The Duke and the Dressmaker (The St. James Series) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Alone in her back room, Sara paced. The time grew near when Stinky could come walking into her shop. He didn’t say it would be exactly one week. But if so, that would be tomorrow. Maybe he would come today. Or maybe he would never come back. Could she be so lucky? How she wished she had someone she could trust, but there wasn’t anyone.

She had to do something. The
cold coins rolled between her fingers as she thought. She hoped it was enough, it had to be enough. Cringing, she reviewed the conversation in her mind. If it wasn’t enough, he’d threatened to break something. A finger? Her hand? What exactly did he say? Why couldn’t she remember? If he did break her hand, she would be finished. How could she work with a broken hand?

S
weat broke out across her brow, dripped down her back. Her thoughts jumbled, her eyes darted. Wrenching her hands, she attempted a plan. Maybe she could hit him with something, a piece of wood, or a poker. Maybe she could get a gun. But where could she get one? They probably didn’t give guns to women. Who could she ask for a gun? None of her old friends would help her. Maybe the duke would help her. No, she doubted that. He had no interest in her well-being. What was she to him? She was but a common laborer. Why should he help her? Especially considering what her husband had done to him.

She wished she could ask the
duchess. Mary had told her she could call on her if she ever needed anything. However, this would be so inappropriate since it wasn’t an ordinary situation. She hardly knew the duchess and did not want to take advantage of her offer of friendship.

How had she let herself get to this point? She had no one. There were no neighbors, no friends, no
one at all.

Making her way into the front room
, she gathered her reticule and opened the front door with no destination in mind. She had to get out. Scurrying along, her eyes searched the street for the mad man to make sure he wasn’t stalking her. She had no purpose, where could she go? Grab something to eat, that was what she’d do since she had little at home. Armed with a goal, she searched the shop signs for a place to find food. Stopping in front of Gunter’s, she found herself pushing the door in.
An ice. Perhaps my last meal.

Ambling
across the small store, she ordered a lemon ice and paid for it. She stepped outside and, finding an empty bench, sat down with a heavy sigh. Maybe this was what she needed. She loved ices, after all. Perhaps the cold delicacy would calm her. Every crisp, citrus-laden bite melted slowly over her tongue, relieving her anxiety as well. She savored each taste, remembering the days when her father had brought her here as a little girl. Smiling, her eyes closed, and she delighted in the memories of kinder days.

Feeling a
sudden change around her, she opened her eyes and jumped in surprise. Towering over her, blocking the sun, stood the Duke of Brentwood. She gazed at his imposing presence, from the top of his tall, dark head down to his impeccably dressed body. She blushed at her boldness and dropped her eyes, staring into her ice.

“
Lady Downey, may I join you?” he inquired with a rather husky voice.

“Of course,
Your Grace.” She smiled politely at him, secretly wondering what interest he could possibly have in her.

He s
at down, searching the area with his eyes before directing his attention at her. “Are things slow for you, Lady Downey? My sister did not give you enough business?”

“Oh no,
Your Grace. Business is very good. I just stepped out for a short break. I have many things to do. You are correct, I should go back and work on your sister’s and your mother’s gowns.” She gathered her reticule and stood.

The duke bounded from the bench. “Please stay.” He reached for her
, but pulled his hand back at the last minute. “My mother’s? You have gowns to make for my mother?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Why, yes. Your mother stopped in yesterday and ordered
some day dresses. Is that a problem?” Sara set her things down again, but remained standing, confused by his questions.

Philip smirked.
Wasn’t that typical of his mother? If she had wanted a gown, she certainly could have ordered it earlier in the week when they had been there with Emma. He wondered what her ulterior motive had been. She usually had one. How he wished he could have been privy to the conversation between his mother and Lady Downey.

“Is something
amusing, Your Grace?” Sara’s chin jutted out another inch.

She was a feisty one
. He controlled his grin. “No, forgive me. I was thinking about how lovely you are today. Is your gown your own design?” His gaze perused her from head to toe.

Sara blushed, but
her eyes blazed, her words harsh. “There is no need to flatter me, especially out of context. No one can hear you, and I am certainly not in the market to be anyone’s mistress, so there is no reason for false compliments.”

“False compliments?”
He stared at her.
Was she serious?
“I assure you, I am not passing false compliments just to placate you, as I have no reason to. And I am not in the market for a mistress, as you so crudely stated.”

“Well, my husband reminded me everyday how homely I am and how lucky I was to have his attentions, so I am not a young one of the
ton
that is easily taken in by your sweet words. I know full well what my attributes are.” He noticed her hands shook as she spoke.

Philip
could not respond. How could he respond to such a remark? Homely? What the devil was her husband’s game? The woman was a sheer beauty, gorgeous in his eyes.

“Good day, Your Grace.” She
spun on her heel and headed back toward her shop.

He watched the sway of her hips, the arch of her back as she left. Her chin was held high. Society was not going to ruin Sara Downey. She obviously had much more character tha
n the
ton
was used to dealing with.

