Page 66 of A Tale of Two Dukes

In my anger, I stumble, bumping into the table. Enraged, I roar, knocking the dishes to the ground with a satisfying clatter. I turn again, lowering my center of gravity to charge forward.

It’s for naught. No doubt it’s my fear for my mate and fury clouding my mind, making my movements too slow. To his credit, Whiteport never strikes me. Instead, he treats me as if I’m a child, pushing me away and sliding out of reach.

Not to be deterred, I rush at him again. Once more, it’s as if I’m nothing but a pesky insect as he moves and shoves. I need to hit something, to bloody my fingers. I need to do something.

Coming around, he grabs me about the shoulders and holds firm. “I’m not the one you’re angry with. Besides, you know I speak the truth. You’re too overcome with this courtesan. In truth, I’ve never seen someone as besotted as you.”

“Then look to your own brother,” I snarl, struggling against his hold. “I’ve never seen anyone carry the look of unrequited love like him.”

My words seem to hit their mark, startling him enough that he loosens his grip. Taking full advantage, I break free and hold my fists aloft. He shakes his head and turns his back.

“I will not fight you.”

“Then help me find the man I truly wish to knock into the oblivion. Besides, there’s more to this tale than you know.”

Turning, he raises a brow. “Oh?”

“She’s no longer just my mistress,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only he can hear. Plopping down onto the seat Catherine once occupied, I rest my head on my hands. “She’s so much more than that. She is my bound mate.”

He stills next to me, his body practically screaming with his displeasure. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And now, that bastard has her. What will he do when he finds out?”

“If,” Whiteport grounds out. “If he finds out. Come. If we hurry, we can catch up with the others. Between all of us, we can figure something out.”

Shaking my head, I rise and look toward the corner of the tent. “You go on ahead. I’ll see what I can find out, and then I have a stop to make.”

With a grim smile, the last of my friends races off, leaving me alone. Now that he’s gone, if I find the monster, I’ll have no one to stop me from the carnage I intend to wreak upon his body. Even now, I can taste the blood on my lips as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

But Whiteport is correct. I need to calm down or I might miss something. Heading to the back corner of the tent, I pick up on his scent. Catherine is there too, but there’s no fear, no distress that I can tell.

It must be because she’s drugged. In a way, it’s a blessing. Being rendered pliant like this will make any injury to her person less likely. She won’t be thrashing and either hurt herself or cause Hugh to become violent with her.

Again, I close my eyes, reaching out to the bond. There’s nothing there. It’s as if she’s disappeared completely. The only reason I know she’s not dead is because I’m still functioning. If the bond was severed completely, I would be mad, feral, no doubt fit for Bedlam, or worse.

Lifting my head, I whisper a prayer to whoever might be listening that I get to my mate in time. I will do anything, say anything, to get her back. Hell, I’ll even marry her.

In light of her disappearance, the reasons for us not binding together in matrimony seem paltry somehow, meaningless in a way. I was stupid to claim her and then reject the one thing she wanted more than anything—a proper life with me, children, love in all its forms.

I may not be able to grant her access to her family, but if I get her back, I swear to God that I’ll forswear my own kin and title if it means keeping her forever as my wife. What was I even thinking earlier? Even if I did marry someone respectable, it would be a sham, a wedge that would drive me and my mate apart. My heart has always and will always want Catherine, my delectable little kitten.

Shaking off these thoughts, I turn my attention to the servants that line up in front of the table. None of them carry the same scent as the one who attended here. Based on their responses, they are unable to produce the man. No one seems to know who he is. A freshly hired young gentleman is all they can tell me.

Even his hair and eye color seem unmemorable. Granted, so many men and women work at the pleasure gardens, so it’s nigh impossible to remember everyone. Just one more reason I should have never taken her here. There’s no way to secure the premises.

I cannot believe I allowed the idea of her happiness to cloud my better judgment. Her safety should have always been paramount in my mind. I slipped up and may have lost everything.

Despair wraps around me like a worn cloak until the heat is stifling, suffocating. Whiteport dismisses the servants, leaving us alone. Hugh is at the bottom of this, I’m sure of it.

His scent taints the air, not heavy or cloying, but it’s still there in scant amounts. Since Catherine wouldn’t go with him willingly, I can put the idea of her just walking off of her own volition out of my mind. He took her. I know it in my bones.

Taking off, I follow the scent, tracing it hither and yon until it disappears. It’s odd in a way. Though there’s always been Hugh’s scent, it’s been light, almost undetectable. It seems that someone else carried out his dirty work while he reaps the benefits.

I snarl under my breath, wroth in my inability to find my mate. Turning, I make my way to the only other person who may have an answer—Madame Douler.

* * *

Luckily, when I find her, she’s not with some other guest. More than likely, the girls already told her what had happened, and she was expecting my arrival. Distress pours off of her as she paces around her room, clogging my lungs with the stench.