The Duke That I Marry

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Stay here,” he warned. There were things he must do to finish this night’s business.

  He waded back into the water toward the coach. He was in stocking feet; the river mud had sucked away his evening shoes. He climbed back inside and lifted Donel’s body up. It took a good amount of effort, but he managed to drag it out of the coach and then roll it into the water.

  “What are you doing?” Willa asked from shore, her voice carrying in the stillness.

  He let Donel go in deeper water, and the man floated away.

  “What did you do?” Willa demanded as he splashed back to shore.

  Matt climbed the bank before answering. “I didn’t want anyone to find him or associate him with the chaise.”

  “Why not?”

  “It seemed prudent.”

  She studied him a moment. “You aren’t going to tell the authorities about this, are you?”

  “No.” One of the horses was still tied and waiting. He walked over to it. Matt was shaking as well from the night air and the aftermath of what he’d done. He led the horse to Willa.

  “Why aren’t you going to report what happened?” she wanted to know. “Those men tried to kill us.” Her spirit was returning. “One is still free.”

  “I know.” He picked up the knife.

  “We should have the magistrate storm the Blue Boar.”

  “We should,” he agreed, not sharing his true thoughts.

  “Let’s go then,” she said. She was still shivering but she came to her feet. He needed to see her safe before she caught her death.

  Before they both did.

  He mounted and then reached for her hand to pull her up in front of him in the saddle. She settled in to him. He sent the horse forward.

  “Matt, what is this about?” she asked. “It can’t be about blackmail. Not any longer.”

  “No. Whoever is behind this wants more than money.” He told her all, needing to go through it in his own mind. He spoke of blackmail and of William’s secret, and of Minerva’s belief her oldest son had been murdered. Of the notes at the ball that were still in his pocket and probably hopelessly ruined.

  Willa listened.

  Matt knew he should not involve her in this. As if reading his mind, she prodded, “Matt, they took me from our bed. They knew the floor plan of the house.”

  “You came home to me.” It was as he had hoped, and it had almost cost her life.

  She looked up at him. “I didn’t come home to you, Matt. I came home to us.”

  He kissed her head. Yes, us.

  However, his wife’s practical mind was working. “Matt, why would Hardesty move on to murder?”

  “That is what I’m wondering. If I’m dead, I can’t pay him anything.”

  “And there must be a purpose to his scheme tonight. I feel quite strongly that he wished to separate us this evening.” She puzzled on the matter before asking, “You’ve never heard of or met a Hardesty before?”

  “Never. I’ve even thought about school friends. No one. But I am starting to believe that Hardesty is a false name.”

  She leaned her head against his chest. “Then he could be anyone.”

  “No, not anyone. Someone who stands to gain if I die.” And Matt suddenly had an idea, one that was hard to contemplate. However, as he considered it, possibilities fell into place.

  It was a betrayal. He would need proof before he accepted it . . . such as meeting Ross at the Blue Boar.

  Whatever money Hardesty paid the villain, Matt would pay more.

  Matt looked at the sky. Dawn was near.

  They reached the main road. It was busy with the usual traffic flowing into the city in the very wee hours of the morning. People walked among ox and dog carts, wagons loaded with vegetables for London tables and fodder for horses. Everyone was too busy to notice anything unusual about them.

  He rode straight to his house. Here, the hour was too early for anyone to notice them. As he pulled the horse up, the front door opened and a harried Marshall ran out.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” He sounded his usual self except anxious eyes took in Matt and Willa’s shabby, damp appearances. “We have been most worried since we found the duchess missing.”

  “As you should have been,” Matt said.

  “We did not share this information with the dowager,” Marshall added.

  “Quite wise.” Matt dismounted and then took Willa in his arms. “Have a hot bath prepared immediately for the duchess.” He didn’t wait for his orders to be obeyed but carried his wife into the house and up the stairs.

  Her complexion was almost bloodless. She clutched his shirt with one hand.

  Annie waited anxiously in their room, and then almost fell back in horror when she saw Willa in her nightdress caked with mud and damp, and both of them smelling of the river. “Your Grace, I am relieved to see you.”

  “As we are to be here. A bath is coming for your mistress. Meanwhile, fetch the brandy and two glasses.” Annie hurried to obey.

  “You can set me down,” Willa said. “I’m not that fragile.” She was shaking again.

  “Perhaps I like holding you.”

  Her response was to rest her head against his shoulder. “We are most fortunate.”

  He grimly nodded.

  Annie brought brandy. Matt would have happily kept Willa in his lap but she insisted on moving to the chair across from his at the desk. He poured two healthy glasses. “Drink.” He set her glass in front of her and she took a sip.

  He understood the restorative power of brandy. He drained his to show her how it was done.

  Willa frowned. “I don’t like it that much.”

  He smiled. “You are feeling more yourself.”

  “Why? Because I’m arguing with you?”

  He let his smile be his answer.

  Matt stood up and crossed to the washbasin. The water was hot. He could have blessed Annie. He washed his face and his hands, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Willa as she sipped more of the brandy. Color was now returning to her cheeks.

