The Reluctant Duchess (9 page)

“Ladies, we have shopped all afternoon. It's time to return home, where I have business to attend to.”

Sara shot him a look that made him wonder if she had seen him speaking to Thomas, but she thankfully remained silent, sticking to their agreement to leave his mother in the dark about the real reason Sara was in London.

“Tomorrow Sara will accompany me as I call on a few friends,” his mother stated in a tone that brooked no objections. “She has been out of society for so long that it's time to reintroduce her to old friends.”

Ross looked at Sara to see her reaction to that announcement and was surprised by what he saw. She had gone pale; her pupils had dilated in real fear, and her hands were trembling. He took a step toward her, then thought better of it when he discovered she was valiantly trying to control her reaction.

Did she not want to be reintroduced to society? Or had something else frightened her?

He looked around, but there didn't seem to be anything amiss. No one lurking. No one watching more closely than he should. Nevertheless, he hurried the women into the carriage and didn't breathe a sigh of relief until they were rattling down the street. By then Sara had gained control of her strange reaction and was sitting straight with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast.

What the hell had happened back there?

His mother prattled on about the gowns they had ordered and the frippery they had bought. Ross tuned her out and thought a little more about this “reintroduction into society.” Did he want Sara reintroduced to society? Obviously, the letter writer knew she was in London, so would it hurt for her to get out?

He simply didn't know.

It frustrated him to no end that they didn't know the purpose of the letters. Were they meant to cause emotional distress? If so, then they were a success. Were they meant to frighten Sara? He suspected that they had served that purpose as well.

Were they meant as a warning? That thought brought a chill to him. To what end? Why would she receive such warnings? Was she being targeted as the next victim? Or another victim?

They reached Rossmoyne House, and as he handed his mother and Sara down from the carriage, he had to physically control the shiver that raced up his spine at the thought of Sara being another victim of the madman who had murdered Meredith.

An anger that he had not felt in nearly two years threatened to overtake him.

He would never allow that to happen.

He had failed to protect Meredith. He would not fail with Sara.

I was there. The night she left this earth. I saw it all. I know. I know what happened. I think about that night. I think about that moment when she was completely mine. All mine. Not someone else's. Certainly not your cousin or the duke's betrothed. She was mine as she was meant to be, as God deemed her to be. Mine, mine, mine.

Sara stared at the note in horror, her hands trembling so hard the paper shook. She wanted to drop it, wanted to throw it in the fire and watch it burn, but knew that she needed to get it to Ross. Except she couldn't make her legs work.

The letter writer had been there the night Meredith was killed. Was he her killer? Had Meredith's murderer been writing to her this entire time?

Sara's stomach turned, and she had to swallow the bile that burned her throat raw. She had an unholy urge to look over her shoulder, to make certain no one was in the room with her or looking through the windows at her. She couldn't be any safer than she was here, but that didn't quell the fear that immobilized her.

She drew in a deep breath, concentrating on breathing in and out. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the horrible words on the paper, but that did no good. They were engraved on her mind. She desperately wished she could unsee what she had just seen.

Carefully, she folded the note just the way it was folded when she received it, then put it in the envelope in which it was delivered. Ross would want to see the envelope as well.

Now all she could think about was getting to Ross, finding Ross. He would know what to do.

She found him in his study, the place he always seemed to be, sitting at his desk, deep in thought, writing something. He looked up when she walked in.

“What's wrong?” he stood, searching her face. “What happened, Sara?”

In the back of her mind, it registered that he had used her given name, just as she had given him leave to do, though it sounded strange coming from him.

Her throat had closed up, and she found she couldn't speak, so she held the envelope out to him.

For a moment he simply stared at it. The color leached from his face, and he leaned a hand on his desk as if he needed support.

“Where did you find it?” he asked softly.

“In my room. It was sitting on the escritoire.”

He rounded the desk and took the letter from her, looking at her as he did so. “Sit down before you fall down,” he said gently.

She happily obliged, sinking into the closest chair as she watched him carefully pull the letter out of the envelope and open it. His eyes moved across the page. His mouth turned down in a fierce frown and his gaze flew to hers.

“Damnation,” he whispered.

“He killed her,” she said, her voice wavering.

“We don't know that he killed her,” Montgomery said after inspecting the letter for a very long time.

