The Duke's Wager

by Jennifer Monroe

  James remounted Thunder with a nod. His frustration grew as did the heaviness of the rain. It became colder by the minute, and the thought of Sarah out there alone in this weather increased his worry threefold. Though he did not believe in omens, the ominous weather, the half-hidden moon on the horizon, and the lack of people about sent a shiver down his spine.

  When he was younger, James had traveled this road often with his parents as they made their way to various parties and dinners. It seemed there was one every week and he would begrudgingly spend his time at each event sitting with his back straight and his hands in his lap as the women doted on how well-behaved he was. That was until he went to the home of the Foxworths. There he did not have to be stiff and silent. There he felt…free.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as the horse with the same name moved through the heavy rain. The road was collecting water and James feared it would soon become a small river. The next town with an inn was over two hours away and that was in good weather. With this downpour, the journey could take four or even five hours. Determined as she was, James knew Sarah would eventually stop and find shelter. But where?

  If memory served him correctly, a few cottages sat to his right just off the road. Though he could not see them, he knew they were there. He gazed at the road. Unfortunately, any tracks Molly might have left would be long gone. Plus, too many people traveled this road to allow him to distinguish Molly’s tracks from those of any other horse even if he could see them.

  James could barely make out a horse as it came toward him. He pulled on Thunder’s reins to slow him. Perhaps the rider had seen Sarah and she was close by. The chances of some random man having pertinent information was a long shot, but James was a gambling man after all.

  James raised his hand in a friendly greeting as the horse approached. “Good evening…” he started to say, raising his voice to be heard over the torrent of rain coming down.

  The horse trotted past him and he let out a string of curses. He had no doubt in his mind that the horse was Molly, and there was no Sarah, or any rider for that matter, mounted upon her. His heart raced as he turned Thunder around, moved up next to Molly, and grabbed the reins.

  “Molly, where is she?” he asked, though he knew the horse could not answer. Groaning in frustration, his mind ran through lists of ideas as to why Molly was out wandering around on her own. The first idea was that perhaps Sarah wished to lead James astray; however, he quickly tossed that idea aside. Sarah loved Molly and would never part with her willingly for any reason, even if it meant setting a false trail for James.

  The second possibility was that she had made camp and the horse either escaped from fear of the storm or was spooked by something else. Though that was reasonable, he doubted it as well. Molly was as calm as ever as the storm raged around her now, so the chances of her bolting earlier for that reason were slim.

  The final option caused him to shiver, yet this time it was not from the cold. What if she had come into trouble somewhere along this road, and whatever that something was had made it impossible for Sarah to stay with Molly? Either she fell from the horse due to the increasing weather or she was forced from her horse by someone else.

  Anger shot through him as he thought of what he would do to any man who were to lay a hand on her. Then his eyes fell on a scratch on the back part of the saddle. It was straight and precise, and quite deep. No branch could have caused such a cut. The only thing that came to mind that could have damaged the saddle to that degree and in that fashion was a very sharp, very heavy, blade.

  There was no doubt in his mind now what had happened to Sarah. Her mother’s fears had come true; highwaymen had taken her. James cared not of how many there were nor what fate would befall him if he happened upon them. All that mattered now was Sarah's well-being.

  Holding onto Molly's reins, he turned the horses around and headed into the night to find the woman he loved and to save her from whatever horrible circumstance she now faced.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes, the pain of what was happening to her so great, so traumatic, she did not know how much longer she could endure it. She slowly sliced the hard cheese and set it on a plate, which she had to wash before it could be used it was so filthy, and placed a hunk of hard bread next to it.

  “Stay strong,” she whispered to herself. Then she pasted a fake smile on her face and hoped the redness of her eyes would not be visible in the low light.

  Harry had started a small fire, the warmth helping to take the coldness from the cottage and the dampness from her clothes, as well as heat the water for the tea. He sat in a wooden chair, a grin on his face as he placed his boots next to the fireplace.

  Sarah stared in horror at the man’s bare feet. Then the stench hit her so hard she feared she would collapse, the smell being worse than she had ever encountered in any stable or even on the docks of Weymouth.

  “Hungry,” Harry grumbled, snatching the bread and cheese from her hand. He took a bite of the bread and then the cheese, the smacking of his lips taking away any sense of hunger Sarah might have had. She grabbed a cloth and grasped the handle of the kettle that swung over the fire, the hot liquid steaming as she poured it into a chipped teapot. At least the tea smelled drinkable.

  “I figure once we leave here and settle down,” Harry said, a few bread crumbs falling from his mouth as he spoke, “we can start our family.”

  “Family?” Sarah asked, her heart racing.

  He nodded. “Six of the little bastards running around. Make sure you give me some daughters, too, so they can marry some fancy men with money.”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. Six children? She would not have one with him let alone six! Not only was the thought repulsive, but they would more than likely inherit the smell of his feet. She would be outcast even among the common folk, a fate worse than the one she found herself in now.

