Athena's Ordeal

by Sue London

  Chapter Eleven

  Sabre set herself to being the ideal guest after settling into the south wing. She was always timely to meals, always pleasant, always smiling. The duke did not require much in the way of entertainment and she ended up with a great deal of time on her hands. As it seemed the duke primarily ignored his staff, she began to see to their needs. Nothing significant, of course. Nothing, heaven forbid, presumptuous. But it was apparent that it had been some time since anyone of the Quality had taken an interest in their welfare. She listened with interest to their stories and helped them with their chores as was appropriate, such as washing and slicing fruit in the kitchen. She insisted that Mrs. Caldwell take an afternoon off since it was something the older woman did with such infrequency that no one on the staff could remember the last time she had done so. By the end of the third day, acting as the de facto housekeeper while Mrs. Caldwell was in the village, Sabre felt she had made sufficient progress with the staff. Having always looked forward to running a household, she was relieved to know that the servants here were as likeable as the ones at home, if perhaps a bit more peculiar. But she had made a place with them where they looked to her as both lady of the manor and friend.

  If only it were so easy to sway the duke.

  After three days of observing him in close quarters it was clear to her that Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin, was not one to share much of himself with others. He was a loner, preferring to spend long stretches of time in solitude. Although he did possess the wit that her friend Jack had complimented him on, it was apparent that he primarily used it to push others away rather than to entertain or commiserate as some do. Perhaps that was because he wished to rid himself of his current company, but she didn’t believe so. Honestly, she was surprised that he had not yet insisted that she pack up her carriage and leave his home. It made her think that although he seemed to prefer solitude, he was lonely. Even an unwelcome guest could be better than no guest at all.

  But she did not see where she was making progress engaging his affections. She could go that most direct route to her goal by depositing herself naked in his bed. She didn’t think he would resist such an advance. However, her lesson from the first day here was that even her boldness had its limits. Merely considering such a thought had her heartbeat racing again painfully in her chest.

  She was also surprised that for a man who used the sword so proficiently he did not seem to practice. On the third day she asked if he would like to practice together and received a scowl and polite refusal. His eyes had strayed to her injured arm shortly after that and she knew that he was still bothered by the fact that he had hurt her.

  Plagued by all these thoughts, on the morning of her fourth day at Belle Fleur, she decided to go for a ride and clear her head.

  As breakfast wasn’t a formal affair, Quince didn’t feel that he needed to wait for Miss Bittlesworth to arrive before eating. But when she still hadn’t arrived thirty minutes later he found himself concerned. She seemed to be an earlier riser than himself, not that it was difficult to be, but for the last two mornings had taken breakfast with him. She had seemed bent on being an affable guest, though why she thought he would believe her to be anything other than the domineering harridan she had exposed herself to be on the first day, he had no idea. He waved over a footman. “Did our guest already eat earlier this morning?”

  “No, your grace. She left for a ride earlier this morning and has not yet returned.”

  Although happy to have his question answered so quickly and completely, he wondered why the dining room footman already had that information. Belle Fleur was far from his largest estate but it had a fairly large complement of staff. At least fifty, he thought, though he wasn’t quite sure. Had the staff already been talking among themselves about her absence?

  At luncheon she still hadn’t arrived and Quince found himself a bit perturbed, but refused to worry about it overly. He allowed her to stay here because in his opinion people ought to be able to do as they liked. Surely he had to allow her the latitude to do as she wished with her time. In the afternoon as he sat in the library staring at a book but not reading a single page, Havers came to him.

  “Your grace, the lady has still not returned from her ride.”

  “I see.” Quince had known that the Bittlesworth girl hadn’t returned yet due to the deathly silence of the house. What had seemed a peaceful quiet before her arrival now seemed dull. As though the entire household awaited her return to breathe life back into it again.

  “The men would like to search for her. With your permission, of course.”

  “Of course. It would not be seemly to lose a viscount’s daughter. Have them search.”

  “Very good, your grace,” the butler responded, withdrawing quietly from the room. Quince returned to staring at a book he had yet to read a word in.

  Sabre reared back from the sharp scent that assaulted her nose. As she shook her head to clear it she heard scuffing on a wooden floor and the creak of someone sitting in a chair. She was sitting as well. Tied to a chair, in fact. She struggled with the ropes on her wrists while tossing the hair out of her eyes to identify her captor. Who she saw made her stop struggling immediately.

  “Robert, what is this meaning of this?” She looked around the room, which appeared to be a cellar in a run-down house.

  “Hullo, little sister. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I thought you were going to Jack’s house.”

  Her brother had seated himself on a wooden chair a yard away. Just far enough away to avoid any kicks if she should manage to get her foot free. His chair was turned around and he rested his folded hands and chin on the chair-back as he studied her. She began to struggle against the ropes again and he held up a finger.

