Page 40 of To Ensnare a Duke

She takes far too long to prepare me for breakfast. I don't mean to twitch about, but with each passing moment, my heart sinks. If I showed him the way in, then I might have shown him far more.

It makes sense to not have the money that was on me. No doubt the cad took that at the same time he stripped me nearly bare. But the rest of my coin must be safe. It has to be.

Eventually, she finishes, and attempts to usher me out the door. With a soft blush and downward glance, it's easy to convince her I have need of the privy before breakfast. Once she leaves, I fly into action.

My fingers tremble as I slide my hand across the wooden floor beams, feeling for the slight give. The box is still there. Thank heavens, the box is still there. Forgetting my poor, abused backside, I plop down on the floor, biting back a howl as the discomfort shoots through me.

As I pull the box out from its hiding place, my heart pounds in my temple. It must be there. It must be there. All the money I amassed before yesterday will be there. I pry the lid open with an ominous squeak.

There, lying on the bed of silk, is a big, fat stack of absolutely nothing. Tears prick my eyes as I put the box back into its spot and reposition the wood. He's the devil incarnate. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Though deep down, I understand he felt the need to rob me of my earnings, but it was not his place.

Not yet.

Once he's my husband, then he can order me about and take things from me. I'll have a much better position to get them back. As it stands, I cannot demand anything without revealing everything. Blast him and his high-handed ways.

Rising back to my feet, I will the tears at bay as I make my way down to breakfast. Yet another misdeed I can lay at his feet. My aunt would never willingly ride at Hyde Park. Not in her elderly condition. It has to be yet another way for Portswell to antagonize me in the name of being a good protector in my brother's stead.

The blackguard only wants to see me suffer with a sore bottom atop an unforgiving saddle. Gritting my teeth, I push my way into the breakfast room to see him sitting there, conversing with Aunt Amelia as if nothing is amiss. The smile I grace him with as I sweep into a low bow is as absent of malice as I can contrive.

If the servants or my aunt suspect anything, they certainly don't show it. Ignoring the odious man, I pile my plate with breads and meats before sitting across from him. He sips his coffee and reads the paper, his eyes barely traveling over to me.

Honestly, it's as if I'm still in residence with my brother. He, too, would engross himself with the paper, ignoring everyone and everything. Well, once we're married, that will certainly stop. A wife has far more needs than a sister or sisterly figure.

At least, I assume they do. No doubt he'll spin some tale as to why this is far more important than discussing the day, or rather evening, with me. As I sit down on the hard chair, it takes all my effort not to visibly show the bit of pain. From over the top of his paper, the duke watches with fascination.

"Are you quite well this morning, Lady Hunt? It seems as if you are having some difficulty sitting down."

My aunt glances over, her wizened eyes missing nothing. "'Tis true. You are quite stiff. What ails you, child?"

I resist the urge to glare at the duke. All of this is his fault and his alone. Turning on the charm, I smile over at my aunt and pat her hand.

"It's nothing for you to concern yourself with. I fear I had a bit of a bad dream last night. In my effort to escape, I fell out of the bed, right onto the hard floor beneath."

"Heavens," she cries out. "Shall we send for a physician?"

"You need not worry yourself over me. I shall be right as rain before too long. I just must move gingerly for a bit. There is nothing broken or sprained that I can tell. Every joint moves correctly. I'm simply sore."

"If it gets worse..."

"Don't worry, my dear, precious aunt. If it becomes worse, I will alert you right away."

With that seemingly settled, she goes back to her breakfast as if the interruption never happened. I gaze over at Portswell, attempting to catch his glance so I can glare at him, but he seems so enrapt with what he's reading. Even when I clear my throat, he doesn't so much as move.

"Are you ill, child?" My aunt asks, completely ruining my ruse.

"No, Aunt. I am not ill."

"You keep clearing your throat. I'm of half a mind to call the physician, anyway."

Panic soars through my chest, leaving me lightheaded for a moment. "You will only be wasting his time. I seem to have caught a bit of jam and cream in my throat. that's all."

"Well, with the way women your age gobble down food as if it's about to go out of fashion, I find that I'm not surprised. Eat slower. No one is going to pry it from your hands."

Of all the… Even now, Portswell makes no show that he's heard anything. It cannot be that he's suddenly overcome with a rare deafness.

This won't do. If he's to try to make my life miserable, then I shall do the same. Once I butter and jam a piece of bread, I lean forward and tap the paper.

With a disgruntled frown, he flips it away and raises his eyebrow. "Yes? What on earth could be more important than catching up with current affairs?"