  He began to speak of their life together and Sarah forced a smile, though inside she shuddered with fear. Fate had been more than cruel to her that she would have to bear him many children. But no, even that was not the worst of it all. She stared at the tiny kitchen and swallowed a groan. She would have to work and serve this man. That was more painful than anything she could have imagined. She wiped at the tears that threatened to fall. If she could promise herself one thing, that would be that this man would never see her cry. Ever. Yet, the tears came, and try as she might, she could not stop them.

  “No need to cry, my love,” Harry said as he finished the last of his cheese and bread and then wiped his hands on his shirt. This brought on a new deluge of tears, and soon Sarah was sobbing into her hands in front of the fire. Why, oh why had she run off? She had jumped straight from the boiling water into the fire. Or was it from the frying bacon into the fire? Sarah could not remember exactly how the saying went as she had never had to deal with cooking and fires in that way, but all she knew now was that she was burning in the depths of Hell. “Now, now, what do you say we get to bed?”

  Panic rushed through Sarah. “But we are not wed. I think it best until that day, do you not?”

  He reared his head back and barked a laugh, spittle flying up in the air. “We do things a bit different than what you’re used to,” he said as he leaned forward, a grin on his stubbled face. She stared at him wide-eyed. “And don’t sit there and tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Are you implying that I have been with a man?” Sarah asked, the tears now replaced by outrage that he would speak in such an offensive manner. When she managed to escape from this peril, and she would, she now had no doubt because there was no way she would endure the gall of this man, she would write a book about it. Though she wondered briefly if anyone would be able to read a story so foul without being overcome with fear and thus unable to finish it.

  However, the look Harry gave was much different than what she had expected. Rather than the mocking he had done previously, his face had a curio
us look to it. “I figure you lot did all that with each other all the time.”

  She shook her head as she glanced around the small room. She needed to find a way to keep them both from the bedroom for as long as she possibly could, if not forever. If she had relations with him, her life would be ruined. She did not know why, but the advice Ingrid had given to her at the Horse and Plough came to mind. She searched the room until her eyes fell upon a bottle of liquor and an idea formulated in her brain.

  Sarah stood up and thrust out her bosom as Ingrid had taught her, and Harry's one good eye went wide as he wrung his hands together in anticipation. “Though I have not had any experience with men, there are certain things of which I am aware that a lady in my standing must do before coming together with a man,” she said, saying the words slowly in an attempt to give herself more time to allow the plan to develop in her mind. Seeing that Harry's single eye had not moved, she continued, her heart racing. “Do you remember the night we met? How you kissed my hand?”

  “Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “What about it?”

  She walked over to the small wooden stand and took the bottle of rum from it, relief rushing through her when she realized that it contained more than enough of the spirits for her plan to work. “Your lips were coated with this,” she continued, her back to him as she spoke so he would not see the lies in her eyes, “and when you pressed them against my knuckles, it was all I could do to contain myself.” She turned back toward him to see his reaction and was pleasantly surprised that it seemed he was buying her story.

  “Is that so?” he said, his voice sounding bewildered.

  She walked over and handed him the bottle. “It is so. It is called…the courtship of the…two birds,” she said. “Yes, that is what it is called. ‘The Courtship of the Two Birds’.”

  “Well, that’s a funny name, ain’t it?” He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and rather than pour himself a glass like any decent man would do, he lifted it to his lips, pulled back his head, and drank directly from the bottle.

  Sarah shuddered as she watched his ill-bred mannerisms. Retaining the forced smile to cover her disgust was almost her undoing.

  “This ain’t rum,” he said with a grimace. “It’s brandy. No self-respecting man would drink this at a pub. He’d be accused of puttin’ hisself above the others.”

  “Rum, brandy, it makes no difference whatsoever. What does make all the difference is that you drink some sort of liquor for the courtship to be successful.”

  He seemed to accept her explanation and pushed the bottle toward her. “So, what happens next?” he asked.

  Taking the bottle from him, she slid her thumb over the opening and brought it to her lips. She leaned her head back just as he had done and allowed a very small trickle to pass her lips and slide down her throat; however, she gave the illusion she was drinking much more than she was. Even the small amount burned her throat, and she coughed despite how little of the fiery liquid she had drunk.

  “Might want to go slower,” Harry said with a laugh. “Don’t need you passing out before we finish this courtship bird thing.”

  Sarah handed the bottle back to him. “I thought men of your caliber could handle their liquor. Besides, you must drink more for the courtship to be successful.”

  Harry narrowed his eye, his eyebrows crunching together. “You tellin’ me the truth?” he asked, his voice skeptical.

  Sarah nodded, placed her hands behind her back, and pushing her chest forward, quickly erasing the speculation from his face. “I am,” she said as she stood and began pacing back and forth across the small room. “For this ceremony to take place, we both must drink. Then when the brandy is at its full potency within our bodies, it will release the proper emotions through your lips onto my hand.” She stopped in front of him and held her hand out. “Then, and only then, may we join together as one.”