Ross was perched against the front of his desk, his arms crossed. He was holding tight to the fury churning through him. The look on Sara's face when she'd entered his study had rendered him helpless. He never wanted to see that look again.

He'd called Hector up and questioned him thoroughly. Hector knew to bring Ross any correspondence addressed to Sara. Unfortunately, Hector had not answered the door when the letter was delivered. A footman, new to the house, was the one who'd delivered it. And not knowing Ross's orders, he had delivered the letter to Jenny, who had left it in Sara's room. The poor footman had been trembling when he'd learned of his mistake.

“Ross.”

Ross looked up, pulling himself from his musings, and stared at Sara's pale face. She was seated in the chair she had taken when she'd first entered. She'd hardly said another word.

Ross ordered hot tea to be brought and plied her with it, but she took barely a sip, even though she was shivering uncontrollably.

“It has escalated,” she said.

Montgomery looked uneasy and shot Ross a helpless look.

“It has,” Montgomery finally admitted.

“Why do you think he's getting bolder?” she asked.

“It could be because he's more comfortable telling you things. It could be because he's not receiving the desired reaction,” Montgomery said.

“And what reaction do you think he wants?”

Ross was pleased to see a spark of anger in her eyes and to hear a bite to her words. They were better than the listlessness that had gripped her.

“I'm unsure,” Montgomery said. “Only he knows that.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “Do I just sit here and wait for another letter? Do you believe that he will get careless and let slip his identity if we just let him keep writing to me?”

“Have there been other murders similar to Meredith's?” Ross asked Montgomery.

“No. I've been keeping an eye out and have asked my fellow investigators to let me know if anything similar has happened. There has been nothing. And to answer your question, my lady, my next move is to question the footman, to get a description of the person who delivered the letter, and then to question anyone who might have seen him approach the house.” Montgomery moved toward the door. “I will get on that right away before memories fade. Ross, I will be in touch soon.”

Ross concentrated on Sara after Montgomery left. She was still shivering. She was pale, her lips colorless.

“You haven't touched your tea,” he said.

She continued to look at a spot on the carpet.

“We'll find this man, Sara. You have my word.”

She jerked her head up and glared at him. “Forgive me if that does not comfort me.”

The jab hurt, as he was sure it was meant to. “I am well aware that I failed to protect Meredith. I will not repeat that mistake.”

She buried her head in her hands. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Ross despised weeping women, only because he had no idea what to do with them. He desperately wanted to call his mother in, but the duchess knew nothing of any of this.

Lost, he went on instinct. Even though it probably wasn't the most prudent or respectable thing to do, he knelt and pulled her hands from her face. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes red, and still she looked so beautiful. How was it that he'd overlooked her quiet beauty when he first met her years ago?

“I will protect you, Sara. I swear on my life.”

“We don't even know if this person is after me.”

“Very true. He could just want attention.”

She sighed and her fingers, folded in his, trembled. He squeezed them, hoping to stop the trembling. He had a sudden urge to gather her in his arms and hold her tight. He well remembered the feel of her pressed against him when they'd kissed the other night. He would never forget that innocent kiss. It had been a long while since he'd experienced such innocence. He wanted more of that but knew it was impossible. She was here for his protection and his help in finding who was sending these letters. There could be nothing more.

Tears leaked from her eyes, but at least she wasn't openly crying. He could handle this type of tears. He smiled at her. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She tried to pull her hands from his, but he was oddly reluctant to let her go. Neither of them wore gloves, and the warmth and softness of her skin intrigued him.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I must keep reminding myself that he's not necessarily after me. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to.”

The thought of Sara conversing with this monster did not sit well with Ross. “He chose the wrong person to converse with, then,” he said tightly.

Her smile trembled. “I've turned your life upside down.”

Reluctantly, he released her hand, stood, and settled into a chair opposite her. He was bemused to discover that he hated the distance between them. “You were right to come to me with this. I spoke to Thomas this afternoon,” he said, changing the subject.

She smiled a watery smile. “I saw that. What did the imp have to say?”

“The gentleman who delivered the letter to the hotel has been seen in the rookery. At a nethersken.”

“A boardinghouse?” She frowned. “Why didn't you tell Montgomery this?”

“Because he's investigating the letter you received today. I thought we could investigate the rookery.”

“We?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

He was a fool for doing so and had probably spoken without thought. But the smile she bestowed on him was almost worth the tremor of regret that pulsed through him. “Yes. We.”

