The Reluctant Duchess (2 page)

Ross looked at the papers he'd placed on the small table next to his chair and fought the tight feeling in his chest that always accompanied his grief over Meredith's death.

It had taken months for him to be able to close his eyes and not see her mutilated body and her sightless eyes. Even now he couldn't stop the shiver that raced up his spine at the image.

And now a few letters had brought it all back to him. He glanced at Lady Sara Emerson, the Marquess of Grandview's niece and Meredith's cousin, although the girls had acted more like sisters, as they had grown up together. Sara had been raised by Meredith's parents—Sara's aunt and uncle—after Sara's parents, the former Marquess and Marchioness of Grandview, were killed in a carriage accident. That was all Ross knew of Sara. While he'd been betrothed to Meredith, Sara had kept mainly to the shadows, quiet and unobtrusive to Meredith's gregarious, shining personality. He'd never really made an effort to get to know Sara.

And now she was sitting primly in the seat across from him, her hands clasped in her lap, her knees pressed together, with a look of wariness that had him cringing at his behavior and his appearance. To her he must seem like a bloody heathen.

And yet he could not help but compare the two cousins, who were like night and day. Where Meredith was beautiful, Sara was plain. Where Meredith was witty, Sara was soft-spoken. Where Meredith shone, Sara tended to fade into the background. How much of that was due to Meredith's overwhelming personality, Ross didn't know. What he did know was that Sara was definitely not fading into the background at the moment.

“Please tell me you have a chaperone,” he said, suddenly nervous. Surely she wasn't entirely alone. Good Lord, she'd been to his house five days in a row. Surely someone had seen her on his doorstep at least one of those times. He prayed she had a chaperone with her.

“Of course,” she said, sounding affronted.

He narrowed his eyes. “Where is she, then? I don't see her in this room.”

To his surprise and, yes, some amusement, she narrowed her eyes right back at him. “In the carriage. The past few days have been…trying.”

“Your chaperone is failing in her duties if she allowed you into my home alone.”

“My chaperone is right where I told her to be. I'm considerate like that. Besides, I knew I would be safe with you.”

Yes, but would he be safe with her? He wasn't convinced by her story of a sleeping chaperone in the carriage. If she were like Meredith, she wouldn't have an ounce of consideration for someone other than herself. Then again, he'd already established that Sara was nothing like Meredith.

He looked again at the letters. Meredith's name seemed to jump out at him. All the anger and angst, directed at both her and himself, came back to him. He recalled that night. The terrible argument, the hurtful last words that she'd flung at him, and he cringed inside. After two years he'd put all of that behind him and moved on to find satisfying work as a diplomat in India. He'd thought he'd found if not happiness then contentment, and now his past was tapping him on the shoulder and making him look behind him.

Why? Why after two years was Meredith's death being revisited? Who was writing the letters? And why send them to Sara? Why not send them to him?

“Do you mind if I keep these?” He swept his hand out to indicate the letters. He needed to think about this in detail and not while Lady Sara was staring at him with haunted brown eyes.

“You may keep them,” she said in that gentle way of hers. He was surprised to discover that her soft voice and quiet demeanor were very soothing. He tried to remember a time when he'd conversed with Lady Sara and couldn't recall anything other than a greeting. She was just so…quiet.

“I'm going to contact the inspector who was in charge of Meredith's case. Maybe he can shed some light on who wrote these letters. My guess is that it's someone's cruel idea of a prank.”

A fury was building inside of him. If this were a prank, then he would find the prankster and take care of him. He didn't wish to think overly much about what he would do to the person, but it would be enough to make the letter writer seriously regret dredging up Meredith's death. Who thought this would be humorous?

And if it wasn't a prank…Well, then, they had something far more sinister on their hands.

Sara was looking at him with her wide, haunting brown eyes. Two years ago her eyes had been almost too big for her face, but not anymore. He ran a hand down his beard in agitation and frustration. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was Lady Sara's eyes.

“You believe this is a prank?” There was a bit of hope in her tone, tinged with disbelief.