  “Sounds lovely,” he said dreamily, taking her hand and planting a wet kiss on top of it. It was all that Sarah could do to keep what little she had eaten in her stomach as his lips moved across the top of her hand. She had been violated before by this man and here he was doing it again. But the violation was the price she was willing to pay if it led to her escape. Though she would live in shame the rest of her life, she had to push on.

  “Now, that was good,” she said, pulling her hand back, “but more brandy is needed.” She pulled the bottle from him and pretended to drink once again. “Do you recall the night we met, Harry?”

  He nodded, then took a drink from the bottle. “I told you I did. I knew then that we were meant for each other. It’s why I had Marcus come with me to find you.”

  Sarah returned to her pacing. Pacing was the only way to get her mind to remain on her plan. Plus, it was what helped her to think and unfold her tales. “You were quite drunk,” she said. “I believe you had difficulty standing and your words were slurred.”

  Harry gave her an indignant look. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “Or is there?”

  “Oh, my, of course not! That is my point. It made your lips become looser, which, when they were upon my hand, caused great desire to stir in me.”

  He raised a single eyebrow at her. “I did that to you?” he asked in amazement.

  She stopped her pacing to stand before him, her smile as wide and captivating as she could make it. “It was all I could do not to tear my dress off my body right there and then.” She shook her head sadly and returned to her pacing. “Though, I wonder if you could bring about that same passion in me again. Perhaps it was only meant for that one time.”

  “We will see about that,” Harry said with the determination for which Sarah had hoped. “I can let the emotions get to my lips again,” he said. He then took a long drink and then lapped at his lips. “Now, let me see that hand.”

  Sarah presented it again, closing her eyes against the violation that was about to befall her once again. She grimaced at first when his lips pressed against her knuckles but then glanced down as he continued to rain down his kisses.

  “How’s that?” he asked in an unsure, and quite slurred, voice. He was now on his knees, and his stance wavered in his attempt to remain so. Sarah’s plan was bringing on the desired effect.

  “Harry, I believe it is working!” she shouted with glee. “I am finding it difficult to breathe, and my body is filling with desire. Do not stop now!”

  Much to her delight, he took another drink from the bottle, this time not even offering it back to her, and then kissed her hand once again. There had been almost a full bottle when they started and it would take a while for him to finish it off before he finally had enough to collapse in a drunken stupor. So, summoning all of her strength and allowing herself to be violated for the sake of freedom, she presented her hand once again to Harry.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  James’s frustration grew as the innkeeper shook his head. “No, My Lord, no one the likes of her has been by here in the last few days. As a matter of fact, we have had few travelers stop in at all. Most want to get to wherever they’re going as quickly as possible and then stay off the roads with all this rain. Will I give her a message if she arrives? What name will she give?”

  “No,” James sighed. “That will be all. Thank you.” This inn was the latest of many in which he had stopped to inquire if anyone matching Sarah’s description had stopped in the past day, but no one had seen her. He even inquired at several cottages along the way in the hopes that she had asked for directions or some other request, but to no avail.

  Though he would not give up, he had to admit that worry plagued him. With each passing heartbeat, that worry increased, and it was tenfold since finding Molly.

  “My Lord, there’s a man in the pub now who came in maybe an hour ago if you’d like to ask him.” The man bent forward and lowered his voice. “Though, I doubt he’s got enough brains about him to have noticed a woman unless she were wandering around in her shift.” He gave a loud guffaw at his attempt
at humor, but James found his words unamusing. When the innkeeper realized that James was not laughing, he cleared his throat and added, “Anyway, you might ask him if he’s seen anyone like the woman you’re asking about.”

  James doubted highly that speaking to some random man who happened to be out on the road would get him any new information. However, a drink sounded good after the hours of riding, so he thanked the innkeeper and walked through the small opening to where tables and chairs were set up in a small room. The stone fireplace was large and the fire blazing within it was substantial enough to begin drying his clothes as he walked past. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on two men in the corner drinking and laughing. Neither had noticed him walk into the room so engaged in their conversation were they. James walked over to a makeshift bar and asked the man behind it for a brandy.

  As the bartender poured his drink, James leaned against the bar and watched the men at the table. The elder of the two had bright red hair and a matching beard that was long and curly. His distinct Scottish accent made it difficult for James to understand what he said, but it was not he who James had an interest.

  The younger man had hair that was matted to his head as if he had not washed in months. His clothes were a dull gray and James wondered what color they had been when he first donned them. The crooked nose said he had been in more than one fight in his life and he had lost most of them. Unless his opponent looked worse than he did.

  “So, she got her prince from the sea and I got drinkin’ money,” the younger of the men said and the two belted out another round of laughter after clinking their mugs together.

  A cold chill rushed down James’s spine. There was only one woman he knew who would say such a thing, and she was not one to share her tales with a man the likes as the one sitting at the table. He slammed the glass on the counter, the amber liquid sloshing over the sides and the bartender giving him a gruff chastise for almost breaking one of the only glasses in the place. However, James cared nothing for the brandy or the glass in which it sat. This man knew where Sarah was, and if James had to beat it out of him, he would.