The Black Duke's Prize

by Suzanne Enoch

  "I see the complication," Gladstone commented, frowning.

  "Is everything prepared for my trip to Crestley?" Nicholas asked him.

  "Yes. I did as you instructed, and the proper amount of currency has been collected and is being held until Thursday, when we were to depart."

  Nicholas had forgotten that the purchase was to be made with cash. That would make things easier. "Can you get the money tonight?"

  "I would imagine that could be accomplished, Your Grace," Gladstone replied, his tone indicating that the request might have been substantially more difficult to grant if it hadn't been the Duke of Sommesby who was making it.

  "Good." Nicholas returned to the door and opened it. "Grimsby, have Jack hitch up the coach immediately!" he bellowed, and shut the door again.

  "Nick, you can't travel all the way to Crestley with your shoulder like that," Neville protested.

  Clarey was likely right, but it didn't matter. This needed to be done. "Be back here in an hour, Gladstone. The hell with Mr. Smith's waiting period. I want that deed, and I want it now."

  "I'm going with you," Neville said firmly, rising again. Nicholas shook his head. "No. If Ralston sees you, he might panic. There would be questions if another Ralston were to die suddenly, but if he can't sell Crestley off, he might be tempted to get it through inheritance."

  The older man sagged. Neville must blame himself for all this, Nicholas knew, and now there was nothing the baron could do to set it right. "You and Alison start out at about noon tomorrow," he suggested. "It's likely too late, but if there is anything that can be done to save Katherine's reputation, I'm most certainly not the one to do it."

  Neville straightened again, nodding. "I'll put out word to her friends that her uncle has taken ill. We'll leave it at that for now." He started toward the door, then stopped. and looked back. "Find her, Nick."

  "I will, Neville. I swear it."

  14

  After two days of being shoved and jostled about, Katherine finally realized where she was being taken. The sounds outside the coach became increasingly familiar, and as she recognized the bleat of Georgie Gurstin's sheep in the pasture and the ringing bell in the steeple of the All Souls' Church, she even relaxed a little. They were bringing her home.

  The coach lurched to a stop, and she was roughly jerked upright. Her arms and legs were numb, and she stifled a groan as she stumbled. She was handed down to the ground and stumbled again, this time falling and banging her shoulder.

  "Pick her up and bring her into the house," said her uncle's voice.

  She was yanked upright once more, and then thrown over someone's shoulder like a sack of greens. She was dumped into a chair upstairs, and a moment later heard the rattle of chains. Something clamped painfully around her ankle, and then the sack was yanked off her head.

  She was in her old bedchamber. The two. men stood off to one side, smirking at her, while her uncle stood before her with his arms crossed. "Welcome back to Crestley, Kate," he said smugly, and she longed to slap him. "Untie her."

  They did as he bid, slitting the ropes that bound her arms. A metal band had been locked around her left ankle, and a chain trailed from it to the heavy bed frame. Her riding dress was ripped and soiled, its original mauve color barely distinguishable. Simon Ralston stepped forward and pulled her gag down.

  "You blackguard," she spat out.

  He ignored her, motioning the men out of the room and turning away. At the doorway he stopped and turned back. "There is food and water on the dressing table. As you can see, it is impossible for you to leave the room." He gestured at the chain.

  Before she could manage a reply he was gone, shutting the door behind him and locking it. Her hands began to throb painfully, and tears she hadn't realized she was crying trickled down her face. Beyond exhaustion, she stumbled to the bed wondering where Nicholas was, and if he would come after her.

  A full day passed before she saw Uncle Simon again. A coach rumbled up the drive, but the chain didn't reach far enough for her to be able to look out the window and see what was happening. Half an hour later the key turned in the lock. Her uncle strode in, slamming the door behind him. His face was pale, and he looked highly agitated.

  "You listen to me, Kate. You clean yourself up, fix your hair, and put on a clean dress." He crossed the room and yanked open her wardrobe, pawing through the few gowns that remained. He pulled out her least favorite, a brown muslin with long sleeves and a high neck that had always made her feel like a goose. ''This one," he said, throwing it on the bed.