“I do think it's just a prank.” He wasn't as positive as he made himself sound, but it wouldn't do to overly worry her. He could see she was worried enough, and without any other information, he would go with this theory for now.

“Then it's a vicious prank, and the prankster needs to be caught and taught a lesson,” she said vehemently and with a bite to her words.

“I couldn't agree more. I'll see what the inspector says and send a note to…to…” Where the devil did she live? Before Meredith's death the family had resided mainly in London; after the funeral the marquess had packed up his wife and daughter and moved to some small town west of London. Or was it north? He waved his hand in the air. “To your uncle's home.”

Sitting there, oh so prim and proper, Sara simply said, “I refer to the marquess as my father, as he's the one who raised me, and I'm not returning to Hadley Springs without some answers, Your Grace.”

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that at first he didn't even realize she was disagreeing with him. “Let me take care of this, my lady. I'll find the answers we both want.”

Her lips thinned and her brown eyes flashed in anger. Ah, so the kitten had claws. “I'm not leaving.”

“And what do you plan to do? Will you hunt down the letter writer yourself? What was your plan in coming to me with this?”

“My plan was that you would help me find this person. You said to contact you if we needed anything. Well, we need help, and I'm calling in the favor you so graciously bestowed.”

“And I will.” Bloody hell. He'd made the offhand remark without thinking they would call him on it. But some sort of duty pulled at him. For Meredith's memory and what she had meant to him at one time, he would do what he could. By the end their relationship had soured, but at the beginning he had held some feelings for her, and her family had come very close to becoming his family.

“No, you won't,” Sara said, her back going straight and outrage in her expression. “You'll take the letters and push me away. No, Your Grace, I'm afraid that's unacceptable.”

While he was taken aback by her insolence, he was also amused by it. Not many went against his wishes, and while it was refreshing, it was also irritating. He didn't want Lady Sara hanging about and mucking things up. And by mucking things up, he meant interfering in his life.

When the queen and her advisers had called him back from India he'd been angry and would have ignored the summons, but they had insisted that he report to them personally and give his accounting of England's progress. Well, he was going to give his accounting, and whether they approved or not, he had every intention of returning to India. He had an appointment with the queen tomorrow, and he certainly didn't need Lady Sara following him around.

She gathered the reticule that she'd left lying on the settee, then looked down her nose at him. He couldn't remember a time, ever, when someone had looked down her nose at him.

“I'm staying at the Langham. You may contact me there. If I don't hear from you, I
will
return.” She swept out of the room, leaving him to fight back his unexpected laughter at her preposterous threat. What a surprising virago.

What a dreadful, horrible man. If he acted like this while betrothed to Meredith, then Sara had no idea what Meredith had seen in the vile, no-good duke. He was an unshaven, arrogant
heathen
.

She stomped down the steps of the massive estate and climbed into the awaiting carriage. James, her footman who was really her bodyguard, followed. Her chaperone, Jenny, was waiting for her in the carriage. Jenny may not have been exactly what the duke meant when he asked if Sara had a chaperone, but Jenny had been with the family for years and had been her real mother's chaperone decades ago. Nowadays Jenny was a bit hard of hearing and maybe a bit shortsighted and arthritic, but Sara adored her. She was the last link to her real mother.

James climbed up with the driver and the carriage made its way down the long, graveled drive of the duke's residence. Jenny, who had been fast asleep on the opposite seat, sat up and opened her eyes when the carriage jolted forward. She smoothed down her skirts with gnarled fingers. “Did you accomplish what you wanted, my lady?”

Had she? She wasn't sure. She'd given Rossmoyne the letters, alerted him to the problem, and reminded him of the promise he'd made to her family two years ago. He'd said he would help her and explained how he would help, so in that aspect, yes, she had accomplished what she set out to do.

“Are we to return home, then?” Jenny asked hopefully.

Sara made a noncommittal sound. Her original plan had been to give the duke the letters and return to her father in Hadley Springs and her life there. But…

But now that plan didn't seem so perfect. Now she wanted to stay and see it through to the end. To her surprise, something reared up in her, a disobedience she'd buried long ago. Before such notions were scolded out of her, she used to question everything. Now she felt the old, long-unused urge. She wanted to stay, and for the first time in years she contemplated giving in to the urge even though she knew there would be some sort of punishment in the end. She didn't care.

