When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,104
plausible choice. Stephen likes to test me, but his little riddles are usually obvious in hindsight.”
Stephen also liked—craved—to be of use, hence his raid on a citadel neither Duncan nor the duke would have been able to breach.
“I delivered a few of my sketches to the artificers,” Stephen said, “and dropped a hint or two that one Colonel Lord Atticus Parker was trying to curry favor with Quinn. The rest was a matter of looking interested and dismayed.”
Duncan let Stephen draw out the moment, because Stephen’s excursion had been a brilliant inspiration. Of course the war hero would be the subject of talk among his fellow officers.
“In an eternity of trying,” Duncan said, “I could not have prompted the lowliest corporal to discuss Parker with me. I gather the news was bad.”
Stephen took a bite of his sandwich, and again, Duncan allowed him his theatrics.
“Parker is no bloody war hero to his fellow officers,” Stephen said, “excuse my language. He got his men trapped on a hillside and threatened them with flogging when they prevented him from bolting into enemy fire. The junior officers and enlisted men held the position while Parker screamed at them to charge into certain death. Next thing they knew, the battle had been won thanks to their efforts, and Parker was getting commended in the dispatches.”
“Bad news indeed,” Duncan said, getting to his feet. “Parker is a bully and a cheat, and he has my duchess.”
Kristoff, another Viking on the duke’s staff, rapped on the doorjamb and waited, cap in hand. He wore a workingman’s garb, and looked much the worse for his travels.
“Come in,” Duncan said. “Have you found my duchess?”
“She’s at the Creswell town house, sir. Ned is standing watch, though the boy is nearly dead on his feet. The marquess is away at the family seat, and the staff was surprised to be hosting Lord Atticus. He is not a favorite with them, and he’s brought along a woman who seems less than thrilled to be in the colonel’s company.”
“So we know where Matilda is,” Quinn said, around a mouthful of sandwich, “we know the manner of man holding her captive. Why can’t I just play the duke and demand her release?”
The king could move in any direction on the chessboard, but he could travel only one square at time. When he was out of moves, the game ended.
“Because Parker will simply refuse to surrender her,” Duncan said. “He’ll claim she’s not home to callers until this wedding she warned Jinks of has transpired, if Parker even admits she’s on the premises. You will be checkmated at the door.”
“What if I—?” Jane started, but Stephen interrupted.
“What does that leave, Duncan? You’ve gathered all the information we can lay our hands on, time is running out, and marriage is forever.”
Marriage, which meant Parker could not be made to testify against his wife. Marriage, which would preclude forever any union between Duncan and his duchess. Thomas Wakefield’s life hung in the balance, as did Matilda’s happiness.
At least.
Jane and Quinn exchanged another look, this one worried. Quinn patted Jane’s wrist, and she shifted subtly closer to him. Husband and wife, wife and husband, the two as one flesh…Insight struck like a thunderclap, stunning in its impact, the effect reverberating through Duncan’s body and mind.
And his heart.
“That leaves the bishops,” Duncan said. “We need a set of eyes watching every entrance to the Creswell abode, and we need them there now.”
* * *
“We can be married the moment the priest arrives,” Parker said. “The sooner we speak our vows, the sooner I can honorably decline to share what I saw you doing in your father’s study all those months ago.”
They had arrived in London at midmorning, and Matilda had promptly demanded a nap. She’d pretended sleep, her mind refusing to quiet. As soon as she’d risen to heed the call of nature, a maid had come bustling in to make the bed.
Parker had sauntered in not five minutes later.
Matilda was in another borrowed nightgown and dressing gown, and she’d been given a bedroom that once again had no means of escape.
“For you to be in this room with me now is hardly proper, Atticus.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Suppose not, but then, by tonight we will be man and wife. A little familiarity in the interests of apprising you of your good fortune shouldn’t bother you. You’re a widow, after all.”
He peered at his reflection in the cheval mirror and twitched at the lapel of his uniform.