“This is not the way to my sister’s home,” she said.
“You are correct.”
She turned back to him. “Where are you taking me?”
“There’s no need to be afraid any longer. You don’t have to enlighten the duke of your condition.”
“What do you mean? Where are we going?”
“Someplace else in London.”
His explanation made no sense to her. His tone of voice had changed from amicable to cold. A nagging thought crept into her head, and she stared at him in horror.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You leaked word to the scandal sheet.” Her mind turned as she recalled the day Tristan had taken her riding. They’d returned to Keswick Hall, and Mr. Higgins had arrived to fetch his notes and had nearly run into Spencer on his way back out. Olivia had quickly thought of an explanation and had told Spencer that Higgins was an old country friend. She’d thought Spencer had believed her, and she hadn’t given it another thought.
How wrong she’d been.
Eyes wide, she glared at him. “Why? Why would you do such a horrible thing and purposely humiliate your cousin?”
“Why should Tristan be the only one who can keep secrets? He should have confided in me.”
“You must understand his reasoning. There was no guarantee Mr. Higgins could help Tristan. He did not purposely deceive you.”
“Ah, but you did. You lied to me, Olivia. You told me that man was a friend from the country. A squire. I followed him. To my surprise, I discovered he lived right here in London and that he helps people with illnesses like Tristan.”
“Tristan isn’t ill,” she countered.
“No. What else would you c…c-all his p…p-roblem?” His mocking stammering of Tristan surprised her even more. He’d never spoken like this before.
“For God’s sake, why?” she demanded, her voice shrill.
“Because he was born with everything, and I deserve it.”
“Deserve what?”
He gave a hoarse laugh, one that made her blood run cold. “You cannot give birth to the child. I am the heir to the dukedom. Have always been. I had plans for you, Olivia. But then you had to go and ruin them by seducing my cousin and getting pregnant.”
The dukedom. He’d been told that he was the heir, and he now understood that the babe would deny him the title. Her chest rose and fell under her labored breathing. “Turn the coach around, Spencer, before Tristan becomes aware that I’m missing.”
“It’s too late for that.” His eyes dropped to her stomach in disdain. “You and the brat in your belly made sure of it.”
Her breath stalled in her throat as her hands protectively covered herself. “What are you going to do?”
His cold eyes sniped at her. “What I have to.”
Oh God. Icy fear twisted around her heart. She knew his intent, just as if he’d proclaimed it out loud. He was going to kill her, kill her baby. She couldn’t allow it, refused to allow it. How had she not seen the madness in Spencer before?
Tension stretched ever tighter between them. “You would commit murder for the dukedom?” It was impossible to steady her erratic pulse.
He snorted. “Many would do more to seize the wealth and power of the title.”
Questions hammered at her. How could he betray his own cousin, his friend? Money and power could not compare to loyalty and love for her. But then an image arose of Spencer at the Raven Club and his preference for the gaming tables. “You are in debt, aren’t you?”
“I do have a fondness for gambling, but that wouldn’t matter. If my latest shipping venture had been a success, my debts would have been paid. Who knew the market for tobacco would take a turn for the worse? So you see, you will not stand in my way.”
“You cannot be serious about your plans for me. Tristan will know.” She tried to keep her heart cold and still, but it was an impossible task.
Spencer’s short bark of humor lacked warmth. “He will know nothing. You never told him about the child. He will think you left him after your horrible row and that you were besieged by footpads fleeing from him and your body dumped near the London docks. You two were hardly lovebirds, were you? Whatever temporary marital bliss you found is shattered after his treatment with Horace Higgins became known and you broke his fragile trust. The cartoon was humiliating. You should have seen his face.”
Her panic took hold now, and she felt impaled by his evil gaze. “How can you be so cruel?”
“Cruel?” he said, a bitter edge of cynicism in his voice. “Life dealt me a cruel hand when my cousin was given a dukedom and the wealth of Croesus whereas I was given a lesser title and a crumbling estate saddled with debt. Tristan prefers to isolate himself and has no idea what to do with his wealth, whereas I do.”
“Even if you kill me, you won’t get the dukedom unless…” As the words left her lips, another horrible thought came to her.
Spencer leaned close, and his upper lip curled back in a snarl. “You’re right. Not until the Duke of Keswick is dead.”
It took all her willpower not to cringe away and cower to the far end of the carriage bench. He was mad, truly mad. She felt as if a hand had closed around her throat and cut off her air supply.
Spencer leaned back, his demeanor transformed to a deadly calm. “Both deaths must look like accidents, of course. I have yet to sort out the details. One step at a time.”
Olivia’s heart beat wildly in her chest. Ellie knew about the babe, but she had no idea about the gossip rag. And even worse, Tristan had no idea about the babe.
Dear God. If Tristan went to her bedchamber, he’d see her packed trunks and think she’d left him. He had no reason to suspect subterfuge.
She was on her own. Struggling to hold raw emotion in check, she breathed in shallow, quick gasps. She needed all her wits about her. She needed to find a weakness in Spencer, and she desperately needed to find a way out of her predicament before his madness completely took over and he carried out his murderous plan.