  "I can't change with this on," she protested, pointing at the chain. She had already tried removing it, with no success.

  He swore at her. "All right," he snapped, pushing her back into the chair, "but I warn you, if you try anything―anything―it'll be the last trick you pull." He knelt and unlocked the band, then stood and turned away. "I'll be back in a few minutes. You be ready."

  Because she had no choice, she did as he told her. Her hair had been pulled, stepped on, and slept on for three days, but she brushed it out as best she could and pulled it into a long tail down her back. She used the glass of tepid water and a comer of her riding habit to clean off her face. When she pulled on the dress she saw why he had picked it. The long sleeves covered most of the bruises on her wrists.

  There was little else she could do, and she was ready when he returned. "You'll do," he muttered. "Get up. You play the good girl when we get downstairs, and do exactly as you're told." He pulled her toward the door. "Understand?"

  "Yes," she answered shortly, wincing as he wrenched her tender shoulder.

  She went down the stairs slowly, hanging onto the rail, for she was stiff and shaky and didn't want to fall. Simon Ralston guided her to her father's old office and shoved open the door. He gripped her arm tightly enough to bruise it and pulled her into the room. She stumbled a little and, frightened and furious, kept her eyes on the floor.

  "Mr. Gladstone," her uncle began in an unctuous voice, "Your Grace, my niece, Kate Ralston. Kate, His Grace, The Duke of Sommesby."

  Nicholas stood as Katherine lifted her eyes with a visible start. It was only a decade of experience at displaying aloofness that kept him from going to her and pulling her trembling body into his arms. Her face was white, her dark-blue eyes enormous with shock and fatigue as she stared at him.

  "Good morning, Miss Ralston," he drawled. "I believe we were introduced once at Almack's, were we not?" he continued, playing the Black Duke to the hilt and hoping she would realize what he was doing.

  The look in her eyes sharpened. "I believe it was at the Hillary ball, Your Grace," she replied in a tired voice.

  She understood. Just in time Nicholas stopped himself from smiling at her. Ralston pushed her toward the nearest chair, and she reached out to hold onto the back to steady herself. As she did so, Nicholas got a glimpse of her wrist, and couldn't restrain his angry hiss at the sight of the bruised flesh.

  Ralston looked at him sharply, and Nick reached up to rub his shoulder and rudely seated himself before Katherine. "You may have heard," he drawled. "Had something of a firearms accident recently."

  With a quick glance at him Katherine seated herself, and her uncle and Gladstone followed suit. At Nicholas's nod Gladstone pulled several heavy pieces of paper out of his case and laid them on the table. "You have the deed, Mr; Smith . . . ah . . . Ralston?" Gladstone questioned.

  Nicholas had had a difficult time not sneering as Ralston explained his reason for using a false name. As he told it, he was worried that his family's monetary situation would reflect badly on his niece, and so he had taken this extra precaution to keep the Ralston name from being bandied about London. His concern for his family name hadn't kept him from kidnapping Kate, but Nicholas refrained for the moment from pointing that out.

  "I have the deed," Ralston said, patting a thick envelope in front of him. "Do you have the money?"

  "Such vulgarity, Mr. Ralston," Nicholas said reprovingly, examini
ng his fingernails,

  "I am only concerned for my niece's future, Your Grace," Ralston replied.

  "Of course. We all are," Nicholas agreed, glancing over at Katherine and trying not to put any additional meaning into the words.

  ''We have the agreed-on amount, in currency, as you requested," Gladstone said, looking through his case againand glancing up briefly.

  "Splendid. Let's get on with it, then, shall we?" Simon Ralston pulled his chair forward and craned his neck at the papers Gladstone had produced, looking to Nicholas like some sort of vulture.

  "With Your Grace's permission?" his secretary requested.

  Nicholas nodded regally, and Gladstone slid the papers over to Ralston. "You have there four copies of the agreement signing over the deed. His Grace has already signed them as recipient of the deed. First you must sign them as guardian, and then Miss Ralston shall sign them as heir."

