Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  Geoffrey became conscious of eyes on him, and he twisted around. His eyebrows darted up at the sight of a familiar form leaning against a wall. The man’s worn gray breeches and frock coat contrasted with the glamor of the guests’ garments, though Geoffrey suspected the clothes were the best the man possessed.

  Etienne. The man focused his eyes on the couple, his expression sober. Geoffrey’s heartbeat quickened as he returned his gaze to the engaged couple.

  His fists clenched, and he sucked in a breath to calm himself. That Etienne would be allowed on this intimate occasion, at the wedding of his very dearest friend, enraged him. How dare he be in attendance while his uncle, the only other aristocrat in the region, was dismissed and accused of crimes impossible for him to defend?

  Geoffrey possessed little doubt his own invitation stemmed solely from Dorothea’s insistence. The duke hated that Etienne had been locked in that cell, but Geoffrey could not be blamed for the room flooding when nobody had thought to tell him. And Etienne wouldn’t have been in such a horrible, drenched state had he resisted the unnatural urge to wade through the water on an absurd mission to peer out the window, hauling his chains with him.

  With the rings exchanged, the wedding finished. The duke and his new duchess left the chapel, and the other guests followed.

  Geoffrey headed toward Etienne, his Hessians thumping against the stone floor of the chapel. Etienne’s eyes widened, and he withdrew through a small side door. Geoffrey followed, ignoring the murmurs and the sound of clinking glasses drifting from the drawing room.

  Geoffrey entered a courtyard. Pink hydrangeas created a cove with their thick leaves and blossoms, and Geoffrey discovered Etienne, his head toward the flowers.

  “You’re everywhere.” Geoffrey’s voice thickened, and Etienne swung his head toward him, his eyes unfathomable.

  Etienne’s chest moved in unsteady motions, his neck exposed. A scent of wood and moss surrounded him, and Geoffrey forced back a moan. He stiffened against a sudden urge to burrow his face against the man’s neck and run his tongue over the smooth skin.

  Etienne moved to leave, but Geoffrey pressed a hand against his shoulder. A jolt of heat spread through Geoffrey, and his cock pulsed. Etienne’s shoulder tightened, his bronze eyes scrutinizing Geoffrey, and a shudder loped through him. Geoffrey stepped away, shaken. He didn’t desire to frighten anyone. That was everything Geoffrey hated. How had he turned into a man people feared when all he desired was to protect people and make their lives safer?

  “Forgive me.” Geoffrey ran his good hand through his hair. His chest constricted, and he stepped away.

  Etienne nodded, his chiseled jaw rigid. “You should go inside.”

  His voice was deeper than Geoffrey remembered. The low and accented sound awakened something primal in Geoffrey, and he shut his eyes, the strange frustration strengthening.

  “So should you.”

  Etienne was silent, and Geoffrey turned his head, unable to resist allowing his gaze to explore the brooding features of the man next to him. The man’s presence mesmerized him, as if his eyes needed to inspect the manner in which the light struck Etienne’s dark hair and danced on the man’s high cheekbones; as if he needed to contemplate the swell of the man’s irresistible lips; as if he were about to thrust Etienne against the stone wall and cover his smooth skin with love marks.

  His eyes glazed over; the latter possibility sounded particularly enticing.

  “The duke is a good person.” Etienne regarded him. “He permitted you to be here despite . . . everything.”

  Geoffrey’s nostrils flared, and his body tensed. He should move. He should storm off. Etienne infuriated him. Everyone infuriated him.

  He glared at Etienne, his gaze soon becoming lost in the other man’s stern expression. Geoffrey’s breath released in huffs not explained by the uncomfortable clothes his valet had forced him into.

  As Geoffrey and Etienne locked eyes, Geoffrey struggled to remind himself that a room filled with people was nearby, and he couldn’t just draw Etienne toward him into an embrace. Not that Geoffrey would ever do that, even in private.

  Geoffrey refused to submit to his baser instincts anymore. His credibility teetered on the verge of shattering as it was, and even if he were never caught, he would always know.

  He frowned as images of knowing Etienne stormed through his mind with such force that he could consider nothing else.

