Sins of a Duke (23 page)

Josefina fled the breakfast room, hurried up the stairs, and ran to her bedchamber. With the sound of her slammed door still echoing, she bent over her wash basin and vomited up her breakfast.

“What have I done?” she muttered, sinking to the floor. Tears ran down her face and splashed onto her arms.

If Sebastian hadn’t tempted her so, if Harek had been the one to stay about, she might have been able to do it.
She might have been able to remain the woman who was only after what she thought she deserved. And Harek probably would have gone along with it, so long as he could live comfortably and shoot animals every so often.

But she wasn’t that woman any longer. She didn’t particularly like that woman. She liked the one she’d become since she’d kissed Sebastian, since she’d met someone who clearly valued her for who she was rather than what advantage she might bring him. And that had to be true, because being associated with her was to Sebastian’s
dis-
advantage in every way she could imagine.

And she was still so, so selfish, because she wanted him anyway. A sob broke from her chest, followed by another, and another. She curled up on the floor of her borrowed bedchamber and wept.

Whichever way she turned, she would bring Sebastian derision and ruin, and even death. If she called off the wedding there would be a huge scandal, and her father would have no reason to think that Sebastian would keep his silence about what he knew. If she married him, he would be forced into a life of fraud and deception, which would destroy him, or he would refuse to cooperate—and her father would kill him.

“Your Highness?” Conchita’s voice came from the doorway as the door quietly closed behind her. “What’s happened? Are you ill? Your Highness? Miss Josefina? What’s wrong?” The maid knelt beside her.

Josefina lifted her head. “Conchita, please don’t say anything about this,” she managed, struggling to sit up. “I’m just…just overwhelmed.”

“Of course you are. An engagement to a duke, a wedding, the people all wanting a send-off from their beloved princess before they sail to Costa Habichuela, all of the balls and parties spent getting support for your papa—this is a success because of you, Your Highness. The weight
on your shoulders would crush most men, I think.”

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Josefina stammered, letting the servant help her to her feet. “Please say nothing; I don’t want to worry my mother and father.”

“I won’t say a word. Let’s get you pretty again for your drive.”

“Yes,” Josefina repeated absently, her mind beginning to race. Conchita was correct;
she
was the keystone to this plan of her father’s. Remove the keystone and there would be no union between the Embrys and the Griffins. Sebastian knew to be wary of her father now, and if she simply…vanished rather than declaring that she wouldn’t marry him, people might speculate, but it would be about her and not about him.

It could work. It would work. So she would go driving with her father as he planned, and then tomorrow she would be gone. Without the keystone, the building could collapse, and the bricks fall where they would. She would be miserable, but she deserved nothing less. And the Duke of Melbourne would be free to do whatever he needed to stop this disaster from happening.

“D
o you have any idea what time it is?” Valentine, the Marquis of Deverill, grunted as he half-stumbled down his stairs.

“Seven o’clock,” Sebastian returned with a brief grin. “In the morning.”

“And people used to say
I
was the devil himself. They had it wrong, obviously, because only Beelzebub would pull a contented husband and father out of his nice, warm bed at this bloody hour of the morning.”

The Corbett House butler pulled open the front door as Valentine, still complaining about being forced to rise, reached the foyer. Sebastian waited, arms folded, while Valentine pulled on his greatcoat and gloves. Excitement and anticipation ran just beneath his skin, but he refused to pace. Whether he could remember the last time he’d felt…hope—not just for his daughter or his family, but for himself—or not, he had no intention of kicking up his heels and laughing. It wasn’t dignified.

“I’ll return Lord Deverill to the house in an hour or so,
Hobbes,” he said, gesturing Valentine to lead the way outside, mostly because he wasn’t certain the marquis would follow if given a choice.

“Very good, Your Grace.” With a quickly stifled smile the butler closed the front door on them.

Green stood in the drive, holding the reins of his own horse as well as those of Merlin and Iago. “Good morning for a ride, my lord,” he said, nodding at Deverill.

“Bastard,” Valentine muttered. “Where the devil are we going?”

“For a ride. The morning air always helps me clear my head.”

“It will probably kill me,” his friend noted dourly. “You do this every morning?” he continued dubiously, as he swung up on his bad-tempered bay.

“Yes. And you’ll be happy to know that I delayed an hour before coming to get you.”

“We’re not riding off to rescue villagers this morning, are we?”

“It’s not on my calendar, but no promises.”

They clattered down the drive, turning in the direction of Hyde Park. At after seven o’clock the streets were already filling with milk wagons and vendor carts, but the members of the nobility who wouldn’t hesitate about approaching him were thankfully still mostly to bed. A certain young lady was probably still asleep as well, her thick black hair spread wildly across the pillows and her long lashes caressing her soft cheeks.

“What’s wrong with you?” Valentine asked abruptly.

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re grinning like a lunatic. It frightens me.”

Sebastian tamped down his expression. “As I told you, I like to ride in the mornings.”

