The Wolf Duke’s Wife (Duke Hunt #2)

Chapter 1

One

Hold on for a few more weeks, Christine. Then you will reunite with your sister and be free from this!

Christine gave the coverlet a sharp snap.

She stood back from her handiwork. Changing the bedding of Lady Gillray was a regular chore.

She tucked a wayward strand of hair back under her headscarf.

Not a common chore for the daughter of an earl not born to service.

A chore forced upon her by the cruelty of a particular person who wielded power over Christine like a club.

“I am only biding my time. Once Selina’s child is born, I shall go to her. Until then, I make beds or whatever else Lady Gillray orders me to do. Please, Lord, let Selina’s burdens ease. Let the pregnancy become easier.”

Somehow, speaking it aloud helped her resolve.

The fervent prayer she added was one she sent to the Almighty several times a day.

To ease the difficulty that kept Christine from going to her sister there and then.

Selina’s pregnancy was proceeding with much difficulty and discomfort.

It had sent her to the country to rest, and Christine would not add to her considerable burdens.

Christine had once thought that the man who courted her, Lord Bingley, would perhaps provide her with a means of escape. Had hoped that marriage to the amiable Viscount would finally enable her to leave Gillray House.

How long has it been since I came here? I was fifteen and now I am twenty. Good Lord, five years.

But Lord Bingley had stopped calling for her. Stopped writing. Stopped courting. Christine shrugged, tugging at the bolster pillow.

He clearly decided that I was not the one for him. That is his great loss.

She bent to gather a pile of laundry from the chair, and her elbow struck the bureau next to it. Letters scattered across the floor, fluttering like startled chickens. Christine knelt, pulse quickening.

“If I leave them, she’ll claim it was carelessness.

And the last punishment was enough,” Christine whispered to herself, heart pounding even though she knew Lady Gillray was outside on the lawn, not about to walk into her room.

She shuddered at the memory of three days locked in the airless servant’s cupboard that was her own room.

She gathered the envelopes, stacking them neatly.

She looked around the room, something she had learned through hard experience. If anything caught your attention, it was probably out of place. Nothing jumped out at her except…

Her eyes caught on an envelope on top of the pile she had stacked. An envelope addressed to Lady Christine Davidson. It was a luxurious, thick, creamy paper and a fine copperplate hand. Her heart gave a sharp kick. She tore it open.

Lord Bingley? Have you written at last? Are you riding to my rescue as we speak?

She laughed at herself, at her own childish hopes. The Viscount had the imagination of a clerk. He was not a knight or a hero. He did not inspire tumultuous passions. Merely a warm affection such as might come from a sweet cup of tea on a cold afternoon.

But she so wanted an escape from Gillray House.

The letter was not from him. It was an invitation. The Dowager Duchess of Greystone commanded her presence at the Duke Hunt. Two weeks old. The event tomorrow.

The Duke Hunt! Is it that time again so soon?

Her initial excitement dimmed next to the anger that flared in her. Christine’s cheeks flamed.

“She hid this from me. She had no right!” she said aloud.

Anger burned in her, hot and sharp. Lady Gillray was withholding her correspondence.

She would not even do that to the servants of the house.

But she tried to deny Christine even a brief reprieve from her role as a domestic slave.

Clutching the invitation, she whirled and stopped dead at the sight of the man in the doorway.

“Ah, the young lady of the house,” drawled Lord Dreadford, his lips curving in a smile that never reached his eyes.

He had been leaning on the frame of the open door, but now stepped fully into the doorway, blocking her exit.

He was tall and lean with a leering face and dark aspect.

Lord Dreadford had been Lady Gillray’s guest for three days now, along with his wife.

Did his wife know of her husband’s lecherous behavior?

Christine wondered. She refused to step back further into the room, though she wanted to.

Anything to be further away from his lip-licking smile and hooded eyes.

“What good fortune, to find you alone.”

Christine’s stomach turned, though her chin lifted.

“My lord. You mistake this room. The drawing room lies two floors down.”

“But I prefer this chamber,” he murmured, stepping closer. “It is quieter. More…intimate.” His gaze raked her plain wool dress, the kerchief over her hair. “How curious. A beauty like you in a servant’s garb. I confess, the disguise only heightens the intrigue.”

He actually licked his lips, as though seeing Christine as a choice cut of meat.

Christine’s eyes flashed. “And I confess, my lord, I have no taste for intrigue, least of all with a married man twice my age.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Sharp tongue. I like that. You remind me of a wild filly. Needs breaking in.”

She folded her arms. “And you remind me of a moth, forever singing itself on flames it cannot resist.”

His smile soured. “You would do better to humor me. I am a man of influence.”

“And I,” Christine said sweetly, “am a woman of sturdy boots.” She brought her heel down hard on his foot.

The old man yelped, staggering back, hopping on one leg. Christine swept past him without a glance. “I will give your wife my regards,” she tossed over her shoulder, striding for the stairs.

“Lady Gillray? May I have a moment of your time? It is most important,” Christine said, holding up the invitation in both hands.

Lady Gillray had iron-gray hair and a face to match. Her lips were thin and often pressed together. Her chin was pointed and frequently lifted. Of Lord Dreadford’s wife, there was no sign, and Christine did not miss her.

“I am taking tea and catching up on my correspondence, Christine. This is not an appropriate time,” she said.

“I disagree, Lady Gillray,” Christine said, breathing deep to keep her racing pulse under control. She wanted to clench her fists, but contented herself with clenching her stomach, not wanting to give the outward signs of anger.