  Etienne moved in close and brushed his hand on Geoffrey’s arm. He dropped his voice. “I think—I think we should go inside.”

  Geoffrey peered around him to the doorway indicated, noticing the chapel was empty. The sun shone on the floor, reflecting shadows of hydrangeas from the garden.

  “They’re in the drawing room,” Etienne said.

  “I know how a wedding works,” Geoffrey said.

  “Oh.” Etienne flushed. “That’s—that’s good.”

  Geoffrey smiled. He wanted to trace the red of the man’s cheeks with his fingers. He stepped away, shaken at the inappropriate instinct. “Well. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Etienne frowned.

  “It’s such a small wedding, and . . .”

  Etienne fixed a stare at him, and Geoffrey crossed his arms. “People will talk.”

  “Because you will say something? You will reveal my past?”

  Geoffrey frowned.

  Etienne sighed. “I was in the back for a reason. I think only you noticed me.”

  This time Geoffrey’s cheeks heated.

  “And I didn’t realize you took morality so seriously,” Etienne continued.

  Geoffrey sputtered. “Of course I take morality seriously. I’m a bloody magistrate!”

  Etienne shook his head, but Geoffrey thought his lips turned up. “Cursing away.”

  “Well . . .”

  The air thickened between them, and Geoffrey leaned closer, conscious they really were alone now and he could do anything he wanted—well, anything Etienne wanted as well. Etienne’s pupils’ widened, and his succulent lips parted.

  The sound of shouts shattered the silence.

  Tension soared through Geoffrey. He shoved Etienne against the wall and broke into a trot toward the sound. He looked behind him and shouted, “Stay.”

  If there was danger, Etienne shouldn’t head off into it.

  He made his way to the other guests. Had someone been hurt? Or worse yet, murdered? Murmurings sounded.

  “Hammerstead.” A stern voice greeted him, and he slowed his pace. “We thought you had gone.”

  “I was in the next room.” A chill rushed through him. Geoffrey’s hand moved to his neckcloth in a rigid fashion, and he halted the gesture, exasperated at the scrutinizing expressions on the other people’s faces.

  “By yourself? How suspicious.” Captain Carlisle fixed cold eyes on him.

  “I—” Well. What could he say? He didn’t want the others to say he had been conversing—if one could call it that—with the local thief. “Can I be of assistance?”

  The duke pressed his lips together in a slight grimace. “We were rather hoping you might be able to explain some things.”

  “Oh.” Geoffrey’s smile wavered, and his voice quieted. All the guests stared at him. “Naturally. I’m happy to do so.”

  The duke nodded and a group of men parted, revealing a fireplace with an enormous note on the mantel. Nothing about the parchment paper seemed ominous.

  “We should be glad he didn’t paint this over the wall,” Captain Carlisle said.

  Geoffrey stepped nearer to examine it. The others seemed to recoil, and Geoffrey avoided eye contact as he approached the mantel.

  The note was written in red ink, at least Geoffrey hoped it was ink and not blood, though by the disdain the others seemed to give it, the latter might well be true.

  Dear Dorothea,

  You should be delighted to know I am alive despite any attempts by your dastardly brother to kill me. It is with great sorrow that I learned of your impendi
ng marriage. You were supposed to marry me, my sweetheart. I am most displeased, and I assure you that you and all whom you hold dear will be punished.

  Always yours,

  Sir Ambrose

  Geoffrey’s heart thudded as he reread the note, conscious of everyone’s stares on him.

  “You recognize the handwriting?” the duke asked.

  “Yes.” Geoffrey closed his eyes. “It’s my uncle’s. The signature is correct.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t really hurt anyone,” Geoffrey said, seeking to restore calm.

  The duke frowned. “I’m not sure I hold that confidence.”

  “I definitely do not,” Captain Carlisle said.

  Geoffrey glanced at the note again. “I see he claims you tried to murder him.”

  “Well.” The captain shifted his legs.

  “Perhaps I should bring you in for questioning, Captain.”

  Carlisle’s face paled, and Geoffrey smiled. Much better.