“When shall we go?”

“I was thinking early tomorrow morning.”

She nodded eagerly. “I'll be ready.”

The next morning they met in the entryway just as the sun rose over London. Sara had to bite back her smile when Ross descended the steps. They'd been thinking along the same lines in their choice of attire. He was wearing worn trousers and a coat that had seen better days. It even had patches on it.

Sara raised a brow. “Has your valet seen your attire?”

Ross raised his arms out to the sides and smiled. The smile nearly stilled her heart, it was so warm and beautiful. So different from the dour expression she was used to seeing.

“My valet created this attire.”

Sara put a hand to her heart. “Say it isn't so. No respectable valet would ever outfit his lord in something so…”

“Simple?”

“I was thinking unpretentious.”

“That, too.”

They smiled at each other until Ross's smile slowly faded and he looked away to clear his throat. “I see you were thinking along the same lines.”

Mimicking his movements, she held her arms out to the sides. “It's the oldest, most worn gown I have with me. If I were home, I could have found a better one.”

“It's brown.”

Sara couldn't hold back another smile. “It is at that.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Sara had never heard silence speak so loudly. It was as if all the words she wanted to say hung in the air between them. What were these strange feelings she had for the Duke of Rossmoyne? She'd never thought much about him other than his betrothal to Meredith. And after that, she had hardly thought of him at all, except for those times the gossip columnists mentioned him. If she'd had an opinion of him, it was that he was charming and the life of a party she was not invited to.

Now was an entirely different set of circumstances. The party was long over, and the duke had changed in so many ways. Apparently, so had she.

“Shall we leave?” he asked.

Thankful to be shaken from such strange thoughts, Sara nodded. She was surprised to find no carriage waiting for them.

“We can't arrive at a nethersken in a ducal carriage,” he said as he offered his arm and they walked down the street. It was early enough that no one except servants were up and about, but it was still strange to stroll the street on the arm of the Duke of Rossmoyne in a dress she would never wear in public.

“You've thought of everything,” she said.

“Not everything.”

“Tell me about this nethersken.”

“It's run by a woman named Mrs. Kettles. It's a rather large nethersken, dominated by a variety of thieves and displaced servants.”

“Hopefully none of your servants.”

“I have found that if you treat them with respect and kindness, they remain loyal.”

“Some would say that is a strange concept.”

“I've been called strange before. It's nothing new to me.”

“As have I,” she murmured.

“Strange is not all bad.”

“Only if one is not in society. Then strange is very bad indeed.”

“Do you really care what society thinks?”

Did she? “Society has never paid me much mind. I was always Meredith's shadow, more a chaperone than anything else. Someone to be pitied.”

He gave her a sideways look. “I wouldn't say pitied.”

“You are correct. No one thought of me long enough to pity me.” She shook her head. “It sounds as if I'm feeling sorry for myself when that isn't so. It's never bothered me overmuch. I'm not a great conversationalist, and the act of making small talk makes me anxious. I prefer to sit in the shadows and watch people.”

“I didn't think you were feeling sorry for yourself. In fact, I envy your ability to fade into the shadows.”

“You do?” She looked up at him in surprise.

“Don't sound so surprised.”

“You're a duke. I would think a duke would expect to attract attention and would crave it.”

“Oh, I expect attention, but I don't necessarily crave it.”

She thought of all those appearances Ross and Meredith had made at social events. As soon as their engagement had been announced, they had nearly been mobbed wherever they went.

“I can see why it would get tiresome.” Sara liked peace, and she enjoyed being by herself. She could not imagine the life Meredith had led, always being the center of attention. Callers had flocked to their house one after another, and Meredith had basked in it. Not Sara. She'd begged off more than a few times, leaving the socializing to Meredith.

She had assumed that Ross was the same as Meredith. It was shocking and fascinating to learn differently. She wanted to know more about this man who turned her beliefs upside down every time she talked to him, but they arrived at the hackney stand, where he hired a vehicle for them.

He helped her up into it and grimaced when he settled across from her, lifting his feet from the days-old straw at the bottom and staring at the muck.

“It's a good thing your valet gave you old boots to wear,” she said with a straight face.

He shot her a disgruntled look. “Do these drivers not clean their conveyances?”

“Not often enough, apparently.”