  Ralston nodded impatiently, grabbed the pen from the desk, and he dipped it in ink. He scrawled his signature on all four pieces of paper, then slid them over to Katherine. "Sign them, Kate," he said.

  Nicholas heard the threat in his unctuous tone and had to restrain a growl as Katherine shook her head. She had balked at the idea all along, and she was stubborn as the tide, but Nicholas had to make her understand that she needed to sign the papers so he could proceed with the plan he and Gladstone had hastily concocted on the way north.

  "Please, Miss Ralston," he drawled, leaning forward and flicking his long fingers carelessly at the papers, "sign these things so we may conclude this odious business."

  She glanced up at him, and he held her gaze for a long moment. Then, her hand shaking, she picked up the pen and dipped it in the well. After a long hesitation she signed each one of the papers and then dropped the pen back onto the table.

  "Now the money," Ralston snarled as Gladstone took the papers back and examined them.

  "First things first, Mr. Ralston," the secretary demurred.

  "The deed, if you please. You understand, I must be absolutely certain that it is the original," he continued, looking at it closely, "with nothing added or removed that could possibly call the legality of the document into question." Finally he nodded and handed it over to his employer. "Everything seems in order, Your Grace."

  "Very well," Nicholas said, and Gladstone lifted the heavy case he had been guarding with his life since their departure from London. Carrying a hundred thousand pounds about was enough to make even Nicholas edgy.

  Gladstone set the valise on the table in front of Katherine, evading Ralston's grab. "Here you are, Miss Ralston," he said. "Payment in full for Crestley Hall."

  Ralston again reached for it, but Nicholas negligently raised a hand. "You know, Ralston," he drawled, "you really should take care to dress your niece in clothing more befitting her station."

  "Beg pardon?" Ralston muttered, glancing up at him. "I said I seem to recall your niece dressed more fashionably in London."

  Ralston, still eyeing the money case, cleared his throat. "Well, we live more simply in the country, Your Grace," he explained absently.

  "Ah," Nicholas said noncommittally, privately seething. "I see. Now that I think of it, though, I was particularly fond of the riding habit she wore several mornings ago in the garden at Hampton House. Do you recall the one I mean, Katherine?"

  Ralston's face went white, and he started to rise. Nicholas reached into his coat pocket and produced a pistol, which he laid on the table in front of him.

  "Yes, Nicholas, I remember the one you refer to," Katherine answered. Her eyes glinted when she raised her head to look at him.

  "Nicho―" Her uncle stopped short; staring at his niece.

  "What is going on here?"

  "Do you know that you could be sent up to Newgate for life for kidnapping and theft of property?" Nicholas asked casually, leaning forward and dropping the affected drawl from his voice. "Actually, though, with my influence I am certain I could arrange to have you hanged for it."

  Ralston blanched. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

  "Oh, I think you do," Nicholas murmured. He looked over at Kate. "Do you have anything in mind for your uncle, my love, or may I see to this for you?"

  She glared at Simon Ralston for a moment. "As long as you don't kill him and I never have to see him again, I don't care what you do," she said flatly.

  Nicholas nodded. He reached into his coat again and produced a large roll of currency. He tossed it at Ralston, who caught it as it slapped against his chest. "That is one thousand pounds. I suggest you use it wisely, for you will receive nothing more. I also suggest that you use it to leave the country, perhaps for the colonies. The Americas are rumored to be a land of great opportunity."

  "You can't make me leave," Ralston spat out. "I am Kate's guardian."

  "And now you will be her guardian from across the Atlantic," Nicholas snapped. "Don't try me further, Ralston. As you may have heard, I have very little patience. If it were not for Katherine's request, I would kill you for what you've done to her." He shoved the pistol over to his secretary, who picked it up and aimed it at Ralston. "See that he gathers his things together. He will be leaving in one quarter hour. Make certain he takes with him nothing belonging to this estate."

  "With pleasure, Your Grace," Gladstone muttered, smiling grimly as he motioned Ralston to his feet.

  The two men left the room, and Nicholas rose and made his way around the desk. "Katherine?" he said softly, taking the seat beside her.

