The Duke That I Marry

by Cathy Maxwell

  “A bit,” Matt answered. He nodded to a faded sign. One of the hinges was broken and all the metal was rusted with age and London’s bad air. Time had weathered the blue boar’s head, but the tusks could still be seen easily.

  “Oh, dear,” Willa said.

  He opened the door. She drew a deep breath and marched through it.

  The ground floor was blocked off and there were no stairs up. Instead, customers had to go downstairs to the tavern and a doorway that could be easily controlled. “Stay behind me,” Matt ordered. He went down and opened a heavy door into a large tavern room that at night was packed with cardplayers and drinkers. There were several taps, and tables and chairs from one wall to the next.

  This morning, the place appeared almost deserted. The air smelled of stale ale, old gin, and the odors of unwashed men. A group sat hunched over drinks and their cards. They appeared exhausted and gave Matt only a passing glance as he entered the room—until they saw Willa.

  Then all heads turned. She was wise enough to wrap her arms around him. He was beginning to like her “doxy” role.

  He walked up to the barman, a burly man with a grizzled growth of hair on his face and a belly as big as a sow’s. Off to the side was a thin, yellow-haired woman. She had a hard face with a sharp nose. Her features weren’t unattractive until one noticed the apron around her waist was filthy. She gave Matt a hard look over when he approached and then licked her lips.

  Matt wasn’t interested in an invitation. He set a coin in front of the man. “I’m looking for an Irishman named Ross.”

  “I’m not one for knowing Irishmen,” the barman answered, his own brogue quite pronounced. He didn’t make a move toward the coin.

  However, the woman snatched it up. “I might be.” She looked around the room and shrugged as if there wasn’t anyone she feared present. “How do you know this Ross?”

  “He has a horse for sale.”

  She nodded as if he’d confirmed a piece of information. “He can’t pay what he owes me until he sells that damn nag.”

  “Where is he?”

  She grinned. Her teeth were crooked and brown, and he knew what she waited for. He put another coin out. She answered, “He is upstairs with the other man who was asking after him.”

  “Another man?” Could it be Hardesty?

  “Aye. It is a popular horse. Four legs and some hair. I don’t understand.” She nodded toward the back of the main room. There was another set of stairs with a door that he’d wager led to a hallway of doors. “You’ll find Ross up there.”

  “Which room?”

  “The first on the right,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “If you wait for me, I’m the first room on the left.”

  “I just need Ross.”

  The men at the gaming table were now openly watching, their expressions assessing. Matt put his arm around Willa and started for the stairs.

  “It will cost you if you pork that girl under my roof,” the woman called.

  Matt ignored her.

  “She won’t be as much fun as I am,” the woman called. That earned comment from the cardplayers.

  “Aye, Sally is a good one.”

  “So you say, Sal.”

  “I’d take what he has on his arm already.” This was said by a greasy-haired character of indeterminate age.

  “Well, they’d best keep quiet. You know my girls don’t like to have their beauty sleep disturbed this time of the morning.”

  Everyone cackled at that.

  Willa inched closer to Matt. “Why is it women are always offering themselves to you?” She sounded cranky. “And what did she mean by saying ‘pork’?” Willa asked.

  Matt grinned. “Treating you like my wife.”

  “Like your wife—? Oh.”

  The stairs were rickety. Matt felt them shake with every step. However, if Ross could walk up them, he was certain he could.

  “Did you find that woman attractive?” Willa asked.

  Matt stopped. “What woman?”

  “The one down there.”

  “Willa, of course not.” He opened the door and was relieved when he could finally close it behind them.

  There was a short, narrow hallway with four doors to either side and a window on the far end. Blinding sunshine bounced off the dirty panes of glass. All was very quiet as if the occupants were sleeping after a hard night’s work. There certainly wasn’t the sound of two men talking. Could Hardesty have left already and the barmaid not told him? She had appeared perverse enough to be humored by such a trick.

  Matt wasn’t certain that Willa understood completely where they were, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  Before looking for Ross’s room, Matt walked to the window, wanting to know where he was. The window faced the wall of another building. There was a narrow space of perhaps a foot between the two buildings.

  He started to turn, ready to take on Ross, when he heard a smart rap on Ross’s door. Willa had taken it upon herself to knock. He hurried to her. “Could you wait for me? And why bother knocking?”

  “I was being polite.” There was a clip to her tone.

  Matt frowned. “Are you angry?”

  “No, why should I be?” More clipped tones. She stared at the door as if she could bore a hole through it with her eyes; her chin was set at that angle women adopted when they were spitting mad.

  “You are angry.”

  She didn’t bother to answer, but knocked again.

  Matt leaned against the door frame, puzzled. “I have sisters. I know when women are angry with me.”

  Willa faced him. “I’m tired of your sisters. ‘I have sisters,’ ” she mimicked. “I am not one of them. I have my own emotions.”

  “Such as jealousy?” The thought rather pleased him. It meant she cared.

  She rounded on him as if he’d pinched her. Her chin lifted. “I’m not jealous. However, I’m tired of women always making over you. They are bothersome. No, worse, they are rude.”

