Opening the door, she urged him inside before swiftly closing the door behind them. Thankfully, Mrs. Morgan always ensured the gaslights were lit of an evening, knowing it was the one place in the entire castle Connie felt safe. Or at least safer than anywhere else while Duncan was in residence.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around, only to be caught in Alec’s penetrating gaze. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. A strange combination of rugged athleticism mixed with the air of a scholar. But there was also a steadiness to him, a gentle strength, that Connie felt drawn to. This was a man who would have no need to take out his anger on anyone weaker than he. She’d never met a more honorable or honest man.
She cringed with the thought of how badly she’d once treated him. Often ignoring him at assemblies and the like, simply because he hadn’t fawned over her like the other men had.
She’d been a fool.
“Sophie sent you, then?” was all Connie could think to say. She must sound like an imbecile.
“She asked me to check on you.” He paused, staring steadily at her. “So how are you, Lady Connie?”
He was still calling her by her maiden title, and there was something so familiar about him doing so, it reminded her of a time long ago. A time she wished she could escape back to.
Unable to withstand his close scrutiny, she strode over to the hearth and closed her eyes for a second, fighting the urge to cry again. She’d thought her tears from earlier were well and truly dried up.
It would be so easy to tell Alec what had been happening. He would believe her. Probably try to save her, too. But what could he do, when up against the powerful Duke of Kilmaine, whose word was law in these parts? And though she knew Alec could defend himself in a fight, Duncan never fought fairly. Her husband had enough servants and guards around the estate to ensure that Alec would be outnumbered.
No. She couldn’t risk getting him hurt. She’d never forgive herself if he did.
Filling her lungs with a hearty breath, she turned back to face him, and once again, she plastered a serene smile on her face. “Everything is fine. Absolutely fine, in fact.”
But Alec didn’t smile back. Instead he frowned. “Don’t lie to me, Connie.” He strode across to her, until she found herself staring at the crisp white cravat covering his neck.
She gasped softly as his hand gently tilted her chin upward, until her eyes met his. Warring with the frisson of fear from having a man touch her was a giddy sensation fluttering in her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her with such tenderness. If ever, actually.
“What’s going on? And I’ll have the truth this time, please.” Alec’s voice was firm, but she could hear the concern in it. It had been so long since she’d felt that anyone cared.
“As I said before, everything is fine, Doctor McGuiness.” She carefully reached up and very deliberately pushed his hand away from under her chin. “And you take too many liberties touching me and calling me by my first name. I am a duchess now. Or have you forgotten?” Perhaps if she sounded condescending, as she’d often done in the past with him, he’d believe her, and go.
“Aye. I’m well aware of that fact.” He stepped back and bowed stiffly. “Forgive me, your grace.”
There was contempt in his voice, and Connie felt her heart sink. He would forever remember her as being a coldhearted shrew, she was sure of that. And though a part of her hated knowing he would, at least he’d be safe.
“You can tell Sophie that all is well.” She was glad her voice sounded steady, when inside she felt like she was shattering into tiny pieces. “Now if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.” She inclined her head at him before sweeping past him toward the door.
She extended her hand toward the doorknob when, from behind her, Alec reached over her shoulder and pressed his palm against the wood. Preventing her from opening it and leaving.
“You’re not going anywhere, duchess. At least not until you tell me what the devil is going on.” His voice was a warm whisper against her ear. “Because I can tell things are certainly not fine. Please, Connie. I want to help.”
Connie gulped hard. She was wedged between him and the door, with his chest ever so gently pressing against her back. He was stopping her from leaving, but she didn’t feel scared. No. Instead, the sudden urge to turn around and press her own chest against his was nearly overwhelming.
Oh, Good Lord. She wanted to know what it would feel like to touch him. How it would feel to be touched with affection instead of anger… Dangerous thoughts to be thinking.
Slowly she turned around and tilted her head up to face him.
This close, she could see the rough stubble slowly beginning to cover his jaw and cheeks. And rather than pushing him away, as she should, she reached up and brushed her fingers lightly across the edge of his jawline, slowly tracing his stubble.
He breathed in sharply, and with some satisfaction, she saw desire flare in his eyes.
“What are you doing, Constance?” His voice was unexpectedly thick, though he made no move to step away.
Leaning in closer toward him, she was enveloped in his woodsy scent. A combination of sandalwood and soap. Clean and fresh, and so very masculine. A smell she wanted to wrap herself in.
Connie knew she was playing with fire. But right in this instant with Alec, she felt safe, in a way she hadn’t for a very long time. Not since she’d gotten married. And she so desperately wanted to feel safe.
The reality of the situation returned with an almost jarring impact, the image of her husband swimming vividly to mind.
What was she doing? Even she didn’t really know. But she did know she was risking Alec’s life if Duncan caught them in such a position. Not that they’d done anything untoward, even if a part of her was craving to. But Duncan would think the worst. For as much as her husband despised her, she was also his favorite play toy, and he was a jealous man.
Fear wrapped around her, its grip almost choking in its intensity.
