Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (3 page)

Since there was no one else in the lobby, Nathan felt quite comfortable saying, “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” came a voice from behind him that was starting to sound just a little too familiar, and far too annoying. He almost jumped out of his skin.
Damn again!

He refused to turn around and thus acknowledge her. He forced his focus on the innkeeper. “Are you absolutely certain about this?”

“Aye, Mr. Fraser. He said he already bade farewell to his sister, and that he didn’t want to go out the front way for fear he’d see her yet again only to have her start crying anew and pleading with him not to let her go.”

That didn’t sound like the woman behind Nathan at all. Indeed, it would have made better sense if the craven Mr. Hathaway had balked at seeing her again for fear she’d bend an umbrella over his head or even beat him half to death with her reticule.

“Why, that cur!” she seethed, as she came abreast of him. “That worm! To think he left his own sister here, without even bothering to learn what ultimately became of her!”

The innkeeper scuttled into a back room, apparently wanting no further part of this, but he wasn’t the only one.

She looked up at Nathan, the lamplight hitting her spectacles in such a way to make her eyes look as if they were blazing with fury—or maybe they looked like that even without the spectacles. “You do realize what this means, don’t you? He’s abandoned me. Left me to a fate unknown. Maybe the duke meant to forgive the debt, but ’tis clear Freddy means to honor it.”

Nathan planted his right fist on his hip and leaned his left elbow on the counter as he cocked his head to one side.
“Now that seems rather out of character for Freddy, don’t you think?”

“Not if he’s resolved to mend his ways,” she replied. “Perhaps this whole affair has given him an epiphany, and he’s decided he must behave responsibly and honorably now.”

“Then he’s chosen a devil of a way to do it,” Nathan said grimly.

“Well, seeing as how he has, for all intents and purposes, abandoned me here, there’s only one thing to do, isn’t there? You shall have to take me to London.”

The trap was sprung, and Nathan felt the sharp teeth snapping closed over him.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me, Mr. Fraser, would you deny my brother his desire—nay, his responsibility—to honor his debts? Would it be honorable of you to deny any man his own sense of honor?”

Nathan by now was utterly flummoxed. “When you put it that way, no. But as the duke’s man of affairs, my opinion should not matter. What matters is the duke’s opinion. And in the opinion of His Grace, it would be in everyone’s best interests if the debt was forgiven.”

“But you can’t even prove that you speak for the duke.”

Nathan had never encountered a woman so mistrustful, but maybe that was to be expected of one with a cowardly, scapegrace brother like Frederick Hathaway.

“A duke is not called a nobleman for nothing,” she went on. “Nor is he called ‘His Grace’ for nothing. Those terms mean something, Mr. Fraser. Nobility and grace go together with honor. Even if the duke does wish to forgive the debt, how could he deny Mr. Hathaway’s wish, his very insistence, on meeting his debt of honor, and still consider himself—that is, the duke—as noble and gracious and honorable?”

She seemed to know more about being a duke than he did.
Bloody hell.
He couldn’t in all good conscience leave her here, now that her brother had indeed abandoned her. Icy claws squeezed his heart as he recalled what it was like to be abandoned himself. Even if he took her back to her home in Leeds, which by now was a bit out of his way, what was to stop her brother from wagering her again, to someone even worse? He’d have to take her with him until he could figure out what to do with her. Maybe his widowed aunt would like a companion.

“Very well. I see you have your maid with you. Let me send in my coachman to collect your baggage.”

With that, Nathan marched out of the Blue Rooster, wondering just what the hell he was getting himself into.

Kate waited until he went outside, and then she flew back into the parlor, where Meg’s maid now cowered in the inglenook. “Let’s go. Mr. Fraser has agreed to take us to London.”

The maid sniffled and shook her head. “I do believe I’d rather wait for Mr. Hathaway and return to Leeds with him.”

Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, Kate felt herself fuming smoke at Mr. Hathaway’s swinish behavior. “May I ask your name?”

“M’name’s Polly, Miss Baxter.”

