Kidnapping the Duke

by Killarney Sheffield

  Felicity scanned the street again. “My coachman seems to have disappeared.”

  “Oh dear, perhaps I could offer you a ride home in mine?”

  Though Felicity didn’t want to spend any more time than she had to with Rebecca, she also didn’t want to be stranded on the street. “If it is not too much trouble, I suppose.”

  The smile Rebecca bestowed upon her made Felicity nervous. Perhaps it was not a good idea after all, she pondered, as she was ushered into the Carivale family coach. She brushed the thought aside as the conveyance rolled off down the street.

  Leaning forward Rebecca lowered her voice and asked, “So, what is it like?”

  Puzzled Felicity pondered the question a moment. “Being married?”

  “No.” Rebecca giggled. “The marriage bed.”

  In shock Felicity stared at her.

  Rebecca edged closer. “Everyone knows you let him have his way with you in the woods, so of course I mean, how was the first time?”

  Felicity choked and then smothered her astonishment in her handkerchief. “I beg your pardon? I did not give myself to the duke in his hunting lodge, Rebecca Carivale!”

  “Oh dear, I am so sorry. I suppose there was nothing you could do to ward of his disgusting advances while you two were chained together. It must have been horrid.” Rebecca tut-tutted and patted Felicity’s hand.

  Gritting her teeth, Felicity held back her temper. “For your information it was I who kidnapped the duke and chained him to the staircase in the hunting lodge.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? Well, I suppose it was the only way you could extort a marriage proposal from one so above your stature.”

  Crossing her arms Felicity stared her nemesis down. “I did not take the duke hostage to get him to marry me. The exact opposite actually. I thought he was Christian, whom I hoped to ransom to his brother for revenge.”

  Rebecca frowned. “What did he ever do to you?”

  Felicity paused, unsure how much of what she knew. She didn’t trust Rebecca and, despite the duke’s denial, she was sure Monty had some sort of knowledge of the Black Rider, with whom he might be connected. “He knows the man who killed my father.”

  An odd look crossed Rebecca’s face. “He does? And who might that be?”

  “I would rather not say.”

  A sneer twisted Rebecca’s lips. “A likely story, Felicity. The fact remains you prostituted yourself for a marriage proposal. Your poor husband! It must be awful for him to be trapped into marriage to a woman he does not even want.”

  They pulled up before the duke’s townhouse and Felicity opened the door and hopped out before the startled footman could set the step. “Thank you for the ride, Rebecca.” Fuming, she stalked up the steps as the carriage pulled away. Henry opened the door for her with a bright smile, which she ignored, and stomped up to her room. By the time she changed, her ire had cooled enough for guilt over her treatment of the butler to niggle her.

  She rubbed her temples and checked the time on the mantle clock. It was still almost an hour until dinner. Since she was in no mood for polite conversation in the parlor, she decided to lie down for a bit. Moments after lying across the fluffy feather bed, she drifted off to sleep.

  When the maid spied her there in slumber she closed the door quietly and went below stairs to inform the duke his lady was indisposed for dinner.

  * * *

  William tapped on Felicity’s door later that evening, concerned for her welfare. Was she relapsing and feverish? When he received no answer to his knock, he opened the door. The room was shrouded in darkness except for the meager light from a single candle on the bedside table. He entered the room with a light tread. Felicity’s eyes were closed, her long lashes lying soft against her pale cheeks. Since there was no telltale flush he assumed she was not feverish. Her full pink lips were parted slightly, her breath fluttering an escaped curl on her cheek. The desire to kiss those lips was so strong he leaned over to do so, but then stopped himself lest he wake her. The last few days of stress and activity must have worn her down and he decided against disturbing her slumber. Instead he brushed the wayward curl behind her ear, blew out the candle and tip toed from the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning Felicity awoke feeling more herself. Humming, she accepted Lizzy’s help to dress to greet the day and then headed down to the dining room. Disappointment threatened to dull her bright day when she found the room empty. The place at the head of the table was vacant, except for the duke’s discarded morning paper.

