A Spinster’s Guide to Danger and Dukes (Ladies Most Scandalous Book 3)

Langham stroked his hand down Poppy’s bare back and forced himself to remain calm. Making love with Poppy was perhaps the most reckless thing he’d ever done. And yet, if given the chance to go back in time and change things, he wouldn’t do it.

He’d known from the first that she’d be passionate—it was impossible to be in Poppy’s company for more than a moment before one realized she felt things very deeply. But the reality of making love to her had been both more arousing and more soul stirring than he could have imagined.

Perhaps because of their heightened awareness from what they’d seen in the cave—though he suspected it had more to do with the woman now cuddled against him—he’d reveled in the reality of tasting, touching, claiming her, and some distant part of his mind had marveled at how right Poppy felt in his arms.

Unfortunately, as much as she’d enjoyed herself—and he made damned sure she had—Poppy was the one woman in England who would most definitely not leap at the chance to become the next Duchess of Langham.

More than once she’d spoken of how she valued the independence she’d achieved while working in London with Kate and Caro on their crime column. It was clear she enjoyed the research she performed at The London Gazette as Kate’s assistant there, and before she’d been forced to leave London to come to Little Kidding, he’d seen firsthand how her investigative work had helped her friends search for a missing friend.

He’d be a fool to think that even the kind of earth-shattering lovemaking they’d just shared would be enough to make Poppy give up that hard-won autonomy. Nor, as much as he now knew there was no woman he’d rather have as his duchess, would he wish that complicated and constricting role on her.

What a coil.

The sense of well-being that satiety had brought him evaporated in the onslaught of his dour thoughts, and Langham groaned.

“What is it?” Poppy asked, raising her head to look at him. With her hair falling down from its pins and her cheeks flushed, she looked exactly like what she was—a lady who had just been thoroughly tumbled.

He looked into her wide blue eyes and tried to read her thoughts. But apparently sexual congress did not imbue you with omniscience.

“Just a stone digging into my back,” he lied.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, moving to climb off of him. He wanted to protest, but there was no use in clinging to these final moments of closeness when he knew all too well that their false betrothal would be ending soon. They could hardly remain holed up in the folly forever, no matter how much he might wish it.

Before she could stand, however, he retrieved his handkerchief from the pocket of his discarded coat and would have used it to tidy her, but blushing, she rose hastily and turned her back on him to do the job herself.

Hiding the smile that had formed as he watched his ever-independent Poppy set herself to rights, he took the opportunity to tuck himself back into his trousers and re-don his shirt and coats. His neckcloth he stuffed into an inner pocket.

“May I assist you in any way?” he asked as he watched Poppy coil her shining golden hair into a knot and begin pinning it up.

“No,” she said with a laugh as she turned to look at him. “One benefit of having gone without a maid is that I’m able to dress my own hair. Of course, it won’t be in the same style it was in when we left the house, but at least it is neat and won’t invite too much conjecture, I hope.”

She was right. If he hadn’t known what they’d just been up to, he’d never have known it by looking at her. With the exception of some smudges of dirt on the skirt of her pink gown, and her differently dressed hair, she looked tidy if not perfectly turned out.

“It should be safe to go back into the main room of the caves now,” he said locking his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her. The buzzing sound of the voices of the revelers had ceased long ago, and a glance at his pocket watch a moment earlier had shown nearly an hour had passed since they’d first left the drawing room. “I’ll go down and make sure they’re gone first.”

He didn’t wait for her response but turned toward the hidden door and was about to press the opening mechanism when a loud scraping sound came from the door of the folly.

On the other side, he could hear someone—Jarvis?—shouting their names.

“Hello?” Poppy yelled back. “Hello? We’re in here! Help us!”

It took a few minutes, but soon the pocket door was sliding open and they were met by the sight of Ned Jarvis, several footmen, a few grooms, and even Charlotte and her husband, Felton, peering in at them.

“Thank heavens,” Charlotte cried and rushed forward to engulf Poppy in her arms as soon as she stepped out onto the portico. “We thought you must have been taken by whoever it was that killed Alistair Lovell. We even sent for Constable Rhodes.”

“Someone locked you in there,” said Felton in a not uncommon for him statement of the obvious.

“There’s a latch up here,” said Ned, pointing out the simple sliding bolt that had been installed at the top of the door and the jamb. “I don’t know who fastened it. It’s so rarely used that I’m surprised anyone knew it was even there. I can’t recall the last time the door was shut, much less latched closed.”

“Nor I,” said Langham with a scowl as he stared up at the bolt. Someone must have seen Poppy and him go into the folly and locked it once they went through the hidden door. Whether they were affiliated with the group they’d seen in the caves, he didn’t know. But surely it couldn’t be a coincidence that their imprisonment had occurred while they were spying on the revelers.

To his cousin, he said, “I’d like you to see to it tomorrow that all the grounds are searched for signs of similar misdeeds. Poppy and I went through the hidden door into the caves below this evening and saw a group meeting there who certainly did not have leave from me to do so.”

