SoundsofLove (28 page)

His coach turned off the main road, and she recognized the
route towards his estate, Waverly Castle. “Yes. Sir Geoffrey and I read both
versions aloud the year before he grew ill.”

For several minutes, the duke quizzed her on various aspects
of the epic folksong, and her pride demanded she answer to the best of her
abilities.

The doctor and henchman bore glazed expressions when the
duke cleared his throat loudly to recapture their attention. “You’ll do very
well.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “As my wife, you shall bring a
feminine aspect to certain parts of Hedges’ work, and we shall produce a
first-class translation to last a millennium.”

His wife? The man was insane.

No, the man was a ruthless, self-centered, supremely powerful
duke. Very likely, no one ever denied him anything. To do so would spell ruin.

The claw clutched her knee again, just shy of inflicting
pain. “You’re through with Ahlquist. I heard he returned to his mistress last
week, and his mother has the Duke of Iverly’s sister in mind for him.”

Would Julian have sought another so soon? Only six days had
past. No, she would not believe that of him. His heart was too wounded, she
knew him that well. “We had a row.” She struggled to keep calm. “But we are on
the mend. My heart is not open to another alliance.”

His grip tightened, and she clenched her teeth against the
pain. “Don’t ever lie to me. He’s been publicly unfaithful to you, and you
don’t seem the sort to forgive such indiscretions so soon in an affair.”

She clamped her hand over his and prayed the man was
bluffing. “You’re correct, sir. I would never marry a man I found abusive in
any way.”

He glanced at her hand on his, and his hold loosened. “I
forget myself, Lady Sibley.” She exhaled sharply as the pain subsided to a hot
throb. “I acquired a bad habit from my grandfather. When I want something, I
grab for it.” The wiry man assumed what she supposed was his most virile
stance, while she rubbed her aching kneecap. “The doctor will examine you to
ensure you do not carry Ahlquist’s bastard, and we will marry in a fortnight.”

She flushed at the intrusion on her privacy. “In a
fortnight, I will know without the doctor’s…assistance.”

“Very well, but you will remain my guest until that time.”

How to refuse a callous duke? She stopped rubbing her leg
and concentrated on the task. “My father and brother are expecting me.”

“Send them word. You’re not a prisoner. You may have guests.”
He peered at her as if inspecting his purchase. “You’re to be a duchess. Most
women would show a bit of gratitude.”

She glanced at the doctor, and he turned to face out the
window, as did the henchman. She would find no allies here. The duke lifted her
hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her glove. She suppressed a shiver and
met his gray eyes. He dropped her hand and his voice grew vaguely seductive. “I’m
a patient man—you have two weeks to warm to me.” He grabbed her chin, nearly
pinching her. “I would prefer the doctor not have to sedate you on our wedding
night.”

Despair tugged at her, and her mind struggled to remain
afloat. “I believe Lord Ahlquist and I still have an understanding.” She broke
away from him and unhooked her neck clasp, revealing the cameo and taking
strength from her own words. “This is from the Ahlquist jewels. We had a
misunderstanding but nothing irreparable.”

She faced the physician with all the bravado she could
muster. As long as everyone was aware of her indiscretion, she might as well
determine the doctor’s role in this affair. Perhaps it would set the duke off
to hear the details. “Hedges told Ahlquist about our…brief encounter. How did
the baron know?”

“He offered compensation for information.” His smile
broadened. “As does His Grace.”

“So you seduced me?” He nodded and she continued, “So you
would have some information to sell.”

He shrugged. “You were willing.” Realizing he’d been
speaking of the future duchess in front of a glaring duke, the doctor recanted.
“Only the one time with Lady Sibley, I swear.”

The duke grasped her again, higher up her thigh this time. “The
past is behind us. I have my heirs, now I want to build my legacy. I hope you
don’t mind long hours.”

She scrambled to divert him. “Aren’t you concerned about the
earl’s translation?”

He scoffed. “I saw a copy. It’s a mishmash, a fake to put
Hedges off your scent. You knew that, of course.”

“I never saw what he sent to have copied.”

He released her and reached for the Sapphos. “Read to me.”

Asking him to turn the coach around would be akin to
spitting into the wind, so Cathryn took the text. It was not yet nine in the
morning. If Edna reached Fiona or Melina, they would come to Waverly Castle to
rescue her, and Cathryn would dine with her dear father by six. In the
meantime, she needed to stay calm and focus on defending herself against the
duke’s steely grip.