  “You don’t need to be jealous. Especially over that creature downstairs.” He paused and added, “Or any other woman, Willa. Those lads were making comments about you.”

  “Apparently it didn’t bother you.”

  “You were with me, and I know you have better taste than what they could offer.”

  “You are always so sure about things.”

  He frowned at her. “Do I need to be worried?” What was she saying?

  Her glance met his eye and then shifted away. “We aren’t a love match.”

  He might argue that point but before he could, she said, “Or truly man and wife.”

  Matt forgot about Ross and Hardesty and everything else in the world. “Are you telling me you are ready?”

  “For you to pork me?”

  Her use of the word made him grin. She was both bold and innocent. A fascinating combination.

  “Yes, I am,” she admitted, without waiting for his response. “I’ve thought about our conversation yesterday.”

  “And about last night?”

  Her brows came together. “I want to trust you.”

  “You can—”

  The door across the hall cracked open. “Pipe it down out there,” a woman croaked out at them. The door slammed shut.

  Willa gaped at the door that had opened, speculation in her eye.

  “They sleep during the day,” Matt explained.

  “That really was a whore?” Her eyes widened as if she was scandalized but then she laughed, covering her mouth at the last minute to stifle the sound.

  “I’m also done waiting for Ross,” Matt said. He reached for the door handle. It wasn’t locked. He pushed it open, ready to charge into the room—but then drew back immediately.

  He thought to cover Willa’s eyes, but he was too late. She was right behind him and had a good look at the Irishman in the bed, his throat cut and the sheets stained with blood. On the floor beside the bed was the body of a woman.

  Willa’s scream would have wo
ken the dead.

  Certainly, it woke the whores.

  Chapter 15

  The door across the hall opened. The strumpet marched furiously out of her room, her fists clenched. She wore a filthy chemise and nothing more. But she wasn’t the only one. Sleepy, grumpy women in different stages of undress opened their doors to complain.

  “I told you to pipe it down,” the strumpet said, ready to take on Willa, until she caught a glimpse of Ross in the blood-soaked bed.

  Her screams did not stop. She backed toward her doorway. The others surged forward and then began screaming and screaming.

  Matt heard booted footsteps charging up the rickety staircase and he made a quick decision. Too many would jump to the wrong conclusion. He’d come looking for Ross and here Ross was dead. This was not a place where people listened to rational explanations.

  “Come,” he ordered, grabbing Willa’s arm and running to the window. He tried to raise the sash. It wouldn’t budge. He gave it another hard lift and it went up just as the door on the other end of the hall opened. The cardplayers came pouring in to mix with the screaming whores.

  Matt lifted Willa through the window and said, “Run.”

  She ran, with him at her heels.

  The space between the two buildings was a tight fit for him, but the sight of a man sticking his head out of the Blue Boar put wings to his feet.

  They reached the street. Someone was coming out of the gaming den’s front door. Matt took Willa’s hand and they ran in the opposite direction. She was breathing heavily, but she was a game one. She did not give up.

  Matt dragged her into one of the pubs, racing with her to the back of the establishment. He found a back door and dashed out into the alley.

  This section of London was a maze of side streets and alleyways. He kept them moving until they reached a busy thoroughfare. Bermondsey. He sighed his relief. The traffic was heavier.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Willa. She’d lost her saucy velvet cap. He had no idea where his hat had fallen off, either.

  “There was so much blood,” she said. “And his throat—”

  He nodded and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Let’s just walk. We are all right. No one should associate us with that.”

  “So much blood.”

  “Willa, don’t think on it.”

  “How can I not? There was another body in the room, wasn’t there? How could Hardesty kill both of them?”

  “He didn’t want a witness.”

  “That poor girl.”

  Matt nodded, his attention taken by the sight of a hack making its way down the street. He waved, catching the driver’s attention. He gave the driver his address and climbed into the cab after Willa.

  She all but collapsed in his arms. They held each other close. His heart still pounded from the escape. She had her head against his chest and gripped a portion of his shirt.

  It was a great relief to see the hack turning onto London Bridge.

  “Matt, what is going on?”

  “I’m not certain,” he answered.

  “But you have a suspicion? You asked after Hardesty.”

  “I’d hoped he was with Ross.”

  “Apparently, he was.” She lifted her head. “But the woman didn’t say anything about him leaving. He could have been there and we wouldn’t have known because we don’t know who he is.” She paused, her gaze arrowing on him. “Unless you believe you know this Hardesty. Do you?”

  He looked down at her, his courageous, wild, little wren. “The less you know, the better.”

  “Obviously not,” she reminded him. “Is Hardesty someone close to you? That you have met? That I could know?”

  “Willa, if what I believe is true, then this could upend my family. Until I’m certain, silence is your protection.”

  She pushed away from him, sitting up.

  “Willa—”

  “No, Matt, I will not be placated.”

  “That isn’t it at all.”

