Chapter 7
“You have to tell me we did not just leave them there…”
The door had barely shut behind them, and her mind was still in that drawing room. Augusta and Matilda were left behind.
“I was not going to stay there a moment longer after he had the audacity to strike you,” Duncan replied in a voice that was calm but still somehow sounded frightening. “I would have done much worse in return, but I held back and thought it would be best to remove you from that situation.”
“I know why we left,” Charity said, sighing. “But you have to understand what that means for them. My uncle… he is a difficult man, and you’ve seen it yourself. He will treat this incident like a personal attack, and the lesson will be taught to my sisters.”
Her heart beat quickened at the mere thought of the notion.
“You think he’ll hurt them?” Duncan said.
“I think he will frighten them and he will turn them against me,” she admitted, “He’ll twist it into a story where I’m the one who left them. I must reach them again.”
“You won’t reach them again. Now is not the time, and we will look into other means,” Duncan said.
Charity swallowed, and tears rose fast.
“I went back for them, that was the only reason I was willing to go back at all, and now I’ve come out with nothing but a bruise and a worse reputation.”
“You came out alive,” Duncan said. “Come here.”
“I don’t want…” Charity began, and then let him guide her to the chair. Don’t faint, she told herself.
“You’re bleeding,” Duncan remarked.
“It’s nothing,” Charity said automatically, and then she tasted the blood again at the corner of her mouth. Oh. It was something.
“It’s your lip,” Duncan said. “Hold still.”
“What are you doing?” Charity said, and her voice was sharper than she intended, then immediately softened because she did not want to snap at him. He’s the only one on your side. “I’m sorry. I’m only… I’m not myself.”
“You’re thinking ten steps ahead,” Duncan said, and he dipped the cloth in the water. “Turn your face.”
Charity turned her head, and the cloth touched the cut at the corner of her mouth. It stung sharply enough that she sucked in a breath through her nose, then immediately hated herself for making any sound at all.
“If it hurts, let it,” Duncan said, like he could tell what she was thinking.
Charity blinked fast and took a shaky breath, “I do not want to be weak,” she replied. She truly did not know what she was allowed to be in this moment without feeling ashamed.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Duncan said, and he leaned closer to apply a bit of salve to her lip with a careful touch that surprised her, because a man who could hit someone that hard did not seem like the sort who would bother to be gentle with anything.
Charity watched his hand for a moment too long. It wasn’t tender in a sweet way but rather practical. He did it like he expected her to heal, like he expected her to keep going.
This was the same person I had thought to be a beast.
“When I first met you, I thought you were dangerous in the worst way. And today…well…”
Duncan didn’t look offended.
“I am dangerous,” he said simply.
“Yes,” Charity said, and she swallowed carefully because her lip hurt. “But you’re not cruel, and there’s a difference that I didn’t see clearly until now.”
Duncan’s eyes stayed on her face while he finished with the salve.
“You’re trying to decide what sort of man I am,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for that?”
“I’m trying to understand you,” Charity replied, and her voice lowered without her meaning it to, “You scared me in that house, Duncan. It seems like you have a lot of….”
Influence, she wanted to say.
“We cannot simply sit here,” Charity said, and she tried to keep her voice level, though it would not quite obey her, because the moment the door shut behind them, she could think of nothing but Augusta’s face and Matilda’s hands twisting in her sleeves.
“If he has them alone all night, he will speak to them in a way that makes me sound like the problem, and by morning they will be frightened to say a word to me.”
Duncan set the water on the table and looked at her as if he were deciding how much truth she could bear at once. “Sit down,” he said. “If you fall, you’ll only make more trouble for yourself, and you’ve had enough trouble for one day.”
There was silence in the room for a while. Charity let herself calm down. Somehow, his presence seemed to be helping, though she could not explain why exactly.
Duncan’s gaze stayed on her the entire time, and then, when it felt like enough time had passed, he spoke up again.
“You won’t get them by asking,” he said. “You saw what he did the moment you pushed against him, and that was in front of me; imagine what he’ll do when there isn’t anyone there he has to fear.”
“Then what do we do?” she asked, because she had to have something she could hold on to besides dread.
“We do it properly,” Duncan said. “And quickly.”
Charity frowned.
“That is still not an answer.”
Duncan exhaled through his nose, like he had little patience for long explanations, but he gave her one anyway.