* * * * *

Fiona’s mind raced as she stared at the frail woman
recounting the incredible tale of Cathryn and the Duke of Clarendon. If
Clarendon claimed Sibley, that would leave Julian completely open—and deeply
wounded. The advantage would be hers, and she did so want an Ahlquist heir.

“Tell me again, slowly. What did she say exactly?”

“She said that you were her friends, and you would know what
to do.”

Damned honor. It was an inconvenient trait to carry, even if
done lightly. She glanced up to see Melina glaring at her. This was not the
time for selfishness, a good soul was in need.

Resigned, she returned to the earnest messenger. “Do you
wish to join us, or have you had enough?”

A light shone in the housekeeper’s eyes. “Sunrise to sunset,
I’m hard at work. It’s not yet noon, and I’ve been too long idle.”

“The best troops feel the same.” Fiona patted her on the
back as she headed to confer with Melina. “We leave in half an hour, refresh
yourself.”

Cathryn’s cautious optimism continued until the duke himself
ushered her into his vast library. Help was on the way. She merely needed to
stay alert to trickery. The nobleman appeared to be fairly rational, and the
expansive collection of leather-bound volumes distracted her, so she nearly
missed the blond boy sitting at a large oak table off to one side of the room.
She recognized him as Percival’s student with the blissful demeanor and curly
yellow locks. He glanced up when they approached but quickly went back to the
piles of papers before him.

“You may take a recess, Lawrence,” said the duke, and the
boy set down his pencil at once.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“How is your progress?”

“I’m missing a section of our master list, and that has
slowed me, Your Grace. If I could return to Lincoln, I believe I know where it
might be found.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps.” The duke’s grasp tightened as he
pressed her forward. “Lady Sibley will supervise your efforts.”

Cathryn’s jaw dropped, and she glanced at the stacks of
paper, reference books and Lawrence with a growing sense of frustration. “Sir,
I’ve never—”

“You will rise to the occasion.” He cut her off as he patted
her on the cheek, and she was grateful he hadn’t grabbed her chin, as he’d done
several times in the coach. “Consider it a betrothal gift to me.”

“Sir, I am betrothed to Lord Ahlquist.”

“No, you’re not. The man has moved on, and so must you.” He
nodded to a nearby footman, who rushed to pull out a straight-backed seat for
her. “We will lunch together in two hours. That will allow Lawrence ample time
to show you the state of the translation.” The duke urged her into the chair,
and she reluctantly complied. “I want this to go to the press before Christmas.
I met with the publisher last week, and he’s anxious to begin at double the
print rate. We can send him pages as you complete them. We might as well profit
from Hedges’ notorious death.”

A footman entered the room and spoke quietly to the duke,
who appeared disappointed at the message. Cathryn sensed his ambivalence over
leaving her unattended, but he left without another comment.

As soon as the duke was gone, the boy rose and gave her a
deep bow. “Lawrence Clarke at your service, Lady Sibley.”

“Thank you, Mr. Clarke.” Cathryn gave him a slight smile as
he resumed his seat. “It seems we’ve been conscripted.”

“His Grace is a hard master. We’d best not dally.”

“You worked with Sir Percival?”

“For the last year, my lady, until his accident.”

“Yes, that was horrid.” She knew he must think her an
uncaring widow in not attending the funeral, compounded by her alliance with
the man suspected of murdering her betrothed. “I hope you understand, I barely
knew Sir Percival. Our contract was my dying husband’s concept…”

“Master Hedges didn’t want to marry you, either.”

That stung. She wondered if the boy had witnessed Julian’s
attack at Oxford, and hoped not.

Lawrence continued, “He was a bit rough at times, but Master
Hedges was a good fellow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Slim shoulders shrugged. “I’m sorry for yours.”

Which one—losing Percival or Julian? The duke’s mention of
Julian’s moving on was unnerving. “Thank you.”

Delving into a complex translation was a daunting task, but
the awkwardness of the situation gave it an undeniable appeal. “Why don’t you
tell me where you are in the process?”

“We’re nearly done, my lady, only twenty pages left.”

“Out of seven hundred?”

“Nearly eight hundred. I worked on the last four hundred.”

“Sir Percival mentioned your contributions, he thought very
highly of you.” Glancing at the stacks of papers, she asked, “Why don’t I start
at the beginning and pick up your cadence and word choices? Then I can assist
you with the finishing touches.”

