Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

It was a better idea than throwing her into the face of danger. Maybe if they did that, he could persuade her to stay at home while he went to Pidgeon’s and followed the men his cousin was meant to meet with. It seemed Foster had grown greedy and did not want to part with any newfound wealth.

  Knowing the men he’d been associating with, it would not end well. He couldn’t give a fig if Foster ended up in a world of trouble. Demeter, however…he’d die before letting anything happen to her.

  Which meant they had to solve this matter and find the men throwing about threats. Quickly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Demeter ignored the desire to pace her bedroom. She also dismissed the idea of standing by the window to look out for Blake. By some miracle, she forced herself to remain perched on her bed while she toyed with the amber bracelet about her wrist. None of her actions stopped her from gnawing on her bottom lip or wonder exactly how many times could one’s stomach flip when one thought of the person they loved.

  She inhaled deeply and held it for several moments. She had to be sensible about this, had to approach this with cool calm logic. Today, they would go and speak with the sheriff in Bermondsey. Hardly exciting unless he had some information for them. There was nothing to say it would lead anywhere—after all, they were lucky her bold actions had brought no scandal to their doorsteps. Or at least to hers. Blake would hardly suffer if he was found to have bedded his fiancée.

  Her pulse fluttered when someone knocked at her bedroom door. A hand to her chest, she rose from the bed, straightened her skirts, and strode across the room. All she needed to do was behave normally. Whoever it was could not discover she was head over slippers in love with Blake, and if she wasn’t careful she’d let herself believe they really did have a chance at a future. Aunt Sarah had already commented on the strange smile she’d had at breakfast.

  There were many things she was happy to confide in her aunt about but this felt too big, too significant for her aunt’s sometimes scattered counsel.

  Forcing what she hoped was a natural smile upon her lips, she opened the door. “Yes?”

  Any further words died on her lips when she took in the two strange men at her door. Before she could demand to know who they were, a hand shot out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into his chest. He smelled of sweat and ale. The rough fabric of his shirt prickled her bare arm.

  Eyes wide, she tugged back. “What are you—?”

  His large hand clamped across her mouth and she screamed against the clammy fingers pinching her mouth and nose. The sound died swiftly, the lack of air crushing any further cries for help. She swung her gaze left and right down the empty corridor.

  Who were they? How did they get in her house?

  She wrenched back again, jarring her shoulder.

  A crack of flesh against flesh. Then blinding pain. She staggered, everything white behind her eyes while her cheek throbbed from the contact of knuckles upon her cheek. The man holding her wrist lifted her, his strong arm pressing painfully into her ribs. The patterned rug swirled in her vision, making her stomach roll.

  “Don’t bloody damage her, fool,” the second man muttered, coming around in front of her.

  Something pulled at her wrists then he bound a rag about her mouth. When she tried to move her hands, she found them restrained.

  Narrowing her gaze at him through the pounding head and foggy vision, his features briefly came into focus. Tall, broad shoulders, deep-set eyes, and pale brown hair that shone with grease. She didn’t recognize him. He hadn’t attacked her near Blake’s, nor had she spotted him at the gaming hell or at the failed meeting.

  “What do you want?” she tried to demand.

  The words came out muffled as her tongue pressed against fabric. Any attempts at escape only made her cheek throb and her head swirl so she closed her eyes.

  Perhaps if she regained her strength.

  Or perhaps someone would spot her and come to her rescue. The men still had to leave the house, after all.

  Demeter snapped her eyes open when the world shifted, bringing bile into her throat. The man carried her as though she weighed no more than a strand of hay, moving with efficiency past the bedrooms to the grand staircase.

  She didn’t know whether to be grateful her aunt or sister did not emerge from one of them. There would be no escape for her if they did not but she would not want them anywhere near these men, whoever they were. They handled her with practiced ease, as though they stole ladies from their homes every day.

  If only her head would clear. If only his shoulder did not press into her stomach, leaving her feeling weak. If only the pounding ache in her face would go. Then she would stand a chance.

  A sob bubbled up against the cloth when she spotted the butler Archibald prone upon the marbled floor, blood splattered on the pristine white underneath him. Had they killed him? The small man would not have stood a chance against these men. They must have barged in and knocked him down in an instant.

  A chill spread through her, pooling in her churning stomach. Whoever these men were, they were bold and experienced.

  They were incredibly dangerous.

  The air fled her lungs when they dropped her onto the wooden surface of a wagon and the arm she landed on throbbed in pain. She winced and rolled onto her back to see the briefest flash of the pretty clear sky before darkness swallowed her.

  The rough, thick fabric across her face and body stifled her breaths and she inhaled as deeply and slowly as possible, made all the more difficult by the oppressive heat under the cloth and the sudden rocking. She tensed her body against the motion and placed her feet against the sides of the vehicle. No doubt she would be covered in bruises by the end of this ordeal.

  If she survived, of course.

  The desire to close her eyes against the darkness and give into exhaustion pulled at her. She fought hard, though, picturing her worried sisters, her aunt, and most of all Blake. Whatever these men wanted from her, she had to survive to see him again.