  “It isn’t? This does concern me. And I’m tired of being ‘protected.’ Even if there hadn’t been an attempt on my life, I’d be concerned because Hardesty is apparently determined to see you dead. I’m not ready to let go of you yet. Or perhaps I’m not the woman you want.” She sat back on the seat, keeping a distance from him. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Willa, you are misinterpreting—”

  The hack pulled up in front of the house. Instead of staying so they could talk, Willa opened the door and hopped right out. She strode into the house, where Marshall held open the door. Her movement was purposeful, her displeasure clear. Matt had to pay the driver before he could follow her as quickly as possible.

  By the time he entered the house, she had already gone upstairs. She might be petite, but she could move fast.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace,” Marshall said, approaching him. “The dowager is out; however, she instructed me to remind you of the Mallory dinner party this evening.”

  “The Mallory dinner party?”

  “Sir Bernard and Dame Sarah Mallory are hosting a dinner in honor of a visiting Italian singer.”

  After what Matt had been through over the last evening and morning, there was no possible way that he was going to listen to Italian warbling while dancing attendance on his grandmother. “Tell her my wife and I must beg off. We desire this evening for ourselves.” Minerva would be annoyed, but Matt had other plans and they all centered on Willa. He took the stairs two at a time.

  Their bedroom door was open. The bath had been cleaned up by the ever-efficient Annie. Willa was pulling stacks of clothes out of the wardrobe.

  “What are you doing?” he asked from the doorway.

  “I’m moving. I no longer wish to share a bedroom with you.” She began pulling out shoes. One of them was his. She threw it back into the wardrobe.

  “We aren’t going to have separate bedrooms,” Matt said.

  She looked up at him. “You don’t make all the rules, Your Grace.”

  “My house.”

  “My money.”

  He didn’t like that comment. “What am I going to do? Pork you from afar?”

  She had no answer. He decided to ask a question that would grab her attention. “Are you truly in love with me?”

  That stopped her movements. She didn’t look at him.

  Matt closed the door. “You told me you were.”

  “I don’t remember saying that,” Willa said slowly.

  “It was last night when you were angry with me over Letty.”

  “When I felt betrayed finding you with Lady Bainhurst.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She folded the piece of clothing she held in her hand and then offered, “You have been kind to me. Kinder than I believe most husbands would be.”

  “That isn’t what I’m asking, Willa. Do you love me?”

  Willa rose to her feet. “If love means that I worry if you are danger? Yes. If it means that I want to be a helpmate to you, to be a partner in all things, then yes. If it means that I want to trust you, but wonder if you have a care for me, well, yes.”

  “And when did you decide you were in love with me?”

  “I don’t know.” Willa put her hand on the bedpost. “It wasn’t this burst of understanding like fireworks. Or my heart pounding in my chest every time I looked at you . . . although I do like to look at you, Matt—especially when you are sleeping. Your guard is down then.”

  She was right.

  “In truth,” Willa continued, “I often find you exasperating because you don’t always do what I expect.”

  “I can appreciate the feeling.”

  That comment caught her attention. He held out his hands as if to declare his innocence. “You jilted me, Willa. With a snap of your fingers.”

  A light came to her eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “It woke me up.” He took a step toward her. “Everything you do makes me more aware of what I’m saying and how I’m acting
.”

  Willa nodded. “Yes, like that. I understand. Love is quieter than I thought it would be, Matt. I read your poems—no, don’t scoff. They are lovely.”

  “Willa—”

  “They are meaningful to me,” she revised, “because they say something about you. And I admire how you are kind to people. No arrogance. No airs.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her lips twisted in self-deprecation before she said, “And then you married me even though you didn’t truly want me. But you have been thoughtful and giving.”

  “Willa, I want you.”

  She shook her head as if to deny him. She crossed over to the desk and sat in the chair. She looked out the window, and he could feel a chasm forming between them. She was right; in protecting her, he was shutting her out.

  He wouldn’t have liked that, either.

  Matt spoke. “I believe my cousin George is Hardesty.”

  Her expressive eyes widening, she faced him. “The lawyer?”

  Matt nodded.

  She frowned. “I have trouble connecting the fastidious George with the blood in Ross’s room.”

  “I know, and yet, Hardesty knows things that only someone in the family would know.”

  “What possible reason could he have? He is a successful man. Even my father admires him.”

  “The oldest in the world—jealousy.” He walked over to the desk and sat in the chair opposite hers, eager to share his theory. “George’s father and my grandfather were twins. It has always been a bit of a family jest that George’s father should have been quicker. Well, it was a jest for Henry. George seemed good-humored.”

  “But if he wasn’t?”

  He leaned on the desk. “Exactly. George has been kind to me, but in ways that my grandparents would have disapproved.”

  “For example?”

  “He came to my father’s funeral when Henry had declared no one should attend. He defied Henry, but not in an overt way. And to be honest, Henry probably didn’t care. He used George’s services, but I never heard him give the man any consideration.”

  “But could George slit Ross’s throat?”

  “Could he hire men to kill us? Grandmother is convinced Hardesty had a hand in William’s riding accident.”