His incredulous tone spoke volumes as he reached for the top
pages of a far stack. “You know the
Digenis Acritas
?”

“Somewhat. My father and first husband were Greek scholars,
and I worked with both of them.” Glancing at what he handed her, she nodded. “I’m
familiar with this version.” She felt him watching as she scanned the text, and
she looked up to meet his eyes. “I’ll need a pencil and paper, to make notes.”

The young man hesitated.

“I was a poor fiancée, Mr. Clarke. Perhaps I can redeem
myself through polishing his legacy.”

He slid a notepad and pencil across the table.

“I expect to leave here this afternoon, but I will
correspond with you from my father’s home in Newtown Green.”

“I’ve been here two days, milady, since Master Hedges’
funeral. His Grace says he’ll speak with my tutors about finishing the term
under his guidance.” He glanced at his luxurious prison. “I wish I were home or
back at Lincoln…anywhere but here.”

A knot of fear threatened her stomach, and she took a deep
breath to dislodge it. Stay calm. Fiona and Melina would certainly arrive today
and offer some protection from the duke’s less rational actions.

And Julian would come when he received her conciliatory
letter and Edna’s message about the duke, two or three days at most. She prayed
she knew him that well.

The Duke of Clarendon’s fists clenched the dispatches as his
secretary recounted the latest news. “Ahlquist left York yesterday, making
haste back to London, we presume, or possibly Newtown Green. He and Lady Sibley
may have corresponded, and the morning papers announced her destination quite
clearly.” The bald baronet bowed mid-speech, always a sign of bad news. “I’m
afraid the fresh intelligence about the earl and his blonde mistress retracted
earlier accounts of a reunion. Apparently, it was the marquis seen with the
woman’s sister.”

“That makes it possible the earl is still intent on the
baroness.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He pondered the competition for a moment. “Trenchford’s an
arrogant pup. He could use another cuff to his conceit.” The duke chuckled at
his witty wordplay. “And I rather like Lady Sibley.”

Her clever ways would serve him well, and he’d been too long
without a lady. His cock twitched at the thought of bedding the buxom beauty.
He would take her in ways she’d never experienced, he would train her to please
his specific tastes, he would teach her the pleasures of submission. Once she
was his wife, she could deny him nothing.

A fortnight was out of the question. She had two days to
warm to him, and then the doctor could assist if necessary, but he would have
her. A special license was on the way. “The damned bishop had better not be
tardy, or he’ll forfeit that new gold chalice he thinks I owe him.” His
secretary’s bald pate bobbed attentively. “Lock all the gates, double the watch
and loose the dogs. Keep the bishop out of sight until I call for him. No other
visitors today but keep me informed.” The baronet scurried out of the room to
carry out the orders.

Perhaps he would seduce the baroness this very night. The
riding crop he kept in his bedroom loved to draw streaks of crimson on a
lily-white bottom. He wandered restlessly around his study, picturing the lady
bent over his desk, spread on the leather chaise, on her knees on the Aubusson.
Strong women loved a dominant man, once they’d sampled the freedom of obedience.
His second wife had begged to be whipped, lying legs open wide as he used her
for hours. Perhaps Lady Sibley would follow in her delightful manner. One never
knew what a person’s bedroom proclivities were until a full range of activities
were attempted.

Unfortunately, the translation took precedence over lust. He
adjusted his breeches, shifting his balls to ease the pressure of his expanding
prick.
I’ll have a maid tonight to tide me over.

Hedges had dragged his feet for years, and each delay of
publication was another public embarrassment. The damned project would die
without a final effort, and the student lacked the wherewithal to lead the
endeavor. Clarendon slammed his hand down on a windowsill and considered his
new bride from a less erotic angle.

Lady Sibley presented a triple advantage: intellect, poise
and beauty. Staring out at his manicured gardens, he could see her walking
there, entertaining his guests on sunny afternoons. Her extraordinary Sapphos
would undoubtedly outsell the less popular
Digenis Acritas.
He would
consider it her dowry.

* * * * *

Julian resisted the urge to order another brandy as he
re-read the last sentences of Cathryn’s letter.

Defending me was your only
fault, and it’s one I welcome. Your kindness and generosity of spirit were
constant in our affairs. I promise no more deceptions, and pray you agree with
my justifications.

We are too well-matched to
abandon one another. Let us begin anew. You may reach me at my father’s in
Newtown Green for the next week.

