When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,104

a passionate kiss had attempted to kill the duke. And poor Guy, he would have been at a disadvantage, having not yet recovered from his bullet wound.

As they made their way along the gravel path, her teeth chattered as much from anxiety as from the damp, autumnal mist. Mr. Banfield cast a swift glance backward before proceeding through the gate. Though she couldn’t have said why, she had the fleeting impression he was looking at the house, instead of checking to see if she was still behind him.

The pungent aroma of horse droppings permeated the mews. At the far end nearest to the street stood the boxy black shape of a carriage. The dark form of a coachman sat huddled on his high perch.

Her heart in her throat, she hastened her steps. Mr. Banfield was quicker, opening the carriage door and motioning for her to enter. She started to do so but stopped halfway.

To her bewilderment, the interior was that of a hired hackney cab rather than the plush ducal coach. Even more confusing, it was empty. Where was Guy? Had he changed his mind and gone into the house?

Or was this some sort of trick?

Even as that suspicion entered her mind, a punishing blow struck the back of her head. Pain splintered her skull and she plummeted into darkness.

Chapter 19

The first thing she noticed was the cold. It raised gooseflesh on her skin and penetrated deep into her bones. The slightest movement jarred her aching head. She was sitting upright on a hard floor, and when she attempted to lift her eyelids, a jabbing needle of light made her shut them again.

One by one, she sorted through a jumble of sensations.

A gritty surface against her back. A sooty odor in the air. An inability to move her hands and feet. That last one stirred alarm as she came to an awareness that her limbs were bound.

Memory flooded back. Carlin was hurt. The empty carriage. The blow to her head. Then … nothing.

Tessa forced her eyes open. She squinted against the painful brilliance of a lantern. It hung from a hook on the other side of a smallish room. As her vision adjusted, she discerned filthy brick walls, a dirt floor, and at one end, an enormous black pile of … coal.

She was in a coal cellar.

Mr. Banfield had struck her. He must have dumped her here. But why? And where was he?

Even as those questions plagued her throbbing head, he stepped out of a gloomy corner and strolled closer. With his back to the lantern, his face was in shadow so that she had to strain to make out his features. “Ah, you’re awake, Miss James. I was afraid we might not have a chance to chat before I depart.”

That cool, unruffled voice sent a centipede of dread crawling down her spine. He spoke as if they were exchanging pleasantries over a tea tray. Lud, Banfield must be the killer. He was the one who had shot the duke. Panic threatened to scramble her brain. The awful fear that Guy might already be dead paralyzed her throat.

Swallowing hard, Tessa lifted her chin and forced her dry tongue to function. “Where-where is Carlin? What have you done with him?”

“Why, nothing. At least as of yet.”

Pray God he was telling the truth. Nevertheless, that word yet sounded ominous. Somehow she had to warn Guy. Covertly, she twisted her bound wrists behind her back. But the rope was too strong for her to slip her hands free.

The magnitude of her situation horrified Tessa. There was no hope of rescue. Even if her absence was discovered, no one knew where she had gone. She was entirely on her own. Being trussed up as tightly as a Christmas goose, she could do nothing but pretend weakness on the slim chance of coaxing Banfield into releasing her.

Injecting bewilderment into her tone, she said, “I-I don’t understand, sir. Why have you brought me here?”

“Family secrets. You’re familiar with the concept, I gather.”

“Don’t speak in riddles. My head is aching too much already.”

“Well, then, Miss James, you’ll be interested to hear that you and I have one attribute in common. I, too, am a noble bastard. My father was the sixth Duke of Carlin.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. I am the eldest son of the previous duke. I would have succeeded him had he had the decency to marry my mother.” The topic clearly inflaming him, Banfield began to pace back and forth. “He sired me with a lady