  ***

  The open door at Demeter’s house made Blake’s gut pull. He caught sight of a servant dashing past, then another. Scowling, he stepped into the hallway to spy a maid scrubbing the marble floors. He went to get her attention but voices clamoring above one another snared his notice. A crowd of women hastened toward him, some in their outer garments, Aunt Sarah wielding a pistol, and Eleanor shoving her arms into a pelisse.

  “Ladies…” Blake started.

  “We should go find her,” said Cassie, ignoring him.

  “I will go and find her,” Chastity declared.

  “You will not,” Eleanor snapped. “You cannot go anywhere like that.” She gestured to Chastity’s rounded belly.

  “Lady Eleanor…” He inched forward a step but none of the women paid him any heed.

  “I can go.” Aunt Sarah waved the pistol and Blake resisted the desire to duck. “I’m fully armed and an excellent shot.”

  “Perhaps we should find Anton. I think he was going to the assembly hall today,” suggested Eleanor. “We might need him.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Anton panics in dangerous situations. You remember what happened when you broke your arm, Eleanor.”

  “He was only twelve,” Eleanor said.

  “He was thirteen!” Cassie shot back.

  “Ladies!” Blake called as they broke out into more arguments. “Ladies!” he bellowed.

  All four of them pivoted slowly to eye him.

  “Oh thank goodness!” Aunt Sarah let the pistol relax at her side though Blake kept a wary eye on it as she approached. “Demeter has been taken.”

  A knife to the heart would have been less painful. “Taken?” he echoed, his voice sounding strange to his ears.

  Eleanor nodded frantically and shoved a crumpled note his way.

  “Bring the money or we will kill your woman.” Blake re-read it several times while his blood turned to ice. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not to Demeter.

  “W
ho do you owe money to?” Chastity demanded, rising on tiptoes to thrust a finger in his face.

  “No one.”

  “They are dangerous, whoever they are.” Eleanor gestured to the maid and it was only then Blake noticed the red staining the bucket of water.

  “Did they hurt her?” he demanded.

  Eleanor shook her head. “They pushed poor Archibald. He had quite a knock to the head. Though goodness knows what they might do to Demeter.” She wrapped her arms about her waist. “If only I had not been in the lamp room.”

  “If only I had not been outside,” Aunt Sarah said tightly. “I would have shown those blackguards what happens when you mess with my girls.”

  “I am grateful none of you were here,” he said gravely, tightening his hold on the note. “These men are dangerous.”

  And he was a fool for leaving Demeter alone. He should have trusted his instincts and never let her out of his sight. He could have persuaded Anton to let him stay or hell, have slept at the damned door if needs be.

  “So you do know them?” Chastity narrowed her gaze at him.

  “I know who they are, and I know how to find them, but they are not trying to get to me.” He grimaced. “I’m afraid my cousin has brought this to your doorstep.”

  “I’ll kill him with my bare hands if anything happens to her,” Chastity said.

  Despite being a head smaller than himself and with a rounded belly, he rather suspected Demeter’s sister might succeed if she tried.

  “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill him myself,” he assured her. “Do you have a horse mounted? I came in the barouche.”

  Cassie nodded. “I rode over here as soon as I received word. I did not come far so she’ll take you wherever you need and quick. Just find Demeter…”

  “I’ll bring her home,” he assured the women before marching to the stables and finding the horse still saddled. It took him minutes to reach his cousin’s but it was minutes too long. He barged into his cousin’s house before the butler could open the door fully.

  “Foster!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

  “I-if you will just wait a moment, sir,” the butler stammered.

  “Foster!”

  His cousin appeared in the hallway from the drawing room, his ever genial smile in place. “Blake, what a surprise.”

  That smile made his body flare red hot. He covered the distance between them in mere seconds. “You did this.” He thrust the note at him, slamming it against his chest and forcing Foster to stagger back several steps. Fists curled at his sides, his breaths hot, Blake glowered down at his cousin.

  With shaky movements, Foster unfurled the letter. He frowned and scanned the note. “What does it mean?”

  “It means...” He drove a finger hard into his chest. “That the men you owe money to took Demeter.”

  “L-Lady Demeter?” Foster’s eyes widened. “But why?”

  “They think you are courting her. They already threatened her once.”

  “Courting? Your engagement is public knowledge.” His lips twisted. “Though, the manner in which the whole matter was played out is entirely unsavory in my opinion. Lady Demeter deserves better.”

  Blake had never wanted to pound someone into the ground as much as right now but he needed Foster.

  “Whether she does or not, she’s in danger and it’s down to you.” Fists curled, Blake forced himself to breathe deeply. If he touched Foster like he wanted, he might not stop until the man was rendered senseless.

  The ruddiness from Foster’s cheeks fled and sweat broke out on his upper lip. He straightened and tugged his waistcoat down. “I shall go and fetch her.”

  “Fetch her?” Blake scoffed. “Do you really think they will let you simply stroll in and return her home? What about the money you owe them?”

  His chin quivered. “I do not have it at present. I have been selling off—”

  “My aunt’s possessions, I know,” he said coldly.

  “But it wasn’t quite enough yet. I still need to—”

  “The only thing you need to do is tell me where I can find them right now.”