How could she possibly believe her husband’s comments? There was nothing homely about her. She had a heart shaped face with porcelain skin and a tiny pert nose. Rosy lip
s with the fullness every woman hoped for adorned her countenance. Her features made her a classic beauty, not a sensuous beauty such as Miranda. He would wager her face and perfect body dressed with nothing but wavy sable locks would be deadly in the bedroom. Those green eyes were meant to stare at him with passion.

H
er sexuality would only flourish with the right man; he was sure of that. Apparently, her husband was not the right man. His loins told him he was.

Chapter Eight

Sundays in spring were glorious. The daffodils blossomed, tulips tossed their colors, and that made for a fabulous time to fish.

Philip returned from
church and strolled in the door behind his mother with only one purpose in mind. He took the stairs two at a time, changed his clothes, and returned in record time with a smile on his face. He was on a mission.

His mother caught his demeanor with a smothered smile.

“Where are you going in such a rush, Philip?”

“A
h, Mother, ‘tis a fine spring day and I think it is time to find my pole again. I am headed to the lake, unless you need something from me.” He actually smiled at the thought of fishing again. “In fact, if Graham is bored, send him out to the lake.”

“Why, what a splendid idea! You will, of course, be around to dine with us later this afternoon?”
She gave him a smile in return. “I have informed your brothers they all need to be here as well.”

“Of course, I would not dream of missing our family meal on Sunday. I will return with plenty of time to dress for dinner, Mother.”

Mary St. James tipped her head as she eyed her eldest. “Well, then, enjoy your time. But please remember to wash those fishy-smelling hands when you return. Fiddle-de-de, your father’s reeked to the heavens.”

Philip chuckled and turned to leave the house. “I think I am old enough to remember to do that.” The door banged shut behind him.

Whistling as he walked, he thought of the wonders of spring, how just a change in the air could motivate people to do many things. He stopped at the stables and went to the storage room to pick up his fishing gear. While he was there, he reached up to his hidden cupboard and opened it. He stared at the carved sailboat inside.
Good, it is still there
.

He tossed the
toy sailboat in his pocket and decided to walk to the lake. Spring flowers were visible throughout the meadow. He gazed up and checked to be sure there were no rain clouds in sight. Hiking out to the lake would take a bit, and he didn’t want to get caught in a downpour. Of course, his father had built a small cabin by the lake just so his children had a place to go if a storm blew in while they were in the water. Times at the lake made up his favorite memories from his childhood.

When he reached
the tranquil setting, he paused to take it all in. He hadn’t been here in a long time. His last visit was probably right after he had married Caroline. She hadn’t liked swimming or boating, so the visits to the lake had ended.

The
dock was in sad need of repair; parts of it creaked under his weight. He stepped carefully and set down his gear. He stared at the lake, visions of his childhood reflecting in the glassy pool. His favorite times were fishing with his dad and Graham. As his younger brothers grew, the five of them had tried to fish together, but the fish seemed to know when they were coming. Adam was quiet, but baby Benjamin had been a chatterbox, as his father oft called him.

Swimming with his brothers had been fun as well.
Jumping off the end of the dock, their favorite contests had been to see who could make the biggest splash.

He threw his line out and waited.
As he sat there immersed in memories, he realized how sad it was that there were no children out here to enjoy the lake anymore. Perhaps one day one of his brothers would marry and bring a child into this world.

The only problem was
that he was the duke and most of England expected nobility to bring children into the world, declaring it his responsibility to fill his nursery. This was his lake now. His brothers would live elsewhere when they married, each of them acquiring one of the other estates he owned, but this was the only estate with a beautiful lake. He should be reclining on a towel in the grass next to his wife, watching their little ones splash in the shallow water.

He fingered the wooden sailboat in his pocket.
Pulling it out, he rubbed his thumb across the well-used toy. His father had given each of his children their own boat to play with in the water —his dad’s attempt to cease the squabbling between the boisterous brothers. But it hadn’t worked as his father has hoped.
Boys will be boys,
Philip thought as he shoved the worn toy into his pocket. He was glad he had saved his. Actually, it was a treasure to him, one he had saved to give to his own son.

Sadly, he had little hope that day
would ever happen. Caroline had changed everything. The pain of loving and losing her was still too great. How could he ever trust another woman? He vowed he would never have a woman he didn’t trust raising his child; legitimate or not. Yes, he’d been very careful to make sure there were no bastards of his out there.

Ironic that
when he finally had married, he’d chosen an infertile wife. After two years, Caroline should have been pregnant, since they had practiced plenty. Even his mother had been surprised Caroline never carried. However, Caroline hadn’t seemed upset about their lack of children. Perhaps it was his fault. Maybe he was unable to sire a child. Most blamed it on the woman, but some believed it could be a man’s fault as well. “Seeds that cannot take” they were called.

As he stood there, emerald eyes forced their way into his mind. Was it possible? He thought of Sara’s soft, swaying hips.
Reaching into his pocket, he stroked his fingers across the tiny wooden boat one more time for luck as he used to do.

Could he love again?

