Behind the Mask (133 page)

“What for?” Cameron asked, moving around the desk to take her hand, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

“I need to get some Christmas gifts. I––”

“Christmas is more than seven weeks away,” Cameron protested gently.

“Don’t I know it,” Georg said in a surly voice.

Captain Dukerk laughed and spoke in his deep voice. “If he’s going to be in this kind of a mood until his wife returns, we should all be praying the time goes quickly, indeed.”

Cameron glanced wryly toward the captain then turned his focus back to Abbi. “I know when Christmas is,” she said in response to his comment. “And I can assure you that I will not feel like going anywhere at all long before it arrives. At the moment, I feel great and the weather is good. And I’m going shopping.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cameron said facetiously, then he turned more toward the men and added, “I know better than to stand in Her Grace’s way when she’s set her mind to something.”

“Indeed,” the captain sniggered.

“Who are you going with?” Cameron asked his wife. “If Elsa’s not here, then . . .”

“I’m perfectly capable of managing just fine. The carriage is waiting and––”

“I’m not having you go into town alone,” Cameron insisted.

“I won’t be alone. The driver and––”

“And is the driver actually going
shopping
with you, or––”

“I think I can manage fine on my own.”

“You’re seven months pregnant. And I’m not letting you go
anywhere
alone.”

“Are you offering to come along?” she asked with a teasing smile, knowing there was far too much work for him and Georg to justify time off for shopping. She could also understand Cameron’s concern, since Erich’s birth had come with some complications that had nearly cost Abbi her life. They were both thrilled with the prospect of having another child, but neither of them dared admit aloud that the ordeal ahead was frightening.

“I wish I could,” he said, and she knew he meant it. “But the captain won’t be needed here for quite some time,” he added as if he were discussing some great military maneuver. “He would be happy to escort you, I’m certain.”

Lance Dukerk looked up from some papers he was studying that were spread out on the table. “What was that?” he asked.

“We can finish here,” Cameron said. “I’d like you to escort Her Grace into town. See that she doesn’t overdo it.”

Abbi opened her mouth to protest, but the captain grinned and spouted with enthusiasm, “I’d love to.”

“Really, Captain,” Abbi said, “I don’t think that you should worry about . . . Surely you have more important things to do and . . .”

“Nothing so important,” Lance said, offering his arm. He winked at her and nodded toward the duke. “A pleasant duty, Your Grace.”

“Not too pleasant, I trust,” Cameron said with a little smirk. He gave Abbi a brief kiss then pointed a finger at the captain. “Mind your manners, Captain, or I’ll have you sweeping out cells in the keep.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lance said with mock fear before escorting Abbi from the room.

“And how are you feeling?” Lance asked Abbi as they moved down the long hall toward the main entrance.

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“I’m fine as always. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Abbi smiled up at him as he helped her with her cloak and they stepped out into the cold. It was highly common for Captain Dukerk to escort the duchess whenever such a thing was necessary. The duke trusted him implicitly, which trust had been proven in the past through incidents that had drawn them all close together, almost like family. In fact, Lance’s sister, Gwen, had been Cameron du Woernig’s first wife. Several years earlier, she’d been murdered by Cameron’s younger brother, Nikolaus, who had attempted to frame Cameron for the crime. Cameron had gone into hiding for a period of four years, and the circumstances which had proven Nikolaus’s guilt and restored the throne of Horstberg to Cameron had deeply involved Abbi, as well as Georg––and Lance Dukerk. The story of how it had all come together was well known among the people of Horstberg, but Lance Dukerk was one of the few people who fully understood what they had gone through to get where they were now. Neither of them could ever forget that they had come within a breath of being married to each other, and if Cameron had not survived the precarious game that had given him back his country, Abbi would this day be
Mrs.
Lance Dukerk.

In the carriage, Abbi turned away from the window to notice Lance watching her, an almost dreamy gaze in his eyes. Even though his features and coloring could be called average, he had a smile that glowed and a commanding presence that suited his position. Abbi turned back to the window, saying curtly, “If you don’t stop looking at me that way, Captain, I’ll find someone else to escort me.”