What had she to lose? Censure from the ton? Disappointment from the parents who had raised her?

She already had all of that—at least from her mother.

But what would she gain if she stayed? Closure from Meredith's death. A break in the never-ending monotony that her life had become.

Besides, no one knew she was here. Her father was so deeply buried in his studies of the stars that he barely acknowledged her existence, and her mother was in Bath, living her own life.

Yes. Yes, she would do it, and damn the consequences.

“My lady! Pardon me, my lady!”

Sara stopped on her way through the lobby of the Langham as a man came running after her. Immediately, James stepped in front of her and crowded her back while Sara gently pushed Jenny behind her.

James was large.
Very
large. He looked more like a pugilist than a footman, and Sara had to admit that she received strange looks when James trailed behind her, but her father insisted that she go nowhere without James, and to be honest, she was happy to have him in London with her.

The man who had called her name abruptly stopped just out of reach of James. He tried to peer around James's large frame. Sara stepped up beside her bodyguard, keeping a hand on Jenny, silently telling her to stay put. “It's fine, James. He works at the front desk.” James didn't lower his guard, but he allowed Sara to step out of his shadow.

The man eyed James warily while holding out an envelope to Sara. It was clear he was not taking another step closer.

Sara's stomach churned as she eyed the envelope with her name scrawled on it in the same writing as the other letters. Large and spiky, as if whoever wrote it was in a hurry.

How did he know she was here?

Woodenly, she took the missive. The paper seemed to singe her fingers.

With her heart lodged in her throat, panic pushed against her rib cage. She glanced around the lobby, suddenly suspicious. Everyone was questionable, from the gentlemen sitting in chairs reading the papers or talking to one another to the ladies strolling by.

Sara quickly tucked the letter into her reticule. She didn't have the stomach to read it in the crowded lobby. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she wanted Rossmoyne to be present when she opened the letter. “Let us go Jenny, James. We are off to call on the Duke of Rossmoyne.”

“Rossmoyne, it's good to see you again.” When Sir William Montgomery strolled into Ross's study, Ross had to admit it was nice to be reunited with his friend.

They were an unlikely pair, he and Montgomery. They had gotten off to a bad start when Montgomery's first order of business after being called in to investigate Meredith's murder was to look closely at Ross. For a while Ross had been the major suspect in his fiancée's death. He'd quickly been cleared, but it took a while for Ross to forgive Montgomery. Now, with the gift of time, he understood Montgomery's reasoning, and they had become fast friends.

“It's good to be back,” Ross said. It had been almost exactly one year since he'd left England for India. After Meredith's death, Ross had been a bit lost, and the chance to do something important, something that didn't involve showing his face in London, had appealed to him. Little had he known that India would change him so drastically.

Montgomery settled into a comfortable chair. There were few people whom Ross was truly comfortable around and even fewer who were comfortable around him. That was why Montgomery's friendship was so important.

“There were rumors circulating about where you had run off to. Some were amusing,” Montgomery said.

Ross laughed. “I'm sure they were.”

Montgomery lightened his sour mood. Just minutes before, Ross had returned from his meeting with Queen Victoria and her advisers. Or rather, he'd come from sitting in the royal palace waiting to be seen by Queen Victoria and her advisers. Hours after the meeting was supposed to have occurred, he was told that Her Majesty was indisposed and would not be available the rest of the day. Ross had left in a very controlled fury. He was used to such whimsies of royalty, but it still rankled that he'd wasted his entire day. He'd wanted to get this meeting out of the way so he could return to India. Recent rumors indicated that tension was increasing and fires were breaking out. Ross feared that another rebellion was imminent, and he wanted to be there to help suppress it. Unfortunately, he could do nothing, since the queen would not see him and he could not go against the crown and return to India, as much as he wanted to.

“I'm afraid that I summoned you here on business,” Ross said.