  Henry poked his head around the corner of the door. “Good morning, my lady, shall I send for something to break your fast?”

  “Yes, please.” Before the man could leave she hurried to add, “Henry, please accept my apology for being terse with you last eve.”

  A flash of astonishment lit his eyes before he smiled. “There is no need to apologize to a lowly servant, my lady.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  He tipped his head to acknowledge her respect. “Thank you. I will send Michael with a plate.”

  “Henry?”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Do you know if my husband is at home today?”

  “He is out for the morning.”

  Felicity tried to hide her disappointment behind a stiff smile. “Thank you.”

  The butler hurried off to do as he was bid.

  After she finished a breakfast of coddled eggs, toast and tea, she wandered out to the garden to find Pumpkin. She found the cat in a box in the corner of the gardener’s shed. The kitten had grown since she had seen it last and its eyes were open. Once she pet Pumpkin for a few minutes she picked up the kit and cuddled it. “You are such a good mother, Pumpkin,” she crooned.

  A noise behind startled her and she spun around to find an older man in brown trousers and a rough tan shirt in the doorway.

  His eyes narrowed when he spied her there. “What ye ’ere doin’ in me shed?”

  Setting the kitten back in the box alongside its mother, she got to her feet. “I am Felicity Beinfait, I mean Lady Lancastor. I meant no harm, sir. I was only seeing how Pumpkin and her kitten were fairing.”

  He yanked his battered hat off his head and gave an awkward bow. “So sorry, my lady. I didn’ know who ye was.”

  She smiled. “Are you the gardener then?”

  “Yes, my lady, me name’s Joseph, Joseph Haskel.”

  “Well Joseph, I thank you for taking such good care of my cat, and I must say the flower beds are beautifully kept.”

  His gaze darted around the messy shed. “Thanks, for sure, I love me job, my lady.”

  “And it shows, sir. I will get out of your way, for I am sure you have lots to do. Good day, Joseph.”

  He tipped his hat with a look of wonder as she breezed past him on her way back to the house.

  She paused as she passed the fountain. The statue gracing the center was that of a man with a woman in his arms. The sight heated her cheeks, reminding her of her night in William’s embrace. Reaching out she touched the smooth marble surface. The water had been shut off for the cold months and the stone had been left with the sheen of wear. She ran her fingers down the sculptured abdominal muscles, remembering how firm and warm her husband’s were. She stopped just short of the ‘v’ of his stomach. The woman’s half naked thigh blocked his neither region from sight. Out of curiosity she stepped closer and peered around the stone thigh. The man’s manhood was remarkably smaller than she expected. A giggle escaped her. Compared to the duke, the poor figurine had been decidedly short changed. A large caterpillar crawled the length of the puny appendage. Without thinking she brushed it off. To her horror the man part fell off along with the bug. Clapping both hands over her mouth she stifled her squeal. Oh fie and fire!

  Afraid someone might have seen her folly, she looked over her shoulder. The gardens were deserted. Breathing a sigh of relief, she pondered her dilemma. How was she to fix the statue? She could not just leave it
like that. Someone would notice…wouldn’t they? She glanced up at the figure. The blank eyes now seemed full of accusation. Is it just me, or is he glaring? Ridiculous. She shook the idea from her mind.

  Perhaps the gardener might have some sticky substance she could use to repair the statue? Trying to appear nonchalant she strolled up and down a couple paths before making her way back to the shed in hopes the gardener would have gone. Luck was with her when she found the little building empty. Rows upon rows of containers, buckets, jars and boxes lined the shelves. She perused the contents of each until she found one that appeared thick and sticky. Taking the jar from the shelf she plunked the lid back on, slipped it into the pocket inside her skirt and hurried back to the fountain.