“Well, Polly, according to the innkeeper, it seems Mr. Hathaway has already vacated the premises, without even lingering to learn that if only he’d remained at his sister’s side like a gentleman, he could be taking both of you back to Leeds at this very moment. Of course, that was only if Mrs. Peck hadn’t shown up ahead of Mr. Fraser. Be that as it may, I’m afraid you have little choice but to come with me. I’m taking Miss Hathaway’s place, and I’ll need a chaperone. And you were meant to come along on this journey anyway.”

“I really don’t want to, Miss Baxter,” Polly said timorously.

While Kate certainly understood the maid’s reluctance to embark on the unknown, there were still practical matters to consider. “Pray, where will you go, if not with me? Do you know how to find your way back home?”

Polly shook her head as her face crumpled up again and fresh tears glistened in her eyes. “This is the first time I’ve left the Hathaway house in eight years.”

They were two women in similar situations, but with different attitudes. While Kate had been trapped at remote Bellingham Hall for only sixteen months, it had certainly seemed like eight years.

In fact, it had seemed like a lifetime.

She rested a tentative, reassuring arm around the maid’s trembling shoulders. “It’ll be all right, Polly.”

“But he’s a stranger. ’Twas another reason Miss Meg didn’t want to do this. How do we know Mr. Fraser isn’t an evil, wicked man?”

Polly had a point. Ordinarily, Kate would never consider getting into a stranger’s carriage, even with a chaperone. But this was no ordinary situation, nor was Mr. Fraser exactly a stranger, for Kate had almost immediately recognized the new Duke of Loring, even if he hadn’t recognized her.

That neither surprised nor disheartened her, if only because it presently gave her an advantage. Men seldom took notice of her because she was plain and bespectacled and had no dowry since her stepfather had used it to put a chink in his mountain of debt. Besides, their first and only meeting had been fleeting and, at least for the duke, forgettable. But Kate had never forgotten how tall he was, taller than her stepfather or even her brother. She’d never forgotten his unfashionably long hair, black as a raven’s wing, that fell halfway over his broad brow and curled around his equally broad shoulders. Nor had she forgotten his stormy, blue-gray eyes beneath the thick, black brows, the aquiline nose that gave him a predatory air, and the square, determined chin with the deep cleft.

And she’d never forgotten the sound of his voice, a liquid baritone that was decidedly English but spiced with just enough of a Scottish burr that hearing him talk was almost like listening to music.

Sometime last summer, after coming into his inheritance, the erstwhile Lord Nathan Fraser had stopped briefly at Bellingham Hall en route to London from Edinburgh. He’d arrived just in time for dinner, had retired shortly thereafter, and continued his journey before Kate was even awake the next morning. She must have spent less than half an hour in his company, sitting across the table from him while he told her stepfather that he planned to stay in London only long enough to settle his late brother’s affairs then return to Edinburgh until the following spring, when he supposed he’d have to come back to London and see about taking a wife.

As this was now the following spring, that must be where he was headed. No wonder he didn’t want to claim his winnings.

But since he was obviously traveling incognito—and now, so was she—she thought the better of revealing his true identity to Polly. Instead she tried to mollify the maid with her most reassuring smile.

“I don’t think Mr. Fraser is an evil, wicked man. Maybe if he was, he’d be only too eager to take us to London, or wherever he keeps his secret den of iniquity. But you saw that he was most insistent on forgiving Mr. Hathaway’s debt. Yet Mr. Hathaway is not here to receive Mr. Fraser’s forgiveness. Ergo, we must still go in Miss Hathaway’s stead.” She gently rested a hand on the maid’s trembling shoulder. “Think of it as an adventure, Polly. I know I intend to.” She sprang from the settle. “Now I’m going to look for Mr. Fraser. Wait here.”

“Don’t fret, miss, I’m not going anywhere.” Polly sounded as if she meant it quite literally.

Kate slipped out of the parlor, glancing all around the lobby, but Mr. Fraser was nowhere in sight. She stole a quick peek into the taproom but didn’t see him there, nor did she see Freddy. The cur had truly abandoned his sister. She ventured outside to the inn yard, but still she didn’t see Mr. Fraser anywhere. A man as tall as he was would be hard to miss.