He looked around with a frown. He may have been dressed as a displaced noble, but he was still acting a duke. How he thought he was going to convince this Mrs. Kettles that he was a commoner was beyond Sara. Once he spoke, the ruse would be over.

“I must confess that I know very little about netherskens except that they are dangerous,” she said as the carriage rattled away. The driver must not have believed in quality springs. She would have a sore bum when the ride was over.

“They are rooms for let, although that is not quite right, either,” Ross said as he grabbed for the edge of the seat after a bad rut in the road. “A person will rent space from the proprietor to stay for a day or a night. From what I understand, they are quite overcrowded with unsavory characters.”

“And what are we hoping to find?”

“Thomas said a person by the same description of the one who delivered your letter is residing there. Or at least he was as of yesterday. Netherskens are notorious for drifters.”

“So this man could be long gone by the time we get there?”

“Could be.”

The scenery went from stately mansions to smaller townhouses to small houses built willy-nilly and nearly on top of each other. The people changed accordingly. Here everyone was up and about, if they weren't at their jobs already. Children ran unattended through the streets, while women hung the wash out the windows and men leaned negligently in the doorways.

The smell made Sara's eyes water. Decay and desperation. Everything was blackened by smoke spewing from hundreds of cooking fires, and the sun dared not peek through the cracks between the buildings. Every once in a while they passed a dead dog or cat. Rats scuttled from here to there, hugging the walls and sticking to the shadows.

Sara had always thought she had an open mind when it came to social issues, but she found herself leaning away from the window and swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. The children affected her the most. They reminded her of Thomas. How many of them would fall into a life of crime, driven by the simple need to eat? How many of them would not live to see next year? She turned her head away from the window.

“If we're lucky, Mrs. Kettles will be able to tell us a little more about the man we're seeking,” Ross said.

“If this place is notorious for housing criminals, then this Mrs. Kettles is probably in league with them. How do we know she will tell us anything, and how do we trust what she tells us?”

Ross inclined his head toward her. “Not only beautiful but smart as well.”

She stared at him in surprise. He thought her beautiful?

He thought her beautiful?

She had been told she was smart, but not in the appreciative way Ross had said it. To be smart was not exactly a trait to be admired in a woman. It scared off suitors, because no man wanted to think a potential wife was smarter than he. Ross, it appeared, didn't seem to mind. Then again, he was not thinking of her as wife material.

“My hope is that she can be bribed.”

“If her tenants discover she's snitching on them, she could lose her business.”

He raised a brow. “Snitching?”

She shrugged.

“We have to at least try. It's the only lead we have.”

The carriage slowed and Sara looked out the window. The street, if it could be called that, was so narrow that the hackney could barely fit through. It was eerily deserted.

“It's strange,” she murmured, still looking out the window.

“Strange?”

“It's like Grosvenor Square, only the opposite.” At Ross's puzzled look, Sara indicated the scenery outside the window. “These people. They exist because people like you and I exist. They live our hours because that's the time to steal from us or sell their bodies to the gentlemen who seek that sort of entertainment. Would they be here if it weren't for us?

“Or would they prey on others? Do they live our hours because we're susceptible? Because we think we are so important or so far above them that they are inconsequential, and that makes us vulnerable to them?

“If we weren't here, would they turn their attention to other, better pursuits?

“More honorable pursuits? I don't know. Maybe some would. But some people are simply born bad. I think they would turn their eye to even less honorable pursuits.”

“Maybe. We will never know, because there will always be people like us for people like them to live off of.”

The carriage stopped. There wasn't enough room for it to pull to the side. If another hackney wanted to get by, it wouldn't be able to. Then again, she hadn't seen another hackney in a while.

Butterflies started up in Sara's stomach. It was one thing to say she would accompany Ross to a nethersken and quite another to be there. She had never ventured this far into the belly of the city. If her father knew, he would have a fit. If James knew, he would have apoplexy. Then she thought of the letters, and that strengthened her resolve.

Even dressed in their worst clothes, they stood out as being finely dressed. People stopped to stare at them. Men eyed them not out of curiosity but as if calculating their worth. Sara tried to hide her shiver of alarm. “We should have brought James with us.”

“You don't trust that I can keep you safe?”

“I put my life in your hands, Your Grace.”

“Don't call me that,” he whispered harshly.

“So are you saying I should not curtsy, either?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment before he burst out in laughter, attracting more attention from people who had come out of their homes to see the newcomers.