mere moments instead of several minutes that she was here.

I turn, spearing the women with a glare. “And no one saw or heard anything?”

Foxford’s wife steps out from behind her husband despite his hand attempting to hold her back. “Your Grace, please forgive us. We were too caught up in the commotion. But tell us what we can do to assist you in getting her back.”

Whiteport steps up beside me, his countenance drawn as if in deep thought. “I think it best if all the ladies return from whence they came. Foxford, Blackport, and Portswell, take the women home. I will stay here with Birchleigh. Also, if you see either Redleigh or my brother, bring them with you. We will need all the help we can get.”

“Can we not be of assistance?” she insists, ignoring the glare Foxford is giving her. “Besides, as women, no one would expect us to uncover anything.” Her blue eyes sparkle as excitement pinkens her cheeks.

“Absolutely not,” Foxford growls, wrapping his arm around her waist. “You will retire. I cannot dedicate my mind to helping our friend if I’m worried about you. Besides, Miss Cynthia said she would visit you tonight. I’m sure you two have a lot to titter about.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt to deliver a rebuttal, but the look in Foxford’s eyes brooks no argument. With a slight huff, she turns and joins the other women preparing to be ushered away.

My brother steps forward. “Whiteport, you should accompany your lady. I can stay here with William.”

He hedges, looking back down into the glass, his fingers twitching as if the need to examine it again is overwhelming. “I feel I could be more useful here.” Though he holds himself with an air of nonchalance, his eyes seem to take in every detail of the scene.

Robert and I exchange a curious glance, but wisely decide to say nothing. At this point, any assistance would be a boon. Once the women are safely away, Whiteport and I go back to where Catherine was sitting.

So many scents clutter the air—the fire, the girls, my friends, the servants, but a few stand out. They’re not the same ones I remember from earlier. And underneath all of them is the one smell I dread the most. That horrible mixture of decay and ocean water.

“Hugh,” I snarl, flinging my hand out to slam against the table.

“Calm down,” Whiteport urges, his tone calm, resolved. “You will be no help to her if you allow your anger to get the better of you. Besides, maybe this is for the best. By allowing this obsession out of your life, you may be able to open yourself up for something better.”

My body stills as I stare at my friend. There’s no way he just said those words. And yet, as I mull them over in my brain, the more enraged I become. I move to grab him, to force him to the ground, fighting as we did in the academy, but with a swiftness I’ve never seen from him, he steps out of the way and pushes me to the side.