She swept her gaze around the inn yard, studying the various carriages and carts and wagons and horses. Which one was his?

Her turbulent mind raced. He wouldn’t be in one of the open wagons or carts, and he surely wouldn’t be traveling by stage. That left private carriages and post chaises, but Kate saw no sign of the latter.

That meant he had to be traveling in that enormous, black barouche next to a high stone wall. A liveried coachman sat on the box, looking ready to wield his crop and set the horses in motion. No crest adorned the door, consistent with the duke’s desire to travel incognito.

She approached the elegant equipage. The windows were covered with dark shades, as if to keep out the sun. Only the sun never shone in Yorkshire, or so it seemed to Kate.

She rapped on the door.

The coachman craned his neck to look down at her. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Kate stepped back. “I’m looking for Mr. Fraser. Or even the Duke of Loring.”

“Who are you?” The coachman sounded just like one of those insufferable servants who thought they were as good as their employers, if not better, and expected other servants, or even would-be governesses, to treat them as such.

But his haughty dissembling was confirmation enough for Kate. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. “Mr. Fraser, please wait for me! Send your coachman for my—”

She stopped short as she suddenly realized that wasn’t Mr. Fraser sitting on the squabs gaping back at her as if she were a large snake who’d just slithered into his carriage.

Her
carriage. Unless Mr. Fraser had the whimsy to change into a very clever disguise for some mysterious reason, the person glaring back at Kate was a woman clad in black.

And then she realized the opposite door was also wide open, but the person standing across the width of the carriage from her was not Mr. Fraser, either, but a liveried footman.

The woman produced a quizzing glass from somewhere in the folds of her black bombazine and held it up to study Kate. “Miss Hathaway, I presume?”

Then she heard another voice from inside the carriage, across from the haughty woman. “That’s not my sister.”

Kate leaned forward just a bit to get a better view into the gloomy depths of the barouche’s interior, and to her astonishment she saw Mr. Frederick Hathaway on the opposite seat. “You! How dare you do such a vile thing as you did! Wagering your own sister in a card game!”

The mysterious dowager languidly dropped the quizzing glass and turned her head the other way to address the footman. “Seize her,” she commanded in bored tones.

Kate threw the door shut as if that would deter the footman. Honestly, did she really think he would squeeze through the barouche and over his mistress’s knees to get to her? Of course he’d go around. The question was in which direction.

She swiftly decided to go toward the front where the horses were. She figured she’d have better warning if the footman also chose that direction than if he jumped her from behind the conveyance.

She was right. He wasn’t on the other side of the horses, or the barouche. As she rounded the front of the horses, she glimpsed him popping out from behind the carriage on her side but looking the other way.

Kate darted to the back of the barouche, lurching to a halt as she saw him still standing where she’d last seen him. The rear of the barouche faced the inn, so perhaps he thought she’d fled back there.

Then he spun around and saw her only a few feet away.

She turned and ran back toward the horses, thinking he’d follow her, but instead, to her dismay, he took the same direction on the opposite side of the barouche, catching sight of her over the animals.

She turned to run back then caught a smile on his face as he turned to do the same.

The only thing between Kate and this side of the barouche was a stone wall. Behind the carriage was the inn, while in front of it was the rest of York.

Either way, she was trapped.

Then, as if she didn’t have enough hindrances already, the footman produced a pistol, aiming it at her over the backs of the horses.

“Don’t you dare fire that thing, you fool,” said the coachman. “It’ll spook the horses, and—”

A deafening gunshot rent the air.

Kate screamed.

The horses, meanwhile, did exactly as the coachman foretold. They thrashed and reared in their traces and then bolted as Kate tumbled to the ground.

* * * *

It occurred to Nathan at about the very same moment he fired his pistol in the air that it probably wasn’t such a good idea to do that when Miss Hathaway was too close to the barouche that took off across the inn yard as if fired from a catapult. The manservant who’d been pursuing Miss Hathaway now chased the barouche, reminding Nathan of the time he’d run after a similar vehicle some twenty years ago but failed to catch up due to his short, eight-year-old legs. The manservant wasn’t so unfortunate, for he swiftly caught up and leaped onto the tiger’s seat.