“We marry tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she repeated, feeling a knot in her stomach. Marriage was the day that all young women looked forward to, and hers was happening in such a rush.
“Aye,” Duncan said, as if it were a simple arrangement, like hiring a carriage, perhaps. “If we don’t, he will keep treating you as a girl who can be shouted down, and he will keep your sisters where he wants them, because no one will stop him. You need the title badly.”
“Where do we even go to marry?” Charity swallowed, coming to terms with what he was suggesting. “In a village church?”
Quaint, she thought to herself. Perhaps it would not be so bad.
“We’ll do it properly,” Duncan said, and his tone made it clear he meant what he said, even if “properly” would look different than it ought to. “But we’ll do it quickly.”
“And then,” Charity said, slowly, “you go back, and you demand them?”
“Perhaps it will not be a demand, in the same way you are thinking,” Duncan replied. “But I can make it difficult for him to refuse.”
Charity’s brows drew together.
“Explain.”
“We send for a magistrate,” Duncan said. “Or a solicitor, and you speak to Augusta and Matilda yourself, and if he tries to bar the door or hide them, he does it in front of witnesses, which puts him in trouble.”
Charity stared at him, then let out a breath.
“You’ve thought of this already?” she said.
“I’ve met men like him already,” Duncan replied as if it were the easiest problem in the world to solve. “They’re bold when no one’s watching, and very careful when they realize someone might repeat their behavior. I know you feel intimidated by him, but I think he is only talk.”
Charity’s throat tightened again. Desperately, she wanted him to be right. In front of her uncle, she felt small, and at least if Duncan was by her side, she would no longer feel that way.
“I don’t want them frightened,” she said. “And what if he has poisoned their minds already by telling them false things about me?”
“Then you tell them yourself,” Duncan said. “I’m sure that they will understand. Out of the two of you, you are the more trustworthy one, and I do not think they will believe your uncle over you.”
Charity glanced toward the bed, then back to him, and her cheeks warmed with irritation at herself for it.
“And this,” she said, and she forced herself to say it without flinching. “If people talk about us being here…” being alone in an inn together. The whole thing just dripped scandal, and the last thing she wanted was for it to be a public thing.
“They will,” Duncan said. “People talk when they’re bored.”
“And I’m simply to accept that?” Charity asked, because she had spent her whole life scared of being punished for what men called “appearances.” That sort of cautious guilt was drilled inside of her at the nunnery.
“You’re to stop living by your uncle’s threats,” Duncan said. “Do you understand me? Remember why we’re doing it.”
Charity’s fingers curled tighter, feeling all of her insecurities come to the surface.
“I don’t want to ruin them by saving them,” she said. Her sisters were the most important thing to her, and she felt that her worst insecurities were erupting.
Duncan looked at her for a long moment.
“You won’t,” he said as if he had the answers to everything. Infuriating, and comforting. “But you will ruin yourself if you stay here arguing with me all night instead of resting. Tomorrow you’ll need your head.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Charity’s breath shook a little.
“It’s just straightforward.”
Duncan waited till Charity was asleep to leave the room. He could not explain the strange protective instinct that he felt for this woman, only that he could not help himself. But when she finally slept, he tucked out of the room and went downstairs to the inn.
“A drink,” Duncan said to Malcom, whom he had spotted across the room.
“Aye, I reckoned ye’d come lookin’ for one,” Malcolm replied, sliding the mug across without rising, “Though if ye mean to sit there and brood over it, ye can do that upstairs in comfort…”
Duncan took the mug and sat, letting the silence stretch for half a moment before he spoke again.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
Malcolm’s grin faded into something more serious at once, and he leaned forward, forearms on the table, lowering his voice. “Aye,” he said. “East wing, second floor, two rooms along the same passage.”
“Who’s watching?”
“Nobody much,” Malcolm said, and there was a quiet contempt in the way he spoke it, as if even the idea of a man keeping young women penned behind doors disgusted him.
“Two footmen and a maid, though I doubt she’d stop a cat from sneakin’ past, never mind anyone with sense. He’s got pride, but he’s nae got money, and it shows.”
Duncan took a slow drink.
“You left the note?”
“Aye,” Malcolm replied. “Slipped it under the door when the maid stepped away for a minute, and I waited long enough to see the shadow move on the other side, so I ken they saw it before anyone else did.”