No, his mother was probably right.
He was merely in lust again.

***

Sara rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she noticed the brightness of the day. Unable to fall asleep, she had climbed down the stairs in the middle of the night to work on her sketches. Drawing used to calm her, especially when she created wedding gowns. But it had not worked last night. The vision of Stinky hid in every shadow, haunting her. How she wished she did not live alone.

Catching her reflection in the looking glass, she realized how sleep deprived she was. Her eyes were red,
and dark circles formed underneath. Her appearance was nothing short of unsightly.

She spent over an hour straightening her work area. Her breakfast was simple, dried toast and tea. She decided to work on
Emma’s gowns. Sunday was her least favorite day since she rarely had plans. Her shop was not open and she had no friends. Usually she spent the entire day sewing. Invitations had stopped coming once her husband had left. Thinking back to earlier in the week, she realized she could attend dinner as the duchess requested. She shook her head. Encroaching on their family dinner wasn’t appropriate in her mind. Every family deserved time alone.

Her eyes became heavy as she worked. All the doors were locked so no one could get in. She had been especially careful
locking up since Stinky’s interruption last week. Her head leaned forward as she dozed.

Suddenly, a
grimy hand grabbed her from behind and yanked her out of her chair, slamming her against his body. She gasped for air, gagging at the odors that attacked her senses.

“Where’s the money, Lady Down
ey? I’m here for my payment.” He rubbed his hard member against her backside. “Of course, I am hoping you don’t have it and I can take payment in other ways.” He ran his tongue up the side of her face.

Retching from his stench, Sara vomited.
She tried to stop it from happening, but she couldn’t help it.

“You filthy bitch!”
He shoved her away from him. Her arms swung wildly in an attempt to keep her balance, but she lost the battle and sprawled on the floor. Wiping her face with a nearby cloth, Sara tried to catch her breath, pinching her nose closed to keep the fetid air from assaulting her senses. Stinky towered over her and kicked at her bottom. She tried to curl into a ball, but he kicked her again.

This is it
,
he is going to kill me
. Her breathing increased, her eyes darted over her work room, searching for a weapon, anything within her reach, but she found nothing. She glanced at him enough to see the madness in his eyes. What could she do to stop him?

“Please,” she cried. “The money, I have it.”

He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her back up so she stood in front of him.

“You better have it, Lady Downey, or you will regret it.”

The foul air surrounding him reached her nostrils again. Her eyes closed because she couldn’t look at him, sure she would wretch again. Fighting the nausea, she thought of her father, anything but this disgusting man in front of her. Her hands hugged her belly for protection. On impulse, she hid her fingers. He wrenched her hair until she screamed.

“Get it!” He
shoved her in front of him.

Sara wiped her mouth as she
stumbled to the front room, tears blurring her vision. Finding the small bag from her front cupboard, she handed it to him.

He snatched the bag out of her hand and emptied it over a nearby table. He spread the
coins out as he counted.

“This is it? Where is the rest?”

“That is all I have. I am not wealthy. You never told me how much.”

He
threw his head back and laughed, showing his black teeth. Spittle rolled down over his bottom lip, leaving a line in the dirt on his chin. Rough stubble covered his face, bits of dried food caught in the whiskers. Sara shuddered.

“It’s not enough, wench. Your husband owe
d us three times as much. And now that he is dead, you have to pay his debts.” Spittle flew as he barked.

“How did he die? Maybe he left some money wherever he was. Perhaps he had money stowed away. Do you know what happened to him?” Sara
asked, desperate for anything.

“He is dead because my boss wanted him dead
. He was still gambling, playing with our money and ignoring his payments. So he is dead. Did I neglect to tell you that I killed him? He died a slow, painful death. Is that what you want?” He grinned at her. “I can arrange it if you would like.”

He grabbed her hair again and
tugged her forward. Sara’s vision blurred. She was close to fainting. Three times as much? Where would she possibly get that kind of money?

Th
is was it. She gave up. She glanced at his repulsive face. Why fight him? Why not kill her now? She would never have that kind of money. No one would come to her rescue. No one cared if she lived or died. She was completely alone.

Make it quick, please, make it quick
. I have had enough.

Her breathing slowed.
Serenity swept her body as she felt herself falling to the floor. Everything would be all right. She would see her mother and father again. Nothing mattered anymore. She accepted it. Death was inevitable. A slow smile crept across her face as her eyelids closed.
I am ready.

No, Sara, no! Fight, daughter. I taught you to be stronger.
You have much to live for. Fight! For your children, fight!

Sara’s eyes snapped open. Where had her father’s voice come from? What was happening? Her eyes searched the room, but only found Stinky.

“Two weeks, do you hear me?” He kicked her side. “What is wrong with you, girl? Listen to me! You have two weeks to get me the money. Three times that amount I want. And if you tell anyone, remember, I will find you in your bed and enjoy you all night long.”

Stinky collected the
coins and dropped them in his pocket. He walked toward the back door then stopped and turned, an evil smile on his face.

“Oh, how could I forget?”
he said as he strolled back to Sara.