  “I should say the same for you,” the duke said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “He’s your uncle. And you seem to be defending him awfully much.”

  Dorothea stared at him.

  Geoffrey swallowed hard. Surely they were overreacting. “Perhaps you can explain just what you think my uncle did.”

  Dorothea’s skirts swished against the furniture as she neared them. She slid a gloved hand through the duke’s arm, just where it had rested on Geoffrey’s not an hour ago. “I think that might be best, dear.”

  The duke sighed. “Let’s go into my library, then.” He turned to the guests. “Please forgive my absence, I will return as soon as I can.”

  A chill descended on him and a large boulder seemed to press against his chest, as Geoffrey followed the man through the swarm of accusing faces.

  Chapter Six

  Etienne’s lips edged up in a half smile at the thought the magistrate deemed him in need of protection, and he approached the drawing room.

  The scent of roses struck him as he entered. Perfectly arranged ivory and pink flowers poked from enormous vases in the puce-painted room, and a crowd of well-dressed men hovered around a massive carved mantelpiece. His eyes drifted to see if a fire was lit, but somebody had only heaped more flowers in the fireplace.

  The guests stood rigidly, hardened smiles fastened on their faces. Fists clenched and backs stiff, they failed to resemble happy people celebrating any wedding, much less that of a duke and duchess.

  Swiveling his head to find Geoffrey, he had begun to think of the man like that, Etienne frowned when he failed to spot the man’s broad figure amidst the frozen expressions of the guests. He hesitated in the room, the huge door leading out beckoning him. Certainly, Etienne never intended to linger at the wedding, but curiosity prevailed. And perhaps I might see Geoffrey again. He inhaled and wove his way to a blond man standing next to Captain Carlisle.

  “Joshua.”

  “Etienne.”

  The two men nodded. Etienne wasn’t well acquainted with Joshua, but the man had grown up in Lyngate, and Etienne was accustomed to seeing him wander the downs. Apart from Etienne, Joshua was the only person present not part of the gentry.

  That said, Joshua’s father was the local vicar, and Etienne rather doubted the vicar would describe his and Joshua’s positions as anything except being exceedingly distant. Joshua had abetted Captain Carlisle in discovering Lansdowne, making Lansdowne’s work for the agency impossible, and making his present marriage to Miss Carlisle possible.

  “Where’s Hammerstead?” Etienne asked.

  Carlisle gritted his teeth together, every muscle in his face tense. “Hopefully, getting stripped of his duties as a magistrate.”

  “Oh.” Etienne drew his eyebrows together, and something clenched in his chest. “What did he do?”

  “It’s not what he did.” Joshua leaned closer, his eyes gleaming. “But what his uncle did.”

  “I think we can be quite sure it’s what he did too,” Carlisle grumbled. “He must be supporting his uncle somehow in that large castle. He claims he never saw him, but . . . he seems very loyal all the same.”

  “Hammerstead is not the type to lie,” Etienne said. More likely to be brutally honest.

  Joshua smirked. “For an outlaw, you’re very trusting.”

  “Former outlaw,” Etienne growled.

  “And Hammerstead would have been in the perfect position to bring that note from his uncle here,” Carlisle said. “I hope the duke locks him up.”

  Etienne’s stomach plummeted, and a lump formed in his throat. He struggled to suck in his breath, and his heart stumbled in its rhythm, before he finally asked, “Sir Ambrose is alive?”

  Carlisle nodded, his face drained of color and his movement slow, as if he struggled to bring his thoughts into the present. “With a death threat to my sister.”

  “And everyone she’s close to,” Joshua added.

  “Oh.” Something twisted in Etienne’s chest, and he rested his fingers against the wooden rail that lined the wall, positioned as if to brace occupants from bad news, and not simply protect the walls from chairs.

  The duke didn’t need this now. He had only just returned to his life. And Hammerstead . . . Etienne knew his mind shouldn’t turn to him, but the man seemed to possess some maddening idealism that he was helping society by being magistrate. How would he take this? The duke entered the room, and the small endeavors of conversation the guests attempted halted. Etienne allowed himself to gaze at the duke. The man’s face was pale, a contrast to his nearly always jovial demeanor. Etienne dropped his eyes to an enormous red-inked note clutched in his hands. A coil of anger shot though Etienne, and he shut his eyes, furious that Sir Ambrose was still about. Was Geoffrey truly involved? Was he hiding nefarious deeds? Maybe he should never have happened upon him, never have rescued him.