Time was of the essence.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Will you be joining Her Grace tonight?” Gordon stood in the entrance of the study, his eyes boring into Tristan’s.
Tristan pushed the stack of correspondence aside. He hadn’t been able to focus on the papers for over two hours. He kept reliving his argument with Olivia in his mind.
The gossip rag lay in a crumpled heap on the Oriental carpet where he’d balled it and thrown it against the wall. Gordon eyed it but did not say a word. Tristan had learned long ago that his servants were attuned to all the comings and goings at Keswick Hall.
Gordon cleared his throat and used his cane to stand to his full height. “The staff likes your duchess. Mrs. Ludson gushes about her, Cook prepares her favorite dishes, and the maids ensure her linens are fresh and her every need seen to before she even asks.”
“Get to the point, Gordon.”
“I appreciate all you do for your tireless work for the Soldiers Bill. It will aid many who are not as fortunate as I was upon my return from France to retain work. But I feel you have been unfair to your duchess.”
“Unfair?”
“I am merely concerned for her, Your Grace. She prefers to take her evening meals in the dining room, and she has not come down tonight. Mrs. Ludson knocked on her bedchamber on three occasions, but there is no answer.”
Tristan pushed back his chair. He didn’t like the idea of Olivia isolating herself in her room. Was she crying? If so, it was because of him. For a man who’d always sought isolation in the past, the thought of her alone disturbed him.
He took the stairs two at a time until he stood before her bedchamber door. He knocked once. “Olivia.”
No answer.
He turned the door handle and stepped inside. The room was dim and vacant. His eyes went to an overflowing trunk in the corner of the room. The lid was open, and it appeared as if garments had been tossed inside. Her silver-handled brush and comb rested on top of the heap o
f clothing. He threw open the wardrobe, and not a single dress hung inside.
His stomach bottomed out.
She was leaving him.
No. She’d already left and would send instructions to have her belongings delivered elsewhere. He told himself it was for the best. He’d never wanted a wife. Yet the sickening tightening of his gut told him he was lying to himself—had been for a long time now.
His fists tightened at his sides. She was his wife, dammit, his duchess. If she thought she could end their union that easily, she was sorely mistaken.
There was only one place she would go.
…
“This is not going to work,” Olivia said, trying to keep her panic from overwhelming her.
“Shut up! Or else I’ll gag you.”
“I will not,” Olivia cried out with more bravado than she felt. “You must turn this coach around at once.”
“I warned you to stop speaking.” Spencer’s eyes took on an ominous sheen as he reached into his coat to remove a handkerchief.
She realized his intent a second too late. She struggled and managed to kick him in his shin and was rewarded with a grunt, but he was larger, more powerful, and she cried out as he pinned her down with his weight on the carriage bench, her arms trapped beneath her. He shoved the handkerchief in her mouth then tied the ends of the cotton behind her head. She tried to pull the gag out, but he held her wrists with one hand, and she was helpless to remove it.
Leaning close, his foul breath brushed her ear. “Don’t worry. My driver is loyal to me, and no one will know of your plight. We’re almost there, and this will be over soon enough.”
Fear and anger knotted inside her, and she glared at him with hatred. Moments later, the carriage halted. He dragged her from the carriage, and the foul stench of the river filled her nostrils. The tall masts of ships were illuminated by a crescent moon, and she realized they were at the London docks. It had started to rain, and a low fog hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Without a cloak and hood, her face and clothes quickly became wet. She shivered, not just from the cold, but from fear. He pushed her onward, and she spotted the outlines of large warehouses, all shuttered and dark from the outside like ominous sentinels.
Rain soaked her dress, and her hair became plastered to her scalp and dripped in wet cords around her face. The cracks between the cobblestones were filled with rainwater, and her satin slippers soon became saturated. Wild-eyed, she scanned the area in hopes to find someone, anyone, who might be able to aid her. She spotted a shadowy figure on the docks through the fog, but it disappeared as they came close, and she knew the docks were full of criminals, thieves, and cutthroats this late at night.
Spencer halted by one of the warehouses. A padlock secured the large wooden doors. “All along I’d thought my warehouse a bad investment, but I had no idea how wonderfully convenient it would become until you shared your joyous news of the baby with me tonight.” He withdrew a key from his coat pocket and inserted it into the lock.
The heavy doors opened, and he thrust her inside and closed the doors behind them. It was pitch-black. The air was colder than outside, and she began to shiver anew, both from the temperature and her fear. The strong smell of straw and sawdust permeated the space.
At last, he released her hands, and she immediately withdrew the gag from her mouth. She coughed and swallowed, her throat dry and hoarse, her lips cracked.
“Don’t bother screaming,” he said. “No one will hear you in here.”
She heard the scuffle of his boots on the floorboards then the sound of a match striking a rough surface, and then she squinted at the bright light of the lamp Spencer held in his raised hand. Her eyes adjusted to the limited light. Wooden crates were scattered around the warehouse, many nailed shut, but others opened and stuffed with straw. In other areas, crates were piled ten high.
“Move.” He shoved her in the back when she didn’t start fast enough.
