Chapter 1 #2
Terrified, she could only stagger backward, thinking about her husband’s prolonged disappearances. While she did not care that he disappeared often, she had never known why.
A mistress, perhaps.
The thought only made her bitter, for she had been stuck at home while he gallivanted about. Chained to a man she did not love while he enjoyed other options. And now, he had done this to her.
Sibyl pressed a hand to her chest as the men stood around the table. She tried to snag the bread for Phoebe’s picnic, but the man held it above his head, far too high for her to reach.
More laughter rippled through the men, horrible and grating. A hand fisted in the folds of her skirt, yanking her back. Her foot slipped, and she stumbled back into Mr. Vance.
He stared down at her, grinning. “And just how do you think you will stop us? Is your precious bread really so important?”
Next to him, one of the other men tore a chunk of meat off the bone, and she looked away, sickened.
“You cannot stop us, Lady Kerrington.” Mr. Vance’s lips grazed the back of her neck, and she froze. “But you can offer yourself, if you are truly so desperate to keep what is not even yours.”
The wet sounds of chewing from the other men only made Sibyl feel sicker, but her mind drifted. Suddenly, she was back in the hedge maze with Lord Grenford, his wandering hands tearing her dress, his face leering.
She could have faced worse horrors, but what she had faced had been bad enough.
Her hands shook, and her breath came too fast.
No. No. No, I am not there. I am not back there. I am not a scared young lady anymore. I am the Countess of Kerrington, and I have come too far to let fear control me.
Mr. Vance’s hand slid to her waist, and she made a choked, distressed noise in the back of her throat.
“I need you to leave,” she demanded. “I need you to leave, now.”
Her thoughts went to her daughter upstairs, unaware. Rosie was a light sleeper, so prone to waking up crying at the littlest noise. Sibyl’s heart pounded at the thought of her baby waking up to the sound of intruders, even all the way down in the kitchen.
I will keep her safe. No matter what it takes, I will keep her safe.
“Leave?” Vance sneered, laughing roughly. “Foolish little Countess, we are not leaving until we get what we paid for.”
Sibyl knew she had no true way out of this, even as fear clawed up her throat. Her eyes flitted behind Vance’s body, eyeing up the cook’s knives, the scissors—cataloguing anything she could use as a weapon.
She would be clumsy with a lack of knowledge, but anything to keep her daughter safe had to be done.
Lunging towards the first knife she saw, her elbow drove into Vance’s ribs as she tried to shove him away. She struggled, forcing her thoughts off the hedge maze, trying to grip the table to ground herself, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t—
The door to the kitchen banged against the wall, making the men spin around and Sibyl yelp.
The housekeeper entered, her eyes wide and her face pale. Mrs. Collier looked around at the men, her older face tightening as if she thought she could fight them off. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a figure stepped up behind her, and Sibyl tried to bite back a scream.
How many of them are there?
Her chest hurt so terribly as she looked at the new looming stranger.
Suddenly, her house stopped feeling like her home. It was no longer a safe place with too many men she did not know. She felt so, so alone.
“Leave Lady Kerrington alone, Mr. Vance,” the man ordered.
Sibyl started.
He is not with them?
Her eyes trailed over the man’s face, the thick, dark beard that covered his square jawline. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, brushing the nape of his neck. His broad frame filled the kitchen doorway, and Sibyl’s mouth went dry.
Are you here to fight them or take me? Are you another debt collector?
Her hands trembled, as he didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes, dark as his hair, were narrowed on Mr. Vance.
“And what is it to you?” Mr. Vance challenged, laughing drily. “We are conducting business, and it will do you no good to involve yourself where you are not welcome.”
The man let out a dry laugh of his own as he stepped further into the kitchen.
Heavens, he was broad, and Sibyl was terrified.
“I believe I am welcome. But by all means, if you wish not to heed my warning, then so be it.” He tilted his head from side to side. “I will kill your men and fill the wine bottles they have emptied with their blood. And then, when I offer you a glass, you will drink it.”
Mr. Vance gaped at him. “Who are you?”
“You should have asked that before you challenged me.” The stranger cocked his head, a satisfied, dangerous smirk on his face. “I am the Duke of Stonehelm, and you do not want to make an enemy of me.”
Sibyl watched the confrontation with bated breath, unsure of what to do. What was the Duke of Stonehelm doing in her home?