  Foster’s gaze grew cold and he straightened his shoulders. “I’m not a fool. I know you only proposed to her out of spite, because you were cut from the will.”

  “A will you forged.”

  His cousin’s lips twitched and color returned to his cheeks, great red splotches. The tell Demeter unlocked. “I did no such thing.”

  “You’re lying, Foster. I know your tell now.”

  “I will go and get her.” Foster motioned to the butler. “Fetch my dueling pistol.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Blake stepped in front of his cousin.

  “You cannot find her without me.” Foster’s smug expression made Blake tighten his fists until his knuckles hurt. He swore when this was all over, he was going to do everything he could to tear Foster’s life apart. “You don’t deserve her, Blake. Lady Demeter is something so, so...” He sighed. “Special. You and the foolish members of the ton could not even see what was right in front of you.”

  “And I suppose a fraud is so much better for her.”

  “I would treat her like the special woman that she is.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Now tell me where she is or I’ll reveal you to everyone for what you are.”

  “How will you? You have no proof.”

  “It’s only a matter of time, Foster.” He inched closer, keeping his voice low. “Maybe days, maybe weeks, but I will ensure your entire story is picked apart until everyone knows you are a liar and a cheat. Your big house and wealth will mean nothing. All those fine friends you’ve so recently found will abandon you. You’ll be finished.” He gave a sinister smile. “Back to your lonely life away from Society.”

  Foster’s gaze flitted back and forth until he dropped his head. “Fine. I shall tell you where they are. But this remains our secret.”

  “Fine.” If his cousin frittered away everything his Aunt owned, he did not care at this point and he was fairly certain Aunt Iris would have agreed. To save the woman he loved, he would make any sacrifice necessary.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Blinking in the sudden daylight, Demeter suppressed the nausea lurching its way up her throat. A large warehouse towered overhead and she heard the clanking and creaking of ships nearby. The man who had carried her to the wagon snatched the long rope around her wrists and used it to pull her to the edge of the vehicle. Her wrists burned and her joints ached as she tried to pull back, digging her shoes into the wooden base but he yanked her hard, forcing her to flop forwards. Her chin smacked into the wood and she cried out.

  “Just behave,” he told her, “and then you won’t get hurt.”

  “She’s a bloody handful this one. Thought she was meant to be a lady,” the other man muttered.

  Her retort was lost to the filthy cloth bound about her mouth. She half-stumbled, half limped across the docks toward a smaller building at the side of the warehouse. Every inch of her throbbed painfully from the bumpy journey here.

  Despite the increasing warmth of the day, a shiver travelled through her at the sight of more men loitering around the building. She gasped, spying the huge man she’d spotted waiting for Mr. Foster in the tavern what seemed like ages ago.

  “Put her over there,” he ordered and the two men dragged her toward the edge of the building and tied the rope through a metal loop intended for the horses. She bit back a cry when the ropes chafed the sensitive skin of her wrists and they pulled it so tight, she could do nothing but lean awkwardly against the brickwork.

  Her legs trembled and her heart had not ceased pounding since they’d grabbed her. She longed to drop to the ground and regain her strength but how could she even escape? There were five men by her count and most of them built like giants. All she could think to do was to force herself to keep taking deep breaths and hope someone would happen upon her.

  The leader ges
tured to two of the men and she watched the exchange, able to make out some orders to go stand guard somewhere. The two who had grabbed her were told to guard her, then he gestured to the final two to accompany him. She made out the word Foster and talk of payment but he turned his back before she could figure out what his intentions were.

  The two left guarding her shared a smoke, their backs to her, giving her no chance to try to plead with them, even if the cloth about her mouth would let her. Her tongue was dry and her cheeks hurt from where the fabric cut into her skin. She couldn’t find a single part of her that did not hurt.

  She hung her head for a few moments, then imagined Blake. Would he know she was missing? Would he be worried for her? She should have just agreed to marry him—they could have even eloped and be wed and she would not have even been here and none of this would have happened. She would be waking in his arms, blissfully content, feeling like the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.

  Feeling as though she deserved him.

  Blast, it hadn’t been excitement she’d been looking for. It had been something else—something she found with Blake. If only she’d snatched up the chance to take it. Now she could die here and never be his wife. What an utter waste.

  Demeter tugged on the ropes and the ring clattered against the brick. One of the men twisted, rolled his eyes at her movement, and turned his back to her. She shook it again, more vigorously this time. Perhaps she could work the ropes loose or even the ring. It did not look to be held in that securely.

  “Stop that,” the large man ordered.

  Eyeing him, she deliberately clanged the metal again and again, harder and harder.

  “Damn it.” He lifted a fist and she braced herself but he stilled and turned his head, fist still raised. “Garrett,” he said, “go see what that was.”

  Demeter hadn’t heard whatever had drawn his attention but it didn’t matter. If there was someone here, she had to get their attention. She clanged the ring with all her might and screamed against the cloth. Garrett huffed and headed around the corner of the building. Demeter paused and held her breath. A thud and a strange, strangled noise was followed by the sound of tussling. The man guarding her straightened and raised both fists.