  She hurled herself against his chest, and he enfolded her in his arms. She sobbed brokenly against his neck, clinging to him tightly. "I knew you would come," she whispered, "I knew you would come."

  "How could I not?" he replied, burying his face in her long black hair.

  Finally she calmed a little and raised her tear-stained face to look at him. "So now Crestley is yours, after all."

  He shook his head and handed her the deed. "Crestley may be in my name, but it is yours, and always shall be. Consider me its . . . guardian angel."

  She reached out and touched the valise. "If Crestley is still mine, then this money is still yours."

  He shook his head, raising a finger to her lips when she began to protest. "We shall discuss that later."

  He pulled her closer and stood, lifting her in his arms. Abruptly he deposited her back on the other chair, grimacing at her surprised look at such cavalier treatment. "Just a moment," he said, and walked to the window. "Jack, get in here!" he bellowed, and then returned to her. "I am truly sorry, and I intend to make up for my lack of chivalry at a later date, but I'm certain that if I attempt to carry you up to your bedchamber, I shall likely dump both of us on the stairs."

  ''Your wound!" she said with a gasp, reaching out to touch his sleeve.

  "Damnably inconvenient," he acknowledged ruefully. "I can walk, then," she said, wiping at her eyes.

  "I know," he teased softly, "but I am attempting to rescue you, so please indulge me."

  "Your Grace?"

  "Jack, will you be so kind as to carry Miss Ralston up to her bedchamber for me?" he asked, rising again.

  "With pleasure, Your Grace."

  Jack stepped into the room and lifted Katherine's petite form in his arms. Nicholas followed them up the stairs and into the bedchamber she indicated. At the sight of the chain locked to the bedpost he swore long and loudly. "I should have killed him," he snarled, flinging the chain against the wall. Noticing that Jack was still holding Katherine and that both were watching him somewhat nervously, he motioned at the bed. "Set her down, if you please."

  The groom did as he asked and stepped away from the bed. "Thank you, Jack," Katherine murmured.

  "Find me some bandages and liniment, and be quick about it." Nicholas instructed. "And see if there's another female in the house." The groom nodded and headed out of the room. Nicholas hesitated, then went to the door and shut it.

  "Now, my sweet, you must continue to think of me
as your guardian angel, for that is all I shall be for the next few moments."

  She looked at him, squinting one eye, then nodded. "Yes, Angel."

  He helped her out of her gown, dumping the ugly thing into the comer. Her dirty, ripped shift came next, and he growled at the sight of her bruised thigh and shoulder, though his emotions at the sight of the rest of her were far from angry. She was breathtaking. He swiftly helped her under the covers and pulled them up to her neck.

  Jack knocked, then opened the door when Nicholas acknowledged him. The groom carried a tray loaded with several strips of cloth, some liniment, and a bowl of clean water. At Nicholas's gesture he set them on the chair by the bed. "Your Grace, the only other person here 'sides us is the cook, and she's snoring downstairs with an empty bottle of port for company." He scowled. "I wouldn't want the likes of her up here."

  "Thank you, Jack," Nicholas said. "I'll take care of it, then. Please go see how Gladstone is doing. I want the two of you to see Ralston on the stage to Bristol." He dug more money out of his pocket and handed it to his groom. "And make certain he doesn't get off until he reaches the coast."

  "Yes, Your Grace." He started for the door, then hesitated and turned around. "And milady, Your Grace?" he asked hesitantly.

  Nicholas frowned. "I shall be a perfect gentleman, Jack. And having two men in here seeing to her injuries would not do her much good."

  This time Jack shut the door himself. Nicholas gingerly removed his jacket, dumped it over the back of the chair, and sat on the edge of the bed. Katherine watched as he rolled up his sleeves.

  ''This will likely hurt like the devil," he said apologetically, putting a small measure of laudanum in a glass and holding her up to drink it.

  He pulled her left hand out from under the covers and, gently as he could, cleaned the rope burns and cuts. He then smeared liniment over the bruises and bound her wrist firmly with the clean cloth. He repeated the process with her right wrist, and then, after a hesitation, pulled the covers down below her shoulders.