  “I need to see Hammerstead,” Etienne said.

  “Need?” Carlisle’s eyebrows shot up. “Perhaps he’s still in the library.”

  “He was ushered there in front of everyone,” Joshua said.

  Etienne grimaced. “How dramatic.”

  He bade farewell to the two men and departed, unwilling to linger at the now subdued wedding. He didn’t belong there anyway.

  He waited outside the manor house. A fountain gurgled, spurting water in consistent gushes, ignorant of the turmoil inside. Colorful flowers dotted the garden, and Etienne paused near the rosebushes, captured by the sweet scent and outstretched blossoms.

  “Etienne.” A booming voice greeted him, and Etienne stiffened.

  He tapped his foot against the dirt path, wishing the rosebushes had been higher and that they could shield him. His fists tightened, the gesture involuntary, but he swiveled around, fixing a smile on his face. “General.”

  The small, rotund man beamed. He squinted his eyes, holding a red, clammy hand against his forehead.

  Etienne had a ridiculous moment of pride in nature, relieved that at least the man was somewhat uncomfortable, that at least the sunshine somewhat strove to defend them.

  “We need your services again,” the general said.

  Etienne’s face tightened. “I don’t want to be a courier for you anymore.”

  “Come now, you make it sound so tawdry.” The general smiled, revealing inelegant gums and teeth that failed to resemble anything nonthreatening “You would be a hero.”

  “Never.”

  Footsteps paced on a nearby path, and Etienne rushed after a well-formed figure. He lengthened his stride and nodded good-bye to the general

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  Hammerstead infuriated him. Even his appearance incensed him. Chestnut hair tangled with strands of gold. Bronzed skin that spoke of lengthy days outdoors. Full lips Etienne yearned to taste. Brawny muscles Etienne wanted to trace with his fingers. A husky voice that made Etienne feel safe and protected.

  Ridiculous. The man was no protector, even if he pretended to be. And magistrates did
not protect men like Etienne. They locked them up, sent them away, and told them to find somewhere else to sleep.

  Hammerstead swiveled his head at him and slowed his steps.

  For a moment Etienne contemplated ducking into the maze of tall hedges, but he resisted his inclination. He quickened his pace, so a small distance separated their shoulders. “You shouldn’t be following me,” Geoffrey said.

  “You shouldn’t be ordering me about,” Etienne replied.

  Geoffrey halted. His eyes hardened and blazed into Etienne like gunmetal. With a growl, he thrust Etienne against a chestnut tree, his strength powerful even with one arm in a sling.

  Etienne gasped for breath. His back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, and he inhaled the scent of sap, leaves, and . . . Geoffrey. A salty scent filled his nostrils, and his heart pounded, blood rushing to his cock.

  Etienne strove to squirm away, but Geoffrey held him against the thick trunk, leaning his body to trap Etienne. His hardness pressed against Etienne’s, and Geoffrey traced Etienne’s neck with his finger. Heat barreled through Etienne at the sensation. Geoffrey leaned close enough for their lips to touch, and Etienne fought the urge to moan, to visibly inhale the man’s delicious scent, to beg the man to touch him more.

  Geoffrey pressed his forehead against him, and Etienne shivered at the tenderness of the gesture. Geoffrey’s breath shuddered against his, and Etienne relaxed at the realization that Geoffrey was just as affected by the events as he.

  “Then you should be relieved to know I may not do that very much longer.” Geoffrey’s voice roughened as he removed his forehead, and a chill descended upon Etienne.

  He’s leaving. Etienne’s chest squeezed, and he clung to Geoffrey, pressing his hands against the man’s navy coat, feeling the heat emanating from the man. He kept his eyes steady even as surprise flickered upon Geoffrey’s face. But perhaps not yet.

  Etienne forced his voice to be calm. “The duke scolded you.”