He cleared his throat loudly and turned away, embarrassed. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said. “It’s just that . . . you seem to grow more beautiful every year.”

“I’m quite pregnant, if you hadn’t noticed. I’ve rarely felt less beautiful.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.”

“Well, your compliment is appreciated, but I think you should be paying them to other ladies—
unmarried
ladies.”

Again he seemed embarrassed. “I didn’t mean anything inappropriate, Abbi,” he said. It wasn’t unusual for them to be less formal when they weren’t in public.

“I know that,” she replied. “And Cameron knows it too, or he wouldn’t be sending you to look out for me.”

“Why
does
he send me?” Lance asked.

“You know the answer to that question more than anyone.”

“I was just wondering if the answer had changed.”

Abbi looked directly at him and fought the urge to give some witty response that might lighten the mood. His question was intently serious. It deserved an equivalent answer. “He knows you would defend me with your life if it became necessary.”

“Gladly,” he said.

“Then it seems the answer hasn’t changed.”

“But I’m not so sure that most men wouldn’t. You just have a way of making people adore you . . . without even trying.”

“Now you’re flattering me, Captain.”

“I don’t use flattery and you know it. I’m well aware of the way people regard you. I’m just one of many who would lay down in the mud to prevent you from getting your feet dirty.”

“So you tell me.” She laughed softly. “But I’m not certain I believe it.” A moment later she said, “You’re looking at me that way again.”

“What way?”

“The way you used to look at me when we were engaged to be married.”

Lance laughed softly. “There’s no need for concern, Your Grace. I’m well aware that Cameron’s love for you is something I could never compete with, and the vows you share with him are not something I take lightly, I can assure you. It’s just that . . . I’m envious.”

Abbi shifted uncomfortably, wondering how they’d gotten into this conversation. “Lance, you really shouldn’t be saying such things; not after all this time. Not when––”

“No, you misunderstand me. I can assure you that I’m feeling nothing inappropriate, Abbi. It’s just that . . . I’m envious of the way Cameron feels about you. I want to feel that way about a woman.”

Abbi relaxed. “There have been many women vying for your attention these last few years.”

“Yes,” he said with a sour voice, “women who are enchanted by my uniform and my position. Shallow, flighty women, all of them.”

“There’s got to be someone out there who could find a way into your heart.”

“Do you really believe that, Abbi? Is there really a special someone for everyone?”

“I’d like to believe that. You’re a good man, Lance. You deserve to be happy.”

The carriage halted at the edge of the square and Lance helped Abbi step out. He gave the driver instructions and escorted the duchess into the square where she eagerly began her search for the perfect gifts for those she loved and cared for. An hour into their shopping, they sat together on a bench at the edge of the square so that Abbi could rest her back. Lance relinquished his armload of packages and sat beside her.

Abbi hated the way she found herself searching in the crowds for women who fit the profile she had seen in her dream. She wanted to find every woman with dark blond hair and look into their eyes and tell them to be careful. When anxiety began to overtake her, she forced a distraction into her mind.

“Don’t you find it a little demeaning for the Captain of the Guard to be carrying about the duchess’s packages?” Abbi asked.

Lance laughed. “Not in the slightest. I can assure you I get plenty of opportunities to explore other more masculine aspects of my calling. Such things as this are a pleasure.”

“So,” Abbi asked, “what is it you’re looking for in a woman?”

“I want someone who needs me––I mean, really needs me.”

“A damsel in distress, then?”

“Perhaps,” he laughed, “but . . . not necessarily. I mean . . . I just want someone who will allow me to care for her, and will do the same for me. I want a woman who loves me for who I am, not what I am. No pretenses. And . . . well, I just want to feel the way I know Cameron feels when you walk into a room.”

“Have you ever felt that way?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But when I feel it, I’m certain I’ll know.”