“You've been in England less than two days and already you are in trouble?” Montgomery asked with a laugh.

“Not me. Someone else.”

Montgomery considered him seriously. “This sounds ominous.”

“I'm hoping not, but my gut tells me otherwise.”

“Always trust your gut. Out with it, man, before I have to pull it out of you.”

Ross told Montgomery about Sara's visit and the letters she'd received. He showed Montgomery the letters and watched his friend scowl as he read them.

“What do you think?” Montgomery asked after he'd finished reading.

“I'd like to think it a cruel joke.”

“That would be ideal, but that's not what you believe.”

“No.”

Montgomery absently stared off into space. “We never caught Lady Meredith's murderer.”

Ross knew his friend wasn't talking to him but, rather, thinking out loud. After very few leads, Montgomery had concluded that Meredith's murderer had been “on the tramp,” a drifter who was long gone. The case had gone cold and eventually was closed as unsolved. It was one of the worst things, not knowing who had ended Meredith's life, although Ross was well aware that knowing would not have made anything easier.

There was a discreet knock on his study door. Hector appeared after Ross summoned him in. “Lady Sara Emerson to see you, Your Grace.”

Ross sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Again? Surely she didn't expect him to have answers so soon.

He suspected that life would be simpler if she just returned to…wherever it was she lived, and let him take care of all of this. He suspected that wasn't going to happen, and the thought of her constant presence made him uneasy for reasons he didn't want to contemplate at the moment.

“Send her in,” he said on a defeated sigh.

Montgomery shot Ross a quizzical look.

“I told her to return home, that I would take care of this,” Ross explained.

“I take it she didn't follow your orders?” Montgomery asked in amusement.

“No.”

“I'm certain that grates.”

Ross shot Montgomery a dark look but was saved from a retort when Sara walked in wearing a yellow gown that did little for her complexion and was a few seasons out of date. But her hair…For some reason he was intrigued by her hair. It was pulled back in a prim bun at the nape of her neck. It was brown, but it was also more than that. There were yellows and reds hiding in there, winking at him depending on which way she turned. What would it look like flowing down her back? He immediately pushed that image away, dismayed by the direction of his thoughts.

Something was wrong. Her face and lips had lost all color and she was trembling.

“What happened?” Ross asked. He was surprised by the burst of fear he felt. He'd never had any feelings one way or the other when it came to Sara, but seeing her like this made his heart hammer.

She fumbled with her reticule. It fell from her wrist, and with a soft cry she dropped to her knees, the skirts of her yellow gown billowing around her. Ross dropped to a knee as well. As Sara reached for her reticule, he couldn't help but notice her shaking hands, encased in kid gloves.

He swept the reticule up with one hand while covering her trembling fingers with his other. “Sara,” he said softly. He didn't remember being given leave to call her thusly, but he figured at some point he probably had.

She raised her gaze to his, and he was shocked to discover that her very average brown eyes had a rim of gold around the irises that made them, well, lovely. No, stunning. They were stunning. He quickly stood and held out his hand to help her up. Staring into her eyes was completely inappropriate and counterproductive when something was very seriously wrong.

“May I have my reticule back, please?”

He handed her the reticule and she pulled a white envelope out of it.

“You received another one?” he asked through what was left of the breath inside of him.

She nodded.

“At your hotel?”

She nodded again.

“Bloody hell.” Whoever was writing the letters had followed her to London. Ross opened the letter, read it, and handed it to Montgomery, who read it silently, then shot Ross a veiled look.

“How did you receive this?” Montgomery asked Sara.

Sara gave Ross a startled look.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Lady Sara Emerson, you might remember Sir William Montgomery. Montgomery led the investigation into Meredith's death.”

“Montgomery,” she said in her soft voice. “Unfortunately, we never had the chance to meet. My parents kept me away from the investigation of Meredith's death.”

Montgomery inclined his head. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady, although I wish it could be under better circumstances. I apologize for my abrupt question.”

“My father had a lot of faith in you, Sir William.”

Montgomery smiled.

“You will find that Montgomery does not follow the usual etiquette and protocol. He's a bit abrupt, but like your father, I trust him implicitly.”