She did not know the Duke, but she had heard his name through Isabella and her endless connections. Still, his face wasn’t familiar.
“Leave,” the Duke commanded once more.
He sneered at the stolen food, seemingly disgusted by how they had ransacked her kitchen.
Or perhaps he is sneering because he thinks the lady of the house is so weak that she has let them steal her food.
“Lord Kerrington’s debts belong to me now, and you may check with your employer if you doubt me,” the Duke added.
“Ha!” Mr. Vance sniggered. “Why would a duke take on an earl’s debts? What are they to you?”
The Duke said nothing at first, but his expression turned thunderous with menace. It was clear that he didn’t think these men were worth his words anymore, not if they did not believe him anyway.
Even Sibyl was having a hard time processing the situation. She wondered why a man in his position would willingly take on the debts her husband had racked up.
The Duke cocked his head slowly. “That is none of your concern. What should concern you is my warning: step away from the Countess of Kerrington and her possessions, or I shall put you through that wall and leave you there for the rats to finish.”
Mr. Vance gulped.
Sibyl was fascinated to see the man cower before the Duke.
Quickly, he nodded, already hurrying out of the kitchen. One of his men tried to snatch up the block of cheese.
“Leave it,” the Duke barked. “Nothing that is not yours will leave these doors.”
The men fled, leaving only the wreckage in their wake.
“Thank you,” Sibyl gasped, trying to compose herself. She rubbed her chest as she had often seen Isabella do, wondering if it indeed helped. “Thank you, Your Grace. And forgive me for… for walking away.”
She hadn’t realized that her feet took her back to the raided parlor. That in her shock and fear, she had walked away from the Duke of Stonehelm without so much as a thank you for chasing the men out of her home.
Once alone, she had leaned against the mantelpiece, trying and failing to steady her breathing.
The Duke looked away from her, not caring for her gratitude, it seemed.
Sibyl looked around, unsure of what to do. Her fingers toyed with the folds of her skirt, feeling too out of her depth.
Soon enough, the housekeeper and a maid began to fix the frames and right the furniture. The brush of fabric and drag of wooden legs on the furniture distracted Sibyl for a moment, letting her focus not remain on the Duke.
But soon, the noise became grating rather than mercifully distracting, and Sibyl’s word came out more snappish than she had ever used before.
“Your duties are complete enough,” she said. “You may go.”
“My lady, we have not finished—”
She cut Mrs. Collier off. “I am dismissing you for the evening.” Softening her voice, she added, “I believe we all need some rest soon.” Although the maids and the housekeeper nodded and left on her command, Sibyl had left herself standing alone with the Duke. That was unnerving in itself.
“Where is your husband, Lady Kerrington?” His voice was sharp, a hammer that jolted her back to the present.
Her fists clenched. “Like I told Mr. Vance, I do not know, Your Grace.”
She had misjudged him. The Duke was not her savior at all. Perhaps he was just another person in line, chasing away competitors for the money he was owed. Perhaps he might not even be a duke or claim her husband’s debts, as he had told Mr. Vance.
Sibyl’s eyes narrowed. She had always been too trusting when she was younger, but recent years had taught her otherwise.
“Where is Edmund Lynden?” he pressed, ignoring her accusation.
“I do not know,” Sibyl snapped, fraying at the seams as the night’s events finally sank in. “I do not know! I will tell you the same thing as I told those wretched, foul men—I have not seen my husband for four days.”
The Duke was assessing a broken vase that hadn’t yet been swept up. Ever so casually, he asked, “Are you covering for him?”
“What?” Sibyl laughed incredulously. “No! I truly have not seen him in days. There is nothing more I can tell you.”
The Duke moved closer to her, sidestepping an overturned side table. “It is not noble to protect a man who has left you at the mercy of vultures, Lady Kerrington.”
“Oh, that is rich,” she scoffed. “I do not have a desire to protect my husband, but aren’t you also a vulture?”
He cocked his head slowly, but not in a predatory way, not in the way Mr. Vance had made her feel. Instead, he looked more… smug. Expectant. As if he was used to being marveled at.
Sibyl decided not to give him the satisfaction and looked away. But then he stepped into her space.
“Look at me, Lady Kerrington,” he said, his voice dropping.
She did, and her stomach fluttered. Her breath caught at his proximity.
“I need to know where your husband has gone, and I am not sure whether I believe that you have not seen him in four days. You are a good liar, if you are.”