  After making sure no one was about she reached into her pocket and drew out the jar. Unfortunately the lid wasn’t fastened properly and the sticky white paste coated the inside of her pocket, the jar, and her hand. With a groan she automatically tried to wipe the mess off on her skirt. Too late she realized the folly of her actions. Her fingers adhered to the velvet of her walking dress. She yanked her hand from the fabric and came away with a hand covered in mint green fuzz. Taking the bottle gingerly between her thumb and index finger, she poured a generous amount on the broken area of the statue, pried the jar from her hand and then set it on the rim of the fountain. She scooped up the disengaged man part and pressed it to the hollow from whence it came, holding it there for a few moments to be sure it would stick in place.

  Well pleased with herself she made to remove her hand. Unfortunately the sticky substance had hardened quicker than she expected and she discovered her fingers were stuck. “Oh fie and fire!” She tugged harder, yet her fingers remained stuck fast where they should not be. Now what am I going to do? She shuffled from foot to foot. There seemed no other recourse, but to summon the gardener for help.

  “Joseph? Joseph!”

  When he did not answer she waited a minute and called again, “Joseph? Halloo, Joseph….”

  “Felicity?”

  She groaned when she recognized William’s voice. What is he doing here? Being caught with her hand affixed to the groin of a statue was not exactly how she wanted her new husband to find her.

  “Felicity?” William came around the corner in the path.

  Felicity put her back to the statue with her hand twisted behind, and tried to look unconcerned. “Were you looking for me, my lord?”

  His lips pursed for a moment. “I heard you calling from my study.”

  “Oh.” Her mind raced to come up with a suitable excuse. “I—I was calling Joseph, the gardener.”

  William glanced at the statue. “No doubt you are wondering why the water is not running. Joseph turns it off before it gets too cold, so it does not freeze.”

  “Oh…yes, that is what I was wondering.” She shuffled her feet and plucked at the dried paste on her skirt.

  “It is such a lovely fall day. Perhaps you would like to take tea in the gazebo?”

  Oh dear. “That would be lovely.”

  He crooked his arm. “Shall we?”

  “I—” She darted an anxious look around the garden. How was she to get out of her predicament without him knowing? Her gaze settled on the garden shed. “I was petting Pumpkin, so I should go wash my hands before tea. You go ahead, my lord, and I will join you in a few minutes.”

  “I need one of the houseboys to deliver a letter first anyway, so I shall walk with you.” He held out his hand.

  “Oh fie,” Felicity groaned.

  The duke frowned. “Is something the matter?”

  Dreading his reaction she stepped away from the statue so he could see the extent of the problem. “I have gotten my fingers stuck.”

  With a puzzled expression he looked closer. “What do you mean?”

  Heaving a sigh she pointed to the sticky jar. “I was looking at the statue and a piece of it fell off. I thought I could fix it before anyone discovered….” She trailed off and looked at her feet. “And when the paste dried, I discovered my fingers had adhered to the…ah… man part.”

  A snort made her look up. William’s shoulders began to shake and then he threw back his head and howled with laughter. He doubled over, slapping at his thighs as his hearty guffaws reverberated through the garden.

  “It is not that amusing,” she grumbled.

  “Ah…dear Felicity…hehehe…there is never a dull moment with you, is there?” He swiped a hand across his eyes, snickering all the while.

  Pouting, she scuffed her slipper on the gravel path. “How do I get free?”

  “I shall go find Joseph. He will know what to use to free your hand.” He winked. “Do not go anywhere, I will be right back.”

  “Cad!” She stuck out her tongue at him as he strolled off down the path chuckling.

  To her relief he was back in a few minutes with the gardener in tow. The man’s eyes grew large when he saw her predicament, yet he tactfully held his tongue. With great care he dabbed a thin liquid on her fingers until the dried substance holding her loosened.

  When she eased it free, the duke took her hand in his and inspected it. “It does not appear you have lost any skin in the incident, so all is well.” A grin quirked the corner of his mouth and his eyes twinkled. “In the future, perhaps you should confine your exploration of the male physic to the bedchamber?”