My heart is yours,

Cathryn

His own heart started beating normally again the first time
he read her letter, and now he was anxious to see her, but it was past midnight
and his coachman and footmen were already abed. The roads were slick and the
night moonless, so he knew better than to tempt fate by riding ahead. Tomorrow
morning would have to suffice. He rose from his seat by the fire, wishing
himself in Newtown Green so he could walk to her door and claim her. Glad that
her letter had reached him, elated that she shared his sentiments, relieved
beyond comprehension that they were on the path to recovery, he searched
through his travel bag and found his journal. She deserved new tributes, and he
knew exactly how to begin.

Show me, please,

Your measure of love.

As you wish.

At ten the next morning, Julian entered Cathryn’s childhood
home, now a book-lined sanctuary for a retired scholar. Howard Bradford and his
son, George, seemed only vaguely concerned that the Duke of Clarendon had
abducted Cathryn, and Julian spent little time debating the possibility that
she had come to harm. He glanced again at the note in his hand, given to him by
the Bradford butler ten minutes past.

Lord Ahlquist,

Lady Sibley’s gone off with the
Duke of Clarendon, and fears for her safety. I’ve gone to Gorham House for
help.

Signed, Edna Lewin

“The duke is a man of character and a friend of Geoffrey and
Cathryn’s. Her housekeeper exaggerated the danger.” A stout man in his fifties,
Sir Howard bore no resemblance to his comely daughter in appearance or sound
judgment. A portrait of a lovely woman hung over the fireplace, which reassured
Julian. Look to the mother to see the daughter’s future.

“I’ll send her your regards when I see her. If you are
correct, that will be in less than two hours.” Guilt over having sent the duke
her Sapphos, and drawing her to the light-fingered man’s attention, propelled
him out the door.

When Julian arrived at the duke’s front gate an hour later,
two guards told him to wait at the inn a mile down the road until the duke sent
for him. Dumbfounded, he briefly thought to threaten the gatekeepers with a
pistol but deemed that overly dramatic at this early juncture. With a heavy
heart, he instructed his coachman to drive to the Duck and Cock.

He found Fiona and Melina in a side room of the tavern. The
two petite women filled the spacious quarters with their anxious presence.

“Yes! I said you’d come.” Fiona shot Melina a glance Julian
recognized, a wager placed and won.

A sheaf of papers lay strewn across a table with what
appeared to be battle plans of the duke’s property. He scanned the documents,
relieved at all the detail. “I see the advance guard has reconnoitered the
area. What’s our status?”

“We spent the night here, after the duke sent us away. A
note came this morning saying he would receive us tomorrow for lunch, if we
care to wait.”

“So Cathryn’s alone at Waverly?”

“No. Mrs. Lewin is with her, she went in yesterday afternoon
as her maid.” Fiona glanced at the door expectantly. “Mrs. Lewin plans to meet
us here after the household has settled in for the morning, if she can break
away.”

“She had hoped to come last night, but she didn’t, so we
can’t rely on her,” countered Melina.

Fiona pointed to the drawings. “The estate is impenetrable.
No open gates, no breaks in the hedges and a dozen hounds patrol the perimeter.”

“How did Mrs. Lewin get in?”

“In a plain hired hackney at the back gate, with a satchel
of clothing and personal items.”

“Yes, staff are often invisible.” He looked between the two
women. “Have you considered sending another?”

“It would not be unusual for Lady Sibley to require a woman
to dress her hair, but both of us are known.” Fiona cast Melina a rueful look. “We
made a bit of a scene when we were denied access.”

Julian could not repress a smile. “I look forward to hearing
the tale when we have Cathryn back.”

Something in Fiona’s expression warned of an imminent attack
and he stiffened. “The innkeeper’s wife told us the Waverly gatekeepers have a
fondness for big women.”

He backed away from the table and readied himself for a
fight. “No!”

She took in his new hairstyle and smirked. “Bad timing on
shearing your mane, now you’ll need a wig.”

“This is not up for consideration.” His entire body rebelled
at the thought of donning women’s attire. His hands fisted, and he very nearly
reached for his dagger.

The witch just smiled at Melina. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Blonde. He might as well get the full effect of being a
woman.”

He rocked back on his feet. “No, not me. Why not another
woman?”

“To do what, dress her hair?” Fiona scoffed as she headed
for the table. “We need to free her from her velvet prison, not make her more
appealing to the duke.” She shot him a lancing glare. “Would you send a
footman?”