  “Ah-ah. How will you explain rope burns to your lover?”

  Sabre blew out a frustrated breath. “He’s not my lover.”

  “Really? Then why have you been at his house for three nights? The house where his father planned all his trysts?”

  “Trysts? I find that hard to believe. There was a veritable shrine to the former duchess there.”

  “Be that as it may, why were you there? If you hadn’t come out soon I was going to come in after you.”

  “I wanted to… to help him. How did you figure out where I was?”

  “I always know where you are, Sabrina.”

  Sabre felt her eyes widen. “You knew about the duel?”

  After a short pause, one too brief for anyone who didn’t know him to notice, he said, “Of course.” She knew her brother well enough to know that his pause and lack of reaction was an indication that in fact he hadn’t known, but had decided to gamble on appearing omniscient. She was glad that her riding habit hid the healing scar she still carried from where the duke’s sword had sliced her arm.

  Knowing that she had gone down a path that needed a story before he decided to dig and find the real one she said, “I know it was foolish of Jack and me to duel, especially while in London, but she had made me so angry. And, well, once a challenge is issued…”

  “It cannot be withdrawn,” he answered.

  She nodded.

  “However, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Yes, I did. I want to help him.”

  Robert sighed. “Don’t play games with me, Sabrina, I know you’re not obtuse. Why do you want to help him?”

  “Perhaps I like him.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Fine,” she said, tossing her chin up in the air. “I plan to marry him.”

  Her brother stared at her and she could tell that his mind had engaged the possibilities. “Does he plan to marry you?”

  She smiled. “He’s made no mention of it as of yet, but you know I can be very convincing.”

  He sat up and continued staring at her. “There are complications,” he finally said.

  “Like what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “We won’t discuss them as yet. How do you rate yo
ur chances?”

  “Good.” She mused a bit and smiled. “Very good.”

  Now it was Robert’s turn to narrow his eyes. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Sabrina. What makes you think you will win?”

  “I always win.”

  That made him smile in return. “Always?”

  “Almost always,” she corrected.

  He shook his head. “Sabre, although I know you would adore being a duchess, I’m not sure I can recommend that you marry the first duke you can talk into the idea. You will need more challenge than that.”

  Putting her nose in the air she said, “Once I’m a duchess I will outrank you and you won’t be able to say such hateful things to me.”

  Robert laughed. “In your dreams.”

  Sabre chuckled as well. After a moment she sobered and said, “Robert, I really do care for him quite a bit.”

  “You mean you care for Quincy Telford, not just the fact that he’s the Duke of Beloin?”

  She looked down at the floor, furrowing her brow, and nodded.

  “Well,” her brother finally said. “Will wonders never cease?”

  She looked back up at him with a questioning look.

  He shook his head. “Never mind. If I let you go back to Beloin-”

  “Let?” she asked acidly.

  “Indeed, if I let you. Note that I ensured you were well secured before we had this conversation. If I let you then you must promise me two things.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “First, if anything seems dangerous you will leave.”

  “Why would things be dangerous?”

  “Just promise me.”

  Sabre blew out a frustrated breath. “Very well.”

  “Second, if anything interesting happens you will tell me about it.”

  She looked at her brother for a long moment and realized that although the Duke of Beloin thought that he had engaged Robert’s help, there was something else afoot entirely. “Of course,” she finally said.

  In her own mind she reassured herself that she was to determine what rated as dangerous or interesting. It might not be the things that Robert would hope for.

  Chapter Twelve

  Late in the afternoon the house began to buzz again. Quince set aside the correspondence he was essentially ignoring anyway and went out to the front hall. Miss Bittlesworth was there, surrounded by well-meaning staff who fluttered around her like butterflies over a flowering bush. The young miss was a bit the worse for wear. Tired, dirty, and disheveled. When she saw him she dropped a curtsy and his staff followed her lead.

  “Your grace,” she said.

  “You have been returned to us at last.”

  She nodded. “I’m very sorry to have caused trouble, your grace. My horse had a stone in his shoe and I needed to walk him. I assumed he would know his way but I think we ended up walking in circles for hours. We would most likely still be out there if John hadn’t found us and brought us home.”

  Quince nodded his understanding, although he had no idea who John was. Perhaps a footman or stable boy. It was also a bit troubling to have Miss Bittlesworth referring to Belle Fleur as home, but after a long, hot day walking in a velvet riding habit she would probably be content to call a dirt-floored hovel home. She seemed close to tears. “Perhaps after a bath you would like to take supper in your room to rest?”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, your grace.”

  “Think nothing of it,” he reassured.