  With a roll of her eyes she jerked her hand from his and stomped back up the path to the house with his vocal amusement ringing in her ears.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Dinner that evening was a strained affair. Felicity excused herself from an after meal glass of sherry in the small parlor and retired to her bedchamber with a book. A couple hours later, footsteps passed her room and entered the duke’s next door. She closed the book and extinguished the bedside candle. Pulling the covers up around her neck she rolled over to face the flickering fire, back to the door connecting her bedchamber to his.

  The rumble of his soft baritone carried as he addressed his valet, the words unintelligible through the door. Drawers scraped open and closed, followed by the clink of the duke’s cufflinks dropping into a ceramic container. His voice rose and fell, and then it was silent. A door opened and shut and then footsteps retreated down the hall.

  With a sigh she closed her eyes. William’s bedtime routine was new to her and she found it both fascinating and uncomfortable. It was almost as if she was spying on him. The click of the connecting door made her open her eyes. Soft footfalls crossed the carpet and came to a halt beside her bed.

  “Felicity?”

  “I am too tired and sore tonight, my lord.” She bit her lip. Would he accept her excuse, or demand his right to her bed?

  He was silent for a moment. “I wish you a good night then.”

  The scent of soap and spices filled her nostrils as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. That simple kiss made her heart skip a beat. She wanted to lie with him again, yet her mind refused to betray her. He was the son of her father’s killer, no matter how she looked at it, and he refused to admit it. It had been so easy to forget when he took her in his arms and made sweet love to her body.

  The click of the door startled her and she realized William had returned to his room. Rolling over, she lay starring at the ceiling. Being forced to marry the duke didn’t change anything; in fact it made things worse. Her plan to extort a large amount of money from him and go on her way had been clean and simple, with no strings attached. Now she was like a marionette, strings attached everywhere, which moved her body without any say….

  Something ticked against the window pane. Probably just a bat, she surmised, until it stuck the glass a second time with more force. She sat up and looked to the window. Somewhere outside an owl hooted, its eerie cry making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Something struck the glass a third time. She slipped from the bed and crossed to the window.

  The moon was high and full, lighting everything below. A shadowy figure in a pale dress and a dark
cloak stood below her window. Felicity rubbed her eyes and looked again. The woman was still there. After raising the sash she leaned out for a better look.

  “Felicity,” the figure hissed.

  “Rebecca? What are you doing here?”

  “Shh! Come down to the garden.”

  “But ’tis the middle of the night,” Felicity griped.

  “Will you just get down here? I have information on your Black Duke and it is cold out here.”

  Felicity’s interest was piqued. “All right, I will be down in a minute.”

  After throwing on a cloak over her night dress and stepping into a pair of slippers, she tiptoed to her bedchamber door. Ear to the wood she listened for any sign of movement, but could detect none, so she eased open the door. A quick scan of the hall showed no one about, so she slipped into the hallway and stole to the stairs. A glance below proved the servants had retired for the evening and the lamps extinguished. Grasping the railing she made her way down to the first floor. She paused a moment to be sure no one was about and then exited the front door. It would not do to be caught with no explanation, sneaking out clad only in her nightdress at this hour. Pushing the thought from mind, she jogged around to the back of the house to the garden gate.

  Rebecca emerged from the shadows. “You came.”

  Felicity frowned at the astonishment in the girl’s tone. “Just say what you must before we get caught out here.”

  “The Black Duke and the Black Rider are one and the same.”

  Felicity’s heart leaped in her chest. “What do you mean? That is not possible. The duke’s father is dead.”

  “My brother told me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Come with me.” Rebecca tugged her hand.

  Suspicion nagged at Felicity. “Come where?”

  “My brother is waiting to explain it all. You see, he has been working covertly for many years to expose the Black Rider and end his reign of terror.”