Montgomery silently read the letter again. Ross didn't have to. The words were singed onto his brain.

You ran from me, Sara. Did you think I would not find you?

Sara was watching him, her face so pale that he feared she would lose consciousness. “Sit down before you fall down,” he barked at her, then regretted his harsh words. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He normally had much better control over himself.

Immediately, she plopped into the chair behind her.

“Well done, Ross,” Montgomery murmured.

“My apologies, my lady,” he said. Sara simply stared at him with frightened eyes. He doubted she even knew he'd spoken harshly to her.

“It's bad, isn't it?” she whispered.

Montgomery took a seat next to her. With a quick look at Ross, Montgomery handed the letter to Sara.

The paper trembled as she read it. She made a soft sound of distress and covered her mouth with her other hand. When she looked up at Ross, there were tears in her eyes that nearly brought him to his knees. The naked fear lodged in those brown eyes stole his breath, and he felt an unusual urge to fall to one knee in front of her and take her hand in comfort. Instead he locked his hands behind his back and stayed where he was. He'd never had a nearly uncontrollable urge to protect Meredith in this way. Then again, Meredith had been a force to be reckoned with and not nearly as fragile as her younger cousin.

“Lady Sara, I need to know how you came about this letter,” Montgomery said.

She locked that frightened gaze on Montgomery. “The man at the hotel gave it to me.”

“What man?”

Ross recognized the tone of Montgomery's voice. He was in his element, firing questions, his mind working quickly. Ross had learned through the years to let Montgomery be when he was like this.

Sara's hands were clenched in her lap, wrinkling the letter. Montgomery gently pried it out of her fingers. Her back was perfectly straight, her shoulders rigid. “He works at the front desk. I don't know his name.”

“If we went with you to your hotel, could you identify him?”

“Of course. James was with me. He could identify him as well.”

“James?” This came from Ross, and he was just as surprised as Montgomery that he'd asked the question.

Sara shot Ross a startled look. “My footman. Although he's more than a footman.”

More than a footman? How could one be
more than a footman
?

“Is he here with you?” Montgomery asked.

“He accompanies me wherever I go.”

Montgomery went to the door and asked Ross's butler to show James in. When the man arrived, Ross could only stare in amazement. He was…enormous. Ross had never seen someone so big. His block of a head rested on wide shoulders with nary a neck in sight. His arms were heavily muscled, and it appeared that his nose had been broken a few times. Ross was tall, but James towered over him.

Ross glanced at Montgomery, who was looking up at James with his mouth open.

“James,” Sara said. “This is the Duke of Rossmoyne and Sir William Montgomery.”

James bowed. As cumbersome as he seemed, his bow was fluid and without mockery. “Your Grace,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “Sir William.”

“James is a trusted servant,” Sara said. “Handpicked by my father to protect me.”

Ah. It made sense now. James wasn't
just
a footman. He was a bodyguard. Ross was pleased that she had some protection.

“Someone has been sending Lady Sara threatening letters,” Montgomery said, watching James carefully. “She received another one today.”

James's expression went from frightening to terrifying. He turned to Sara. “I knew something wasn't right about that.” It looked as if he would tear apart anyone who dared to threaten Sara. She certainly inspired loyalty in her footman. “Who?” James asked.

“We don't know,” Montgomery said.

James looked at Sara. “Does your father know?”

“I don't want him to know.”

“My lady—”

“No, James.”

Ross could see that James didn't like that answer, but he kept his mouth shut and turned to Montgomery. “I will take you to the man who handed the letter to Lady Sara.”

“Thank you, James,” Montgomery said. “We will go in a few minutes.”

When James left the room, Montgomery went back to the letters, pushing them around on the table, but Ross could tell he didn't really see them. He was thinking hard.

And so was Ross. He was putting things together, things he didn't like to think about, and he came to a quick conclusion. One he wasn't necessarily happy with, but neither was he as upset as he should have been.

“It's not safe for you to stay at the hotel,” he said into the silence, startling Sara. “You will move in with me.”