  Footmen appeared with the bath. Annie set up the privacy screen so that Matt and Willa were blocked from their view. “She thinks of everything,” Matt murmured.

  Willa heard him and nodded. However, he now had a new idea. After the footmen had left, Matt sought a quiet moment with Annie. “Are there servants or workmen around this house who go by the names of Ross or Donel?”

  “Is Ross Irish?”

  “Yes.”

  Anne nodded. “There is a stableman named Ross. He is not in your employ.”

  “Has he been in the house?” Willa asked.

  “A time or two. Cook is sweet on him. Mrs. Snow is partial to him as well. You know how the Irish are. We can work with anyone, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Annie,” Willa answered. “Would you leave us now?”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room. “Well,” Willa said, “we now know why Ross knew his way around the house.”

  “Shall I have a conversation with Mrs. Snow and Cook, or should you?”

  “Marshall should,” she said.

  She was right.

  Willa took off the fouled nightdress and climbed into the tub. She washed the river off her body, then it was his turn. He’d shaved while she’d bathed.

  “I’m exhausted,” Willa said.

  Matt nodded, not wanting her to know what he planned.

  She put on a clean gown. “A few hours’ sleep, and then we must speak to someone. We must report what happened.”

  Yes, he wanted her to sleep.

  No, he was not going to wait. He could not relax with Ross free to run.

  “Have you ever heard of the Blue Boar?” Willa asked. She got into bed.

  As a matter of fact, he had. Most gentlemen knew the whoring hell called the Blue Boar. “No.”

  She’d be furious that he lied. It might even spark a setback between them. He would run the risk. Her safety depended upon it.

  Wil
la sighed and closed her eyes. Her breathing had grown even and regular. He began to dress. Annie could wake her later, after he was gone.

  He was pulling on boots when Willa said, “Where are you going?” She wasn’t asleep. He could have cursed. She sat up.

  “Downstairs. I have something to discuss with Marshall.” He pulled on his jacket.

  Willa rose, her wet braid hanging down her back. “No, you haven’t. You are going to find Ross. Matt, please—”

  He kissed her objection away, and he kissed her the way he’d wanted to. He couldn’t help himself. Their lips melded together. He brought a hand up to the tender skin right beneath her jawline, and he let his kiss tell her what he did not have time for words to say. He wanted her to stay here, waiting for him. Meanwhile, he was going to do everything he could to protect her.

  Matt broke the kiss. Her eyes were dark and sensual. Her lips tried to follow him as he pulled away. “I think we are ready for each other, Willa. Be here when I return.”

  Then, before she could stop him, he walked swiftly out of the room, setting off for the Blue Boar.

  Chapter 14

  Her husband was a fool if he thought Willa would allow him to go after Ross and the dangerous Hardesty alone. He needed her.

  She ran to the wardrobe. She grabbed the first day dress she saw, a marine blue with yellow lace, and threw it over her head, right over her nightgown.

  Annie knocked and came into the room. “His Grace told me to see that you are put to bed—what are you doing?”

  “I’m going after him,” Willa said, pulling up socks. She sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe. “He is not going to leave me behind. Not if he thinks to go alone.” She reached for her walking shoes, her fingers flying over the lacing.

  “Your Grace, he does not want you to go. He told me to keep you here.”

  Willa came to her feet, straightening her skirts. “And how will you stop me?” she challenged. “If you come between me and my husband, Annie, don’t doubt what my choice will be.”

  She tugged on a pelisse against the coolness of the day and then went over to the glass to do something with her hair.

  “He is the duke,” Annie worried. “The master of the house. If he thinks it best that you stay here, you should.”

  But Willa wasn’t attending to a thing Annie said. Instead, she frowned at her reflection. She didn’t have time to fidget with her hair. Matt certainly wasn’t going to wait. She grabbed her sewing basket by a chair in the corner. She pulled out scissors. Without looking at the mirror, Willa began cutting at her braid.

  Annie screamed her horror. Willa didn’t care. She hacked with the scissors until Annie had the good sense to help. The braid was half gone by that point. Annie made quick work of the rest. She held the braid as if it was a weasel she had just killed.

  Willa’s head felt as if it could float off her shoulders. She ran a hand through her hair. It curved around her fingers in lovely curls.

  “Who would have thought, Your Grace?” Annie said with a tone of wonder.

  “It is nice, isn’t it?”

  “Better than I feared. But it needs to be evened.”

  “I don’t have time. I’ll wear a hat.” She chose a burgundy velvet cap and set it at an angle on her head. “Don’t try to stop me and don’t tell on me, Annie. I’m trusting you.” Willa walked to the door.

  “Your husband will roast me alive.”

  Willa opened the door. “Nonsense. He’ll be too busy fuming at me.” She pressed her finger to her lips as an additional plea for Annie’s trust, and then went out the door.

  She started for the front steps but then thought differently. Matt would stop her if he could. The other servants owed their loyalty to him, not her. She could find herself locked in a closet.

  Instead, she practically hurried down the back stairs. On the ground floor, she cracked open the stairway door and had a moment of confusion as she wondered which way to go next, toward the front door or out the back—then she heard Matt’s deep voice in the foyer. He was still here.