“That’s not it.” The marquis eyed him. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Valentine was exceptionally aware of his surroundings and the people in them, but even so Sebastian hadn’t realized he was being that obvious. “Yes, you’ve guessed it,” he countered, attempting to sound sarcastic. “With a nation to flood, a fraud to stop, and a wedding I never intended, why shouldn’t I be ecstatic?”

The marquis narrowed his suspicious green eyes. “That’s a cart of turnips,” he stated. “You’re ready to burst into song at any moment.” His expression eased into the fond, amused one he generally reserved for Eleanor and their daughter, Rose. “Having been smacked squarely between the eyes by Cupid’s arrow, myself, I recognize the symptoms, Seb. And I’m happy for you. Truly. I, ah, I’d actually begun to wonder what you would do with yourself after you finished seeing Nell and your brothers married off.”

“Truthfully,” Sebastian said slowly, aware that this was a conversation he wouldn’t have tolerated a year ago, “I had no idea, myself. Running the estates and businesses and looking after my duties to the government—it’s enough to fill a day.” He cleared his throat. “Or so I told myself. I didn’t expect this, you know.”

“I know. I…You have to admire a chit who can set the Duke of Melbourne back on his heels.” He looked around. “Speaking of whom, is it my imagination, or are we heading in her direction?”

Damnation
. Perhaps Zachary would have been a better riding companion this morning. All he needed to do was mention cattle or biscuits, and they could ride all the way to Brighton without Zach noticing. “I thought to ride by and make certain everything looks in order. We have a play beginning this evening, and the king and his conscience have to be in attendance and unaware for it to succeed.”

As they turned the corner, Sebastian pulled Merlin to
an abrupt halt. A lithe figure in a plain green walking dress darted across the street and into a waiting hack. The heavy-looking portmanteau in her hands bumped against the side of the coach as she hauled it inside with her.

“Was that—”

“Yes, it was.”

He looked toward Colonel Branbury’s house. The only movement came from an upstairs curtain lazily stirring in the morning breeze. She’d left her window open. Had that been meant for him last night, or had she climbed down the trellis this morning?

“What does this mean?”

“I don’t know. She was alone.” Up in front of them the hack turned right onto another street—in the opposite direction of Griffin House. She wasn’t coming to see him.

“Green,” he barked, turning in the saddle to face his groom, “stay here and watch the house. If you see any unusual activity, report it to Lord Deverill. He’ll be back at Corbett House.”

“And where will you be?” Valentine asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Behind that hack.”

“Seb—perhaps Green should do that.”

“
I’m
doing that. You make certain everything’s set for tonight. This play opens whether I’m in attendance for the premiere or not.” Every muscle wanted to race after the vanished hack, but again there was more to consider than just him. “Tell me you’ll see to it, Valentine.”

“Yes, I will bloody see to it.” The marquis cursed, Iago picking up his master’s mood and fidgeting beneath him. “Are you armed?”

“I have a pistol.”

Valentine pulled a weapon from his own pocket. “Take this one, too,” he said, handing it over. “And be careful, Sebastian.”

He tucked the second pistol into his other coat pocket. “I will be.”

With a kick of his heels he sent Merlin galloping down the street after the hack. It could be nothing; perhaps she’d slipped out to purchase something for her wedding trousseau. But the knot in his gut said otherwise. Josefina had never to his knowledge done anything but the unexpected.

And if his bride-to-be was fleeing her home, luggage in hand, he meant to know why. And then he meant to stop her.

“And you just let him go?” Eleanor demanded, hands on her hips and her expression highly annoyed.

“What the devil was I supposed to do, throw him off his horse and sit on him? I came back here and I told you. I think that’s very responsible of me.” Valentine flung his gloves down on the breakfast table and walked over to pick Rose up from her little chair. That would keep Nell from punching him, at any rate. Chits and their protectiveness. He’d had no idea they could be so fierce, not just in defense of their children, but of their loved ones.

“Valentine.”

“If I’d had my druthers I would have ridden off with Sebastian and sent Green back here to inform you, but I was asked to do otherwise.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It
is
the point. I assume the rey will realize that his daughter is missing. It’s not going to be easy to disguise the fact that Melbourne’s gone, too, particularly when we need everyone to appear at the Tuffley soiree tonight at the right moment. If the Embrys suspect an elopement, they may ride for Scotland.”

“If they weren’t behind Josefina’s flight in the first place.” She scowled again. “Damnation. We don’t even
know if we should provide an excuse for her absence, or if we should remain ignorant of it.”

“Hence my wanting to be elsewhere.” While Rose pulled at the knot of his cravat, Valentine gazed at his wife. “Any ideas?”

“I suppose we wait to see how the Embrys react. In the meantime, we have a few things left to do for tonight. The letter needs to get to the newspaper, but I don’t know who Sebastian’s source might be. If it gets into the wrong hands, the news will spread before we’re ready, or not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Newspaper sources were, after all, some of the best to have when one enjoyed having advance knowledge of certain people and events. That hobby continued to serve him well, though now he found it more amusing than useful.

