Page 70 of To Ensnare a Duke

Only one person can cause such a reaction… Augusta.

"Gentlemen," she purrs, resting a hand on the back of a nearby chair. "I believe there is a matter which concerns some of you."

Confusion floods my brain as we all look at each other with mirroring consternation. If it's not just me, then it can't be Augusta. Honestly, it was wrong of me to assume she did anything wrong. The poor girl is probably still home, bored with the other wives, I'm sure.

Whiteport clears his throat. "Is there some ladybird in need of a good bit of discipline? These old married men are not up for the task anymore seeing as their leash is tied elsewhere, but Norhaven, Redleigh, or I are happy to assist."

"Speak for yourself," Norhaven murmurs, taking a long swig of ale.

"Never mind then. My brother seems to be in a fit of pique. Shall I assist?"

Again, her lips press together. "I am in need of Portswell, Foxford, Birchleigh, Blackport, and whoever speaks for one Miss Cynthia Campbell."

My stomach plummets to the floor as we all rise as a collective unit. Something must be the matter. Did the house burn down? Did some other calamity befall them?

For a moment, my vision wavers as the worst possible scenarios flood my brain. Did the person sending the ominous letters descend on them en masse? Far too many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

As we stride down the hallway toward a back area hidden from most guests, my nose picks up a very familiar scent. Fucking ginger and spice. What the devil is that scent doing here, especially after I strictly forbade her from ever stepping foot into this place.

Not just her. As we slide into the room, it's clear from the slight forms huddled in the center that it's not only my fiancée in this den of iniquity, but all the other ladies as well.

CHAPTER 31

BENEDICT

The madam bristles closer to us, her shoulders squared as she looks upon the young ladies. "You told me to come fetch you if Miss Augusta Hunt ever tries to enter this establishment."

At her words, Augusta flinches. Next to her, Foxford's wife shoots my fiancée a dirty look. Seems as if my intended never revealed to the others her edict concerning this place. I do have to wonder if that would make any difference to the lot of them.

Flitting around like a grand peacock, Madame Douleur strides around us, making a circle back to the girls. "When Miss Hunt was in attendance without any warning or change in the rules, I figured the other husbands would want to know of such mischief as well. Unless they were all invited, and I was simply not informed?"

"No," Foxford growls out, meeting his wife's arrogant gaze with a scowl of his own.

Next to me, Birchleigh and Blackport stand rigid, their bodies just as hard and unyielding as my own. Out of every possible outcome I could have foreseen for tonight, this was not one of them. Why on earth did I think she could actually be obedient?

A hint of amusement twinkles in Madame Douleur's eyes as she turns to us. With a bow and a small quirk to her lips, she heads toward the door. "I'll leave you gentlemen to your brides. My rooms are available if you have need. But, of course, I will bill you for the trouble."

"Indeed," I sigh. "We would expect nothing less."

Once she leaves, I scan the group, my heart pounding in my chest as I avoid looking at Augusta. Again, she blinks at me with that false innocence I so abhor. She knew exactly what she was doing coming here.

It's not the disobedience so much as the fact that she put her life in danger tonight. All of them did. But right now, I don't give two shits about the other dukes and their wives. They'll be able to impart the enormity of their actions onto them.

Finally, I give up and look at her, noting the slight quiver around her lips. The exasperating wench isn't worried because of her actions. It's because the chit got caught. Anger swirls in me hot and potent. Glancing over at the others, I can tell they're just as wroth as me.

"Please, Portswell-"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "I will deal with you, but not in the presence of the others. I need a moment to compose myself."

"Why didn't you tell me you were strictly forbidden," Madam Foxford hisses, scowling at Augusta.

"As if you have blanket permission," Foxford bellows, his words spat out in fury.

Blackport steps forward and shakes his head, reaching out to slide a hand down his wife's arm. "I expect this behavior from Miss Augusta Hunt and the Duchess of Foxford, but you?"

Both women mentioned look at him, their mouths agape, as if we husbands don't speak about matters of disobedience and discipline.

Madam Foxford takes in a deep breath as she plants her hands on her hips. "I'll have you know-"