She was amazed at the size of the warehouse. It had not appeared that large from the outside, but it had been dark, and she hadn’t walked around the perimeter of the structure. They walked for a while before reaching the back of the cavernous building. He led her into a small windowless room with a door. The space was bare except for an old desk in the corner and a few more crates piled next to it and coils of different-sized ropes hanging from hooks on the wall. She imagined a clerk behind the desk maintaining ledgers of all the goods coming into and leaving the warehouse.
“You own this massive warehouse full of crates of goods. You do not need the dukedom,” Olivia said.
“Like I said, my investments have taken a turn for the worse. And the dukedom is worth far more than this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the place.
“Perhaps better supervision would have prevented your losses.”
“Shut up, or I shall put the gag back in place.”
She licked her cracked lips. She didn’t want the gag back. What use was it to argue with him anyway? He was insane.
Spencer dragged one of the crates into the center of the room. “Sit.” He pushed her down by her shoulder then removed one of the ropes hanging from the wall and tightly bound her hands.
Her panic heightened as the coarse rope bit into her wrists. All thoughts to remain silent fled. “This is madness! Tristan will learn of this. My siblings will as well. Release me and they may show you pity.”
“I said to be quiet!”
In desperation, she tried a new tactic. Maybe she could plead to his human side, the side of cousin and friend. She bit her lower lip as she looked up at him. “We were friends once. At least tell me what you plan. Please.”
Some of the tension eased from his face. “Criminals are cheap to hire. I shall not even have to do anything myself. You will drown, my dear. Your bloated body will be found days later, washed ashore, your throat slit by the dangerous thieves of London.”
All thoughts to appeal to his sympathies fled as sheer black fright swept through her. “You are a coward and cannot do the foul deed yourself!”
He shrugged, apparently unbothered by her taunt. “I will oversee it.”
“No one will believe it. Tristan won’t.”
He knelt down until his face was level with hers. His eyes were icy cold and frightful. “Oh, he will. You made sure of it, Olivia, when you packed your bags and left Keswick Hall.”
…
Tristan felt a sense of urgency he hadn’t felt in years as he pounded on the front door of the large home in Berkeley Square. Moments later, a butler with a military bearing and sour expression opened the door.
“I need to see Lady Vere.” Tristan spoke before the man could open his mouth.
“Lady Vere is abed. Lord Vere is not home. Come back—”
“I am the Duke of Keswick and her brother-in-law. It is a matter of grave importance regarding my wife, her sister. I must to see her now.” His voice was unwavering and forceful, just as he’d practiced with Higgins. Only he’d never foreseen a need to use it for this purpose.
He was led into an elegant drawing room. Fifteen minutes later, Lady Vere, dressed in a nightgown and wrapper, stood in the doorway.
“Heavens, what is so important?”
“Where is my wife?”
“How should I know?”
“She is not here?”
“No. Why should she be?” Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward. “What did you do?”
He tried not to shrink under her accusing blue gaze. “I did nothing.”
“You are lying. I saw the gossip rag.”
Christ, who hadn’t?
“I saw, and I intended to reach out to Olivia,” she said, “but Alexander has a cold, and I’ve been with my son all evening. Pray tell me, what happened?”
What was the use in trying to conceal the facts? Olivia had left him, and he was desperate to get her back. “Only three people knew of my association with Horace Higgins. My grandmother, Olivia, and you.”
Lady Vere
glowered. “You accused Olivia, and when that failed, you accused me, didn’t you? Naturally, Olivia protested, and I can only assume you two heatedly argued. Now, my sister is not at Keswick Hall and you fear she left you.”
Her brief summary was uncannily on point. “There are other aspects you have missed, but it shows you know your sister well. She must have confided in you regarding our relationship for you to summarize the day’s events so succinctly.”
Rather than admonish him as he expected, Lady Vere walked to a sideboard, poured two whiskies, and handed him one. He gratefully accepted it and took a swallow, but the expensive alcohol did little to calm his disposition.
“I once told you Olivia and I are close, very close, and if you harm her, you would have to answer to me,” she said.
“Olivia is here, then?” He hated the hope that crept into his voice.
“No. I already said she is not. But her sudden disappearance is cause for alarm. Has she packed her belongings?”
“Yes.”
She tapped her glass with a forefinger. “What else has Olivia told you?”
“Other than her fierce protest that you were not the anonymous source of the gossip rag?”
Lady Vere raised her chin. “I wasn’t. I would not act in such a cowardly fashion. If I wanted to hurt you, I would not have hidden my identity.”
Looking into her clear gaze, he knew she was telling the truth. The lady was made of sterner stuff. He recalled her direct confrontation the first day he met her. In hindsight, he admired her grit. “Then who told the reporter of that rag?”
“I have no idea. But that wasn’t what I was referring to when I inquired if Olivia has informed you of her other news. My sister is with child.”
His empty glass slipped from his fingers and bounced off the Aubusson carpet. He grasped a nearby end table then held on for dear life. If nothing was within reach, he feared he would have fallen.
Olivia was with child. His child.
Their child.
How to Capture a Duke Page 19