“I’ll go to Griffin House and collect Peep. Since we don’t know where her father’s gone, it’s probably better if no one’s home at all.” Eleanor held out her arms, and Valentine handed Rose over to her. “Will you inform my brothers?”

With a swift smile Valentine leaned down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I said I was glad not to have any family,” he said quietly, kissing her again. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

She grabbed his lapel with her free hand before he could turn away. “You don’t regret any of this, do you?” she whispered, her face concerned.

He faced her, gazing into her light gray eyes. “Eleanor, never ask me that again,” he returned sharply. “You and Rose are the reason I breathe.” He kissed her once more, feather-light. “I love you. And I love your damned family.”

“I love you,” she returned, smiling and a little teary-eyed.

“Go fetch Peep. I’ll be back with reinforcements.” He
brushed his fingers through Rose’s silky dark hair. “And tonight I want to discuss making another one of these.”

Her smile deepened, lighting her eyes. “I look forward to that conversation.”

The hack was the worst sprung vehicle Josefina had ridden in since she’d become a princess. She wouldn’t be surprised to find her bottom bruised before she even reached the inn where the mail coach stopped.

Finally they jolted to a halt and the driver leaned down to swing open the door. “The Bull and Mouth, Miss. That’ll be three shillings.”

She climbed out, dragging the heavy portmanteau with her. Pulling three shillings from her reticule, she handed them up. Without even bothering to tip his hat at her, the driver guided the hack back into the street.

The morning mail coach already stood in the crowded Bull and Mouth courtyard. Josefina tugged the brim of her bonnet forward to obscure her face, then squared her shoulders and walked up to the inn door.

“That’s a heavy-looking bag there, my light o’love,” one of a pair of rough-looking men there said with a grin. “Shall I hold it for you?”

“Thank you, no,” she said firmly, shouldering past them.

“Ooh, ‘thank you, no’, she says,” the second one chortled. “Like a real lady.”

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” the first man took up, giving her a deep bow.

If she’d had her usual entourage of Conchita and Lieutenant May with her, she would have told the two men her opinion of their manners. As matters were, however, she needed to keep her mouth shut. It wouldn’t do for anyone to go about referring to her as royalty, even in jest.

They allowed her through the door, and she made her way past the crowd inside the inn to the bar. She hoped all
of the people there weren’t looking for seats on the mail stage, or she would be stuck waiting for the next one.

“What can I get you, miss?” a young girl of fifteen or sixteen asked her.

“Where do I purchase a seat on the mail stage?” she asked.

“The fellow at the bar with the red neckcloth,” the girl said, and moved on to the next arrival.

Sending up a swift prayer, Josefina found the tall, bony man who wore a blue coat and a red neckcloth that looked like it had seen better days. “Excuse me,” she said.

He faced her, taking a blatant moment to look her over from head to toe. “What can Red Jim do for you, my pretty bird of paradise?”

He was the second man in a row to refer to her as a whore. She clenched her jaw. “I would like to purchase passage on the morning stage,” she said.

“No room left,” he returned, giving her another look before he resumed his conversation.

Flexing her fingers, she tapped him on the shoulder. “None at all? My aunt is very ill, and I need to get to York without delay.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but the only seat left is up on top. Only men up there today. Rough sorts.”

“I’ll take it,” she said, setting her portmanteau at her feet and opening her reticule. “How much to get me to York?”

“That’s three quid, miss, and two days sitting out in the weather. It ain’t a pleasant way to travel.”

“I’ll risk it.” Beginning to wonder whether she should have taken more money from her father’s funds, she counted out the fee and handed it over. She told herself that she’d borrowed part of the ten thousand pounds Sebastian had given in return for her hand. He could afford the loss.

As soon as she thought of him, she wanted to cry again. If she’d been able to leave him a note she would have done so, but she hadn’t dared. She couldn’t take the chance that her father would read it.

Red Jim opened up a ledger book and took a square piece of paper from his pocket. Scribbling something on it with a pencil stub that he tucked back behind his ear, he gave her the paper. “The stage boards in the courtyard, in fifteen minutes. No refunds.”

“Thank you.”

He ignored her, going back to his conversation once more.
Fifteen minutes
. It seemed like both far too long and far too short a time to wait. Conchita had been instructed not to wake her until ten o’clock this morning, so she should be better than two hours out of London before anyone realized she was missing. Even then, her father would have no idea what to do or where she might have gone.

If he told anyone she’d gone missing, the publicity could hurt his land sale efforts. More likely he would invent a reason that she had to sail home to Costa Habichuela, and he would have some of Captain Morton’s men look for her in secret.

Sebastian could be a bigger problem. He wouldn’t keep silent to help her father’s cause, but he might choose to do so to minimize a scandal. She had intentionally left no clues, so he could proceed however he wished. If the wedding truly had been nothing more than the most efficient way to stop her father, then Sebastian could only be relieved. If he’d meant to marry her because he…because…