  She turned to ascend the steps, her bevy of maids still around her, and then turned back to him. At first it looked as though she was going to say something, then she simply dashed forward and burrowed against his chest, wrapping her arms at his waist. He hadn’t been expecting that and his arms reflexively came around her. She didn’t sob, just gave a shuddering sigh as she clung to him. After a few moments she backed away, damp-eyed and miserable. They stood there, hands joined and staring at one another for a moment. Then she turned and slowly trudged up the steps.

  Quince finally admitted to himself that he was, in fact, relieved that she was home.

  Sabre sent all of the maids away and sank down into the warm water, wrapping her arms around herself and leaning her forehead on her drawn-up knees. Robert had blindfolded her before leading her out of the house she had been held in. Then he and his men, men she hadn’t recognized, had left her in the woods after ensuring her horse did, in fact, have a stone in his shoe. That last part was a bit cruel, she thought. She had tried to dig it out with her hatpin but was afraid of causing the animal more pain than good and had given up. With the stone in the gelding’s shoe she had only walked a bit, not nearly as far as she had pretended in order to account for her absence. While walking she had practiced in her mind what she would say when arriving back to Belle Fleur. It had to be believable and she needed to seem distraught enough that they wouldn’t question her too closely.

  Then he had walked into the foyer and she actually had felt distraught. Terribly so. Until that moment she hadn’t even realized that her confrontation with Robert bothered her. Robert was just being Robert. Controlling and manipulative. She loved her brother, but as she had grown older she had come to know his flaws. She worried that she shared many of them. But if she was honest with herself, Robert had scared her this time. Her abductor had pulled her from her horse and covered her head with a black sack. She had struggled and fought, but with the close air inside the bag she had passed out after a few minutes. Then to awaken tied to a chair in a cellar? Under those circumstances finding her brother there had only added to her unease. She might try to talk her way around a common cutthroat, try to trick or beguile a thug, but Robert? No, her brother was more than her match.

  She believed Robert cared about her, and it seemed obvious to her that he was as, or even more, interested in keeping her away from the duke rather than the reverse. It made her wonder what sort of trouble the duke might be in and how, exactly, it had occurred to Robert to use her to advance his own aims. Or what those aims might be.

  But those few moments in the hallway, when she hadn’t been able to control herself and had flung herself into the duke’s arms? She had felt uncharacteristically comforted. Safe. In a way that perhaps she never had before. Her friends had certainly always been a comfort to her. And her brother Charlie. But something always made her push them away. To insist she could do everything on her own. But the duke… he didn’t seem bent on telling her what she should do. He wasn’t patronizing or judgmental. At least he hadn’t been with her. She sniffled. Perhaps she was just being maudlin and reading more into the situation than it warranted. Perhaps the duke didn’t care about her at all, making it quite easy to keep from telling her what to do. It seemed a bit more likely that she was just a lonely girl crying in a bathtub, wishing someone cared about her.

  She finally pulled herself together and finished her bath. Returning to her room she found a note that made her heart leap.

  If you would care for company we could dine in the north sitting room.

  - Q

  Smiling, she rang for her maid and sent a reply for him to read while she dressed.

  That sounds lovely, but wouldn’t it have been easier if I were still in the adjoining room?

  - S

  She was, she thought, even closer to being a duchess than she had realized.

  Quince drummed his fingers on the small, round table in the sitting room that would serve as their dining room table this evening. He wasn’t usually an impatient man but he could feel that he was on edge now. Too many pressures building up, both large and small. And he imagined Miss Bittlesworth was taking her sweet time arriving just to put a point upon the idea that if she had still been in the duchess’s quarters she could have arrived sooner.

  The light outside had gone to dusk but the sitting room was lit up with enough candles to hold a ball. The double doors to the hallway were wide open, the hallway lit as well. When he first saw her she was hurrying, almost running in h
er haste. Then she saw him and slowed her gait. He felt his heart race at the sight of her. What he thought had been general impatience was clearly just a need to see her, as his attention focused almost acutely. He rose to wait for her.

  For a moment he thought she was wearing that dress again. The red one that had so distracted him when they met. But this one was darker, more modestly cut. If the previous gown had made her look a courtesan, this one made her look, he conceded, like a duchess. And he supposed that was exactly what she wanted it to convey. Women were transparent in their desire to marry up and he couldn’t blame her for that. If she weren’t Bittlesworth’s daughter he would consider it. He might more than consider it.

  As she entered the room she smiled and held her hands out to him. “Thank you, your grace, for understanding that I would like some company, if not the formality of a meal in the dining room.”

  He bowed over her hand and kissed it. “You’ve had a tiring day.”

  She seemed loathe to release his hands and as he enjoyed the feel of her fingers clasped in his own, he did not pull away either.

  Havers’ voice gently intruded. “Would you like for me to serve, your grace?”