  There was a sound of a chair being pushed back in the breakfast room to Willa’s right. She stepped back just in time to avoid being seen by the dowager as she exited the room. Minerva called to Matt as if just seeing him leave.

  “Where are you off to?” his grandmother asked.

  He answered something noncommittal. His words didn’t carry the way the dowager’s did, but Willa could tell by his voice that he was impatient to go, and that he didn’t want anyone to know what he was about.

  With the duchess down the hall, Willa slid out the door and quietly moved to the rear of the house and out the very door Ross and Donel had carried her through only hours before. She moved to the front of the house, ducking behind a low wall when she saw Matt striding down the street.

  Willa made up for her shorter legs with determination. She reached the street and started following Matt. He was on a mission. He walked to the end of the block to where there was more passing traffic.

  She caught sight of what she should have noticed earlier. One of the footmen had been sent ahead of Matt and had hailed a hack. If she didn’t hurry, he’d leave without her, and she was not going to let that happen.

  “Toomey Street,” Matt told the hack driver.

  The man raised his brows as if to say that nothing good went on at Toomey Street. Matt could agree with him. However, once he handed the man coin, the driver was ready to go.

  Matt climbed in. To reach their destination, the driver needed to travel in the opposite direction. He started to turn the corner but several young maids with shopping packages crossed the street in front of them. Matt settled back, annoyed at the delay—

  The hack’s door opened, and a petite woman climbed in and plopped herself right next to Matt. She had to lean out to the close the door.

  “All right,” Willa said. “I’m ready to go.”

  As if on command, the hack started on its way before Matt prodded himself to say, “You are not going.” He leaned toward the window, ready to demand that the driver pull over, but Willa tugged him back.

  “No, Matt, I am going. You can take me back to the house, but I will find another way to reach the Blue Boar.”

  “Willa, it is no place for a gentlewoman.”

  “I know. There is a murderer under its roof.”

  “Exactly. I can’t let you risk your life.”

  She frowned as if he spoke gibberish. “I can’t let you risk your life. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Willa—”

  “Matt.” Her voice overrode his. She was petite and ferocious. “I will not let you do this alone. I know it is dangerous. So was being bound and gagged and thrown in a river, but we managed—together—to escape. You need me, do you understand? And I need you. If something happens to you, well, I would never forgive myself. You can appreciate that, can’t you? Would you let me go alone?”

  “I don’t want you to go at all—”

  “I wonder if Kate would agree? Or Alice or Jenny or Amanda? Would you be so cruel as to leave me to face their wrath if they heard that I wasn’t by your side when Hardesty did his worst?”

  He started to protest again, and then realized it was useless. She perched on the seat beside him, her expressive eyes afire with sheer grit. She would find a way to follow him, a way that might be more dangerous than just accompanying him into the hellhole.

  Besides, it was morning. The Blue Boar was a devil’s stew in the darkness of night, but he doubted the rakes and thieves who were its usual custom were up and out this early.

  And then he noticed a change about her. “What did you do to your hair?”

  “Do you not like it?” she asked, giving her head a happy shake. “I believe it the best thing ever.”

  It was. Then again, his chipper, pushy, startlingly devoted wife could have shaved her head bald and he would have thought it the best thing ever. The curls actually made her appear to have more energy.

 
“Come here,” he ordered. He touched her hair. It was soft and shining. How had he believed he’d ever loved Letty? She was a great beauty. But she lacked Willa’s charm, her intelligence, her loyalty. With Willa, he was more himself. The light illuminating her was an inner one.

  Willa took his arm and put it around her shoulders. She stifled a yawn. “Besides,” she said, “you will keep me safe.”

  Had anyone ever trusted him so completely?

  And secretly? He didn’t mind having her with him on this trip to confront Ross and learn Hardesty’s secrets. He was learning that often her thinking was clearer than his.

  He put his other arm around her as well and pressed a kiss on the top of her velvet cap.

  “I can’t believe I cut it,” Willa confessed.

  “I can believe you will do anything,” he answered. His response pleased her and she settled back in his arms.

  They must have dozed, waking when the hack slowed to a stop.

  Willa peered out the window. “I don’t know where we are.”

  “Close to the docks,” he answered. He climbed past her to open the door. Toomey Street was relatively normal at this time of the day. At the end of the road, the street was busy with merchants and sailors, the usual bustle going on. The fusty smell of wet rope blended with that of rotting fish and cooking foods. And underlying all was the Thames—which had its own unique smell.

  He had no doubt that the Blue Boar was open. Whorehouses, especially in this area, rarely closed.

  Matt paid the driver and helped Willa out. She looked around. “I don’t find this threatening.”

  He didn’t comment but put his arm around her waist, the way men and women commonly walked around this area.

  They hadn’t gone far before Willa whispered, “I rather like this. Are you treating me like a doxy?” He almost fell over his feet at the use of the word. Of course, she noticed and she laughed, the musical sound lighthearted.

  “You are having too much fun with this,” Matt accused.

  “It is nice to go wherever I wish,” she admitted, “provided I have a strong man beside me.”

  He liked the description.

  But in the next breath, she asked, “Do you have an inkling where the Blue Boar is?”