She has the power to evict me from this house, and I have nowhere else to go. I will not impose myself on Selina while she goes through this difficult pregnancy. It will be too much! I will not be burden to her, not now of all times.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Gillray’s voice cracked like a whip as her patience crumbled.

Christine held out the invitation.

“The meaning, My Lady,” she used the honorific that she knew Lady Gillray expected of her, even though Christine, as daughter of an Earl, outranked her, “is that you tampered with my correspondence. This invitation was addressed to me. You had no right.”

Lady Gillray’s eyes narrowed. “Ungrateful girl. We take you in, feed you, clothe you, and this is how you repay us? With insolence?”

Christine’s temper flared hot, bubbling up before she could slam a lid onto it.

“You take me in to scrub your floors and make your beds. And as pay, it seems, I must endure your spite until my sister is ready to shelter me herself.”

Christine clamped her lips tight, clenching her teeth behind them.

Have I gone too far? Selina always said my temper would get the better of me. Oh heavens!

Lady Gillray sniffed. “Or perhaps your brother, Charles, will shelter you. Oh, no, you do not know where he is hiding, do you? Where he belongs, I imagine, in a debtor’s prison, if justice is served. Many who trusted him with their savings found themselves beggared.”

Christine stiffened, shame and fury mingling. Charles’s ruin had splattered across her name, across Selina’s, like filth that would never wash away.

Charles is the brother who was always there for me when I cried. He was the hero I looked up to. And he abandoned us. I do not know if I want him to return to me or…

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Gillray cut across her. Her voice was smooth and deliberate.

“Finally, I suppose you would have prevailed upon Lord Bingley, your betrothed.” She poured scorn onto that word. “A good man. But I was obliged to turn him away after your scandalous behavior with him. He deserved better than to shackle himself to a ruined woman.”

Christine felt the world tilt. She gaped at Lady Gillray, who stared back with a superior smile.

“Scandalous behavior? I ended up in his company without a chaperone! It was not even deliberate. We were in company with another couple who suddenly had to leave.”

“You were alone with an unmarried man. Had I chosen to reveal that to your sister, it would have caused her much distress.”

“I did nothing to be ashamed of!”

“Then why did you so readily agree to my terms?” Lady Gillray said with a raised eyebrow, “To work off your moral debt to me. You would not have accepted the position I have given you in this house unless you felt guilt.”

Christine could not answer. She had accepted her position as an unpaid servant, as a slave, in order that Lady Gillray would not reveal the scandal to Selina.

Christine would not risk any harm to Selina’s unborn child.

But she had not known that it had not been Bingley’s silence, his rejection.

It had been Lady Gillray’s without Christine’s knowledge or consent.

Rage surged, but she caught Lady Gillray’s watchful gaze, measuring her like a hawk watching a particularly tasty mouse.

When Christine found her voice, she made it as calm and meek as possible.

Let her voice quaver with rage, and Lady Gillray would take it for fear.

She would not give her the satisfaction.

“Is that true? You sent him away?”

“Of course,” Lady Gillray said. “It was for his own good.”

Christine bowed her head. “Then I must beg pardon for interrupting your tea. I will return to my duties.”

Lady Gillray’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering.

“Just like that?” she asked. “No outburst? No childish tantrum?”

“Would there be any point, My Lady?” Christine said, removing any emotion from her voice, wanting to appear as helpless as possible. “My hopes were pinned on Lord Bingley. But it seems those are dashed.”

“Very well. I am glad you are capable of controlling yourself,” Lady Gillray said after a long, uncomfortable moment in which Christine felt herself weighed and measured. Then Lady Gillray spoke again.

“Before you go, child, be sure to fetch Lady Dreadford’s gowns from Madame Lenoir on Oxford Street. They should be ready today. We have a function to attend this evening and she will need ample time to prepare, so do not dawdle.”

Christine curtsied. “At once, my lady.”

She turned, walking swiftly back toward the house. Her rapid steps echoed the wildly racing currents of her thoughts.

A plan had come into her mind just then, fully formed. Her position was untenable. Intolerable. But she had an invite to the Duke Hunt. Lord Bingley would be there.

He must be there! He has to be!

She would tell him the truth, that she had never rejected him.

Perhaps he would listen. Perhaps she could rebuild what Lady Gillray had torn apart.

Yet even as hope flickered, a shadow crossed her mind.

Lord Bingley was safe and dependable. But he was not the stuff of passion, not the kind of man to set her heart alight.

It does not matter. I will take a lifetime of grey days and boredom to a life of slavery.

Lord Dreadford stepped out of the French doors that led into the drawing room. He was scowling. Christine saw Lady Dreadford disappearing through a doorway, slamming it behind her. When Dreadford saw her, a dark smile spread across his saturnine features.

“Well, has Lady Gillray given you the good news?”

Christine felt ice in her veins at the leering suggestion in his voice. She glanced back at Lady Gillray, who watched her with the intensity of a raptor.

“Which good news would that be?” Christine asked.

“‘My Lord,’ please.”

“I am not a Lord,” Christine replied, unwilling to address him as such.

Dreadford’s grin was the toothy grimace of a predator.

“No, but I am. And I will be your Lord.”

He stepped closer. Christine wanted to keep her distance but refused to let him see fear. She stood her ground.

“You are married.”

“Married men always have mistresses. You will enjoy it, I promise you. Once you’ve learned your place.”

Christine looked back at Lady Gillray instinctively.

“Don’t look to her for help. It was her idea in the first place. Profitable for her. Elevating for you, to be mistress to a man such as I.”

Christine brushed past him, almost running. His laughter followed her into the house.