She needed Alec to leave now. Before Duncan decided to search her out. But Alec was a stubborn man. He always had been. And if he was determined to get answers, he wouldn’t budge, not until she gave them to him. Telling him the truth, though, would only make matters worse.
“Very well. The truth is I’m bored. I thought you and I could have a liaison, you see,” she began, hoping her patronizing tone would deflect him from his purpose. “As a duchess, I thought it might be fun to allow a man who works for a living to pleasure me. Surely it would alleviate my boredom…at least perhaps it would.”
She nearly cringed at her own words. He really would think her horrid. But he’d be safe.
An equal mix of happiness and disappointment coursed through her when Alec took a very deliberate step away from her, a cold aloofness masking his features.
“I shall not bother you again tonight, Duchess.” He walked past her to the door beside where she stood and opened it.
Her feet felt frozen to the spot. The thought that she’d never see him again hurt more than she thought possible.
He paused at the threshold. “But if you do feel like actually telling me the truth, instead of trying to push me away… I will always help you. You just have to trust me.”
Spinning around, she could see the steady patience on his face. He hadn’t believed her. A part of her was relieved but another perturbed. What if she did want an affair? He didn’t know she wouldn’t dare to do such a thing.
“I really don’t know what you mean.” Would he believe her bluff? He hadn’t seemed to yet. “I told you everything is fine.”
“I can see the bruising under the lace of your sleeves, your grace.”
Automatically Connie glanced down at her arms. She’d been certain that the material covered up the worst of the bruises, even with the slight gaps in the lace. Alec was right, though, some of
the bruising was showing through faintly, but only to a trained eye. Which was exactly what his was.
She steeled herself and raised her eyes back up to meet his. “I should have remembered you were extremely observant.”
“Yes. You should have.” His voice was firm but gentle. “Are you going to tell me the truth of what’s happening?”
“I can’t…”
He was silent for a moment, simply staring at her, and Connie felt like his eyes were almost trying to penetrate into the recesses of her soul. “I fear I know what’s going on. But tell me this. Will you be safe tonight?”
An overwhelming sense of warmth filled her. It had been such a long time since anyone had asked her that. Knowing that Alec cared enough to check made her feel a little bit less alone.
Connie nodded. “Yes, I will be.” Well, she would be safe, after she spoke to Mrs. Morgan and ensured Duncan was too inebriated to do anything to her.
“Good. I’m staying at the Bull and Bush Inn on the outskirts of town,” he continued. “I was going to leave in the morning, but I’ve decided to stay.”
“For how long?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He stared steadily at her. “Until you decide to tell me the full truth, my lady. And until I’m certain you’ll be safe from your husband.”
Inclining his head, he then turned on his heel and walked out the door. She heard the clip of his boots slowly receding down the hallway as he retreated back toward the main ballroom.
Taking in several deep gulps of air, Connie focused on calming down. She didn’t know what to think or what to feel after her encounter with Alec. She’d always thought that she’d be mortified if someone she knew from her old life found out what was happening now, but all she felt was relief.
Absolute relief that she wasn’t quite so alone.
But before she could spend time analyzing it all, she had to find Mrs. Morgan and get Duncan sorted out.
Peering into the darkened hallway, she checked it was all clear, then left the library and walked toward the servants’ staircase. Suddenly she stopped, an uneasy sensation of being watched once again washing over her.
She glanced up and down the corridor. But she was alone, the rest of the servants either busy in the ballroom or downstairs preparing the food for supper. Very odd. She could have sworn she’d felt someone’s eyes upon her…
Connie shrugged it off, a slight shiver running down her spine, before continuing on to speak with Mrs. Morgan. After all, the longer she left getting word to the housekeeper, the longer it would take Duncan to drink himself stupid and be too inebriated to do anything to her later tonight. She picked up her pace. Then she’d make her escape from the ballroom and have at least one night’s peace.
And once in bed, she could long for the nothingness that sleep would provide. Or, if not nothingness, then at least a respite from her usual nightmares, with perhaps dreams of her past visiting her instead… Better times, where she was blissfully unaware of the cruelty life could incur.
Chapter Four
Blood was everywhere.
The metallic tang was thick in the air, with dark crimson pools of it soaking into the bedsheets and covering her nightgown and hands in an oddly caressingly manner. Connie tried to blink away the heaviness from her eyes as she attempted to make sense of what she was seeing in her muddled state. Was she bleeding? But she didn’t feel hurt. And she couldn’t see any cuts on her hands.
Confusion clouded her senses. Sluggishly, she shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs that seemed to be engulfing her thoughts. Sitting up slowly in her bed, Connie had to take in several breaths as a wave of nausea ran through her. She stared down at her chest, wondering why her white cotton nightgown was now covered in splatters of red.
She blinked and forced her gaze to gradually follow the trail of blood from down her chest and across the bedsheets. It was thicker as it tracked across the bed and over her husband’s body.
Duncan is here? she groggily thought. What was he doing here? He never slept in her bed.
And for a moment, as Connie sat there, staring at the silver hilt of the dagger lodged firmly in her husband’s broad chest, she couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened.