Abbi smiled. “I’m certain you will. And when you find this great lady, I expect to be one of the first to know.”

“Oh, you will be,” he said and came to his feet. They bought some lunch from one of the vendors and took it back to the carriage to share with the driver, who was waiting with a good book. After eating, they shopped a while longer, then set out for the castle, the seats piled with packages.

“A successful endeavor,” Lance commented, eying all that Abbi had acquired.

“Yes, I believe so,” she said. They talked casually of the happenings of Horstberg, which Abbi kept well versed on. She knew every political maneuver taking place, and was well aware of the problems and struggles of their little country.

The moment Lance stepped down from the carriage, an officer approached him, clearly agitated. “Good, you’re here,” he said. “I was about to send someone to get you.”

“Has war been declared or something?” Lance asked, knowing his men were trained well enough to handle practically anything without him.

“No, sir. It’s . . . a woman, sir.”

“A woman?” Lance laughed as he helped Abbi step down.

“Yes, sir,” the officer continued, seeming even more flustered. “She arrived a couple of hours ago, insisting that she see the duke personally.”

Lance exchanged a comical glance with Abbi. “And surely you told her that no one sees the duke personally under such circumstances.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Then why is she still here?”

“Well, she has nowhere to go, sir. She just arrived in Horstberg and . . . well, I think you should talk to her yourself. Then you’ll understand.”

“Very well,” Lance said and turned to tell the duchess goodbye.

But she firmly said, “I’m coming with you.”

“Very well, Your Grace. Perhaps this calls for a lady’s touch.”

“Perhaps it does,” she said, and they followed the officer into the area of the keep where the captain’s offices were located. The officer opened the door of a small room used for interrogation where a woman came immediately to her feet, along with a young girl who appeared to be about four or five years old.

“This is Captain Dukerk, madame,” the officer said. “You may address your problem with him.”

“Thank you,” the woman said and the officer slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Abbi managed to keep from gasping when she saw this woman. She told herself not to overreact. Simply because she had the same type of hair that Abbi had seen in her dream did not necessarily mean a thing. She forced her heart to slow down and allowed Lance to do his business.

Lance took a moment to absorb this woman, while the woman absorbed Abbi du Woernig, who was standing at his side. She had a typical awe-struck expression that came over most people when they first got a good look at the Duchess of Horstberg. Abbi just had a way of affecting people that was difficult to describe.

The woman and child were both dressed poorly, especially considering the weather. Their faces were pinched with stark evidence of cold and hunger. The woman looked to be in her middle twenties. Her hair appeared to be dark blond and curly, although most of it was covered with a gray, wool scarf that had obviously been through some difficult times. The child had dark hair and brows, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Lance didn’t know what the problem was exactly, but he asked the first thing that came to mind. “Have they given you anything to eat?”

The woman looked surprised but answered in a quiet voice, “Yes, thank you. We just enjoyed a fine meal while we were waiting.”

“Good. It would seem my men actually know what they’re doing occasionally. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need to see the duke, right away.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mrs. . . . uh . . . I didn’t get your name.”

“Rader,” she stated. “Nadine Rader.”

“Well, Mrs. Rader, I’m afraid that seeing the duke is not possible. But if you would like to discuss the problem with me, I am able to act on his behalf and I’m certain we can take care of whatever––”

“No,” she snapped, “you don’t understand. I have come many miles to see him. I must talk to the duke . . . personally!”

Lance exchanged a discreet glance with Abbi before he said gently, “Mrs. Rader, if you will tell me what the problem is, I will determine whether or not it warrants the duke’s personal attention. He is a very busy man and––”

“He will see
me,”
she said firmly.

“And how is that?” Lance was firm but kind.

A long minute of silence passed while Lance’s frustration became undermined by a certain intrigue. It was easy to feel sorry for her, not to mention, curious. When she didn’t answer, Lance stated the established policy, “If you would like to write down your name and request, I can see about getting you an appointment sometime next week and––”

“No,” she interrupted again, but this time her voice cracked. “That’s impossible.”