When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,114
priest murmured a greeting.
“My Grace,” Matilda said through gritted teeth, “has been a prisoner in Colonel Parker’s keeping since he took me from a Berkshire coaching inn two days ago.”
“You came with me willingly,” Parker retorted. “I have a special license, and I say we must be married.”
The priest cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should give the couple privacy.”
“A fine idea,” Parker began. “Her Grace has been through an ordeal, and a few minutes to discuss—”
Duncan snatched the prayer book from the priest and tossed it to Stephen, who caught it one-handed.
“I beg to differ, Reverend. You just heard Her Grace state that this man all but kidnapped her and kept her a prisoner. Now you suggest that the duchess be left alone with him. How thoroughly did the colonel bribe you to inspire such a lapse in your calling?”
A flush crept up past the priest’s collar. “How dare you speak to a man of the cloth so disrespectfully?”
“He dares,” Quinn said, “because he is a man of the cloth himself, and if you don’t listen to him, I’ll see you and your bishop defrocked by nightfall.”
“Best run along,” Stephen said, waving the prayer book. “Fast as you can. His Grace has a temper.”
“The lady is not willing,” Duncan said. “Ask her for yourself.”
The priest’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Madam?”
“Your Grace.” Duncan, Stephen, and Quinn all spoke at once.
“I beg your pardon. Your Grace, are you inclined to marry Lord Atticus?”
“I most assuredly am not.”
The priest looked to Parker. “I’ll be going. Your special license will be valid for another—”
“Out,” Duncan said, motioning toward the door. “And don’t come back. The rest of you fellows, leave us.”
The footmen all but scampered for the door.
“You gain entry to my house under false pretenses,” Parker said. “You disturb nuptials in which you can have no interest, and you order my staff about. Who the hell are you, and why shouldn’t I have you thrown in jail?”
Matilda was pale and outwardly composed. Her eyes were shadowed and a vein throbbed at her throat. Temper, perhaps, along with fatigue and worry.
Damn Parker for all of that, and for betraying England.
“You are the only person here who deserves to go to jail,” Duncan said, “and in point of fact this is your brother’s house. I doubt very much that he’d object to my calling under these circumstances, and his lordship would thank the Almighty that the nuptials were not yet in progress.”
“The lady will marry me if she values her freedom.”
“Your freedom is at issue,” Duncan said. “Marital privilege means you could not testify against Her Grace. Could not testify that you found her translating a message that purported to deal with troop movements or military maneuvers. Marital privilege also means she could not testify against you.”
Matilda stared at Duncan for a moment. “Of course.”
Parker pointed a gloved finger at Matilda. “She’s a traitor. She learned of a plot to invade France, and said nothing about it to anybody. She instead absconded with the evidence, refused to confide in me, and I well know she was protecting her father. She made her choice—family over honor—and I seek only to protect her from the consequences of that choice.”
Parker was nigh shaking with righteous conviction, or possibly with fear.
“My lord,” Duncan said, “do have a seat. The game is up. You have been found out, and you must face the consequences.”
“I never mentioned a plot to invade France,” Matilda murmured, turning a puzzled gaze on Duncan.
Parker had gone silent, and as pale as new snow under winter moonlight.
“Think back, Your Grace,” Duncan said. “When Parker came courting, a house full of valuable art and usually bustling with too many servants was all but deserted. Why else would that be, except by design? He arrived early for a regular call, you say, but, again, why? He was wandering where he shouldn’t have been, sneaking about the premises. You said you don’t know how long he lurked in the corridor, observing you.”
“This is preposterous,” Parker muttered. “Wild accusations intended to protect a traitor.”
Duncan had left the parlor door open, and he hoped the entire staff was eavesdropping.
“You are a younger son, my lord,” Duncan said. “Your brother bought your commission and expected you to make your way in the military. Perhaps during your stint in Paris, perhaps in Amsterdam, somebody approached you offering coin for a few tidbits of gossip. Gossip is harmless. Coin is necessary. You decided you could take that coin without compromising your honor.”