Was Duncan dead? No. That couldn’t be right. She must be dreaming…
But the cold starting to seep into her bones from the wetness, of what she assumed was his blood on her skin, felt too real to be a dream.
Slowly, the grim reality of what lay before her eyes started to penetrate her sleep-addled brain. Duncan was dead.
Which meant he couldn’t hurt her anymore. He couldn’t hurt any of them.
A small laugh bubbled out of her as a profound sense of relief flowed through her entire being. She was safe. Finally safe. Tears of joy began to course down her cheeks, dropping to mingle with the blood on her hands.
But then the elation vanished as fear gripped her. Duncan might not be able to hurt her anymore, but he’d been stabbed multiple times in his chest, and in her bed. And she was covered in his blood.
Everyone would think she had killed him.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Had she? Had she actually murdered her husband? But she couldn’t remember anything…
Of course she’d thought about killing him, almost daily. And then some nights in her sleep, the voices in her dreams had often whispered to her to stab him in the heart. But she’d never had the strength or courage to do so. Perhaps…until now?
Why couldn’t she remember what happened? The last thing she did recall was changing into her nightgown, having her nightly cup of tea, and then crawling into bed, with thoughts of Alec swirling in her mind before she drifted off to sleep. Then nothing. In fact, she’d slept so deeply that if it hadn’t been for Duncan’s body lying there with blood everywhere, she’d actually be feeling extremely well rested. Except for the slight headache and dry mouth, that is.
As bile rose in her throat, Connie wondered if she had lost her mind. Perhaps she had killed the bastard. But surely she’d not forget the act of sending him to Hell? Savor it, even.
She grabbed the sides of her head with both hands and pressed hard on her temples, willing her memories to return.
Remember, Connie. Remember.
It was no use. A thick fog was enveloping her head, and she couldn’t recollect anything of significance. Nothing at all.
She shivered, her gaze strangely transfixed by the sight of the dagger lodged prominently in Duncan’s chest. The sun was slowly rising, and its rays were starting to creep into the room, shining off the blade in an oddly beautiful manner.
But there was nothing beautiful about Duncan’s body. It looked like someone had stabbed him in a frenzy, blood still oozing from gaping holes in his hacked-up chest, before the final plunge into his heart, where the blade remained.
His eyes stared vacantly up at the ceiling, but his face looked like it had settled into an expression of mild surprise. Like he almost couldn’t believe his life was over. She hoped that he’d suffered in his last moments. That he’d hurt, as much as he’d hurt her over the years.
Connie grimaced at her uncharitable thoughts. She’d never been a violent person, nor had she wanted to inflict physical pain on anyone before she’d met Duncan. But she’d never known anyone else who’d deserved such a terrible ending as he had.
Oh God. Everyone would assume she murdered him. And maybe she had. Maybe her hands had ended his life. Perhaps he’d been so intoxicated he hadn’t put up a struggle.
She glanced at her palms and then examined them slowly. Apart from the blood smeared across them, they didn’t look any different. Were they capable of having inflicted such violence on him? Of stabbing him over and over again? A part of her feared she was.
It certainly wasn’t the first morning she’d woken with no memory of the night before. But it was the firs
t time she had to deal with a dead husband.
Twisting to the side of the bed, she threw up what little was left in her stomach.
Of course they’d all think she’d stabbed him. What else was there to think with her in bed next to his corpse and his blood everywhere? The thought brought with it pure terror.
A gasp echoed through the silent morning air. Connie glanced at the door and saw her maid Sarah standing there, an expression of horror on the girl’s face.
“My l-lady…” Sarah stammered. “What have you done?”
Connie thought she might be sick all over again. If Sarah automatically assumed she’d killed Duncan, everyone else would, too.
Which meant she would go to the gallows for sure.
Chapter Five
“Me lady, what are ye doing down here, at this god-awful hour?” the housekeeper, Mary Morgan, yelped as she hastily set down her teacup on the saucer, some hot liquid splashing onto the desk. The woman jumped up from where she sat, her rotund figure surprisingly agile. “The sun’s not even properly up yet. Ye shoulda just rung your bell.”
Connie rushed into the room, pulling the door shut behind her with one hand, while the other juggled a small traveling bag. “I couldn’t risk it.”
“Couldn’t risk it?” The older lady’s dark brows snapped together when they landed on the leather bag Connie was holding. “And why are ye dressed in yer travel clothes? Planning a wee trip, are ye?”
“Mrs. Morgan, I need your help.” Connie set the bag on the floor before hurrying over and taking ahold of the housekeeper’s hands in her own. A woman who had been so kind to Connie over the last year and a bit, who Connie thought of as a friend rather than a servant. “Rather desperately, I’m afraid.”
“What’s happened?” Worry now flashed in the woman’s eyes, magnified by the thick framed spectacles she wore. “And why is there dried blood on ye hands and wrists?” She turned Connie’s hands over, the dried blood clearly visible in the early morning light.
The Sinful Scot Page 3