Quickly he explained that they’d seen a light at the folly when they were in the gardens and had come out to investigate. If any of their rescue party thought the explanation was suspect, none of them said anything. Though he did note the speculative gleam in his sister’s eyes as she looked from Poppy’s rearranged hair to his missing neckcloth.

Charlotte was many things, but a fool she was not.

“What sort of group?” demanded Felton, his chest puffed out at the notion of someone trespassing on abbey grounds. “This is private property.”

Langham caught Poppy’s eye and shook his head slightly. For now, he thought, it would be best to keep the truth of what they’d seen in the cave to themselves. Once the depravity of what they’d seen—especially the eating of what the leader had claimed was human flesh—was revealed, the village would be rife with gossip and innuendo that would overshadow their goal of finding Violet and proving her innocence.

Before he could even offer an expurgated story of what they’d witnessed, however, a shout rose from the edge of the lake, where he could see Constable Rhodes running toward them from the path.

“Miss Delamere,” he cried as he ran toward them. “You must come at once.”

“What’s going on, Rhodes?” demanded Langham, moving to stand next to Poppy and slipping his arm about her waist. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Miss Delamere’s sister, Your Grace,” the constable said as he reached them, leaning over to place his hands on his knees in an obvious attempt to catch his breath.

“Well, spit it out, man,” said Charlotte, her voice cross. “You cannot leave poor Miss Delamere in suspense.”

Rhodes stood upright and moved to take Poppy’s hand, but she crossed her arms protectively across her chest.

“What is it, Mr. Rhodes?” she asked, and Langham could feel a tremor run through her as she spoke.

“Your sister has turned up at the abbey.” Rhodes looked from Langham to Poppy and back again, his eyes lingering on Langham for a beat longer than was necessary. “She claims she’s been locked away somewhere but won’t say anything more, just insists on speaking to you. She’s in bad shape, but she’s alive. His Grace’s sister, Lady Bellwood, has seen to it that she’s been placed in a bedchamber to rest. And she’s also sent for the physician.”

The constable looked as if he wished to say something more, but before he could speak, Poppy ran down the steps of the folly and hurried off in the direction of the path around the lake.

“I’ll go after her,” Charlotte said to Langham with a squeeze of his arm.

He gave his sister a nod of thanks, then turned to Rhodes. “What is it you aren’t telling us?”

“She’s burned up with fever,” said Rhodes. “It’s clear wherever she was hiding was cold and damp. A cellar perhaps, foolish chit. She might have saved the crown the expense of a hanging.”

Langham scowled at the man, grateful Poppy had left before being exposed to the constable’s cruel words. “You don’t know how she came to be locked away, Rhodes, and I’ll thank you to keep your comments to yourself in Miss Delamere’s presence.”

“I’m just stating the facts, Your Grace,” said Rhodes, looking mulish. “But I’ll do as you wish. Your lady is going to get her heart broken when her sister is charged with her husband’s murder at the coroner’s inquest the day after next. You’d do well to prepare her.”

The duke clenched his jaw. “When was that decided? We’ve heard nothing of it.” So much for the power and influence he’d boasted of to Poppy when they’d made their bargain. Admittedly, he wasn’t particularly well versed in the workings of these proceedings, but he’d thought there would be more time before the inquest was held. At the very least he thought that asking Stannings for his assistance would have delayed things.

“I received word just this evening, Your Grace,” the constable said, not quite able to hide his smugness at having heard the news before the duke. “Mr. Trowbridge, the coroner for this county, likes to hold the proceedings as soon after the body is found as possible. And because he reckons this death is like to draw a crowd on account of the dead man being a gentleman, he decided to hold it sooner rather than later.”

Langham had never heard of Trowbridge. He pondered the idea of sending the man a note and asking him to postpone the proceedings. But he knew enough of how tightly local officials clung to their power to know that the missive might have the opposite effect. He’d ask Stannings about the man before he risked putting Violet in any more jeopardy than she already faced.

For the moment, however, he needed to get back to the abbey and ensure that Poppy and her sister received every assistance they might need at the moment.

Leaving Rhodes to his petty triumph, Langham set off at a run for the house.

*  *  *

As Poppy ran toward the abbey, she turned over the constable’s words about Violet’s condition over and over again in her mind. “Bad shape” could mean anything from terribly ill to at death’s door. The days could get quite warm, but the nights were still quite cold—and if she’d been kept in some place damp or without a fire, she could have caught a chill. Or had she been beaten or injured in some way by the person who had taken her? It was impossible to stop her thoughts from racing.

By the time she arrived at the entrance to the abbey, Poppy was quite sure she’d dissolve into a fit of tears if anyone attempted to stop her before she reached Violet’s side.

Which is precisely what happened when Genia met her in the entry hall and took her in a fierce hug. “There, there my dear,” Langham’s sister said in a soothing voice. “She’s here and she’s safe. Let it all out.”

Once Poppy had regained her composure and gratefully accepted the handkerchief Genia placed in her hand, she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and allowed the other lady to lead her upstairs.

“She’s been placed in a bedchamber down the hall from yours,” Eugenia said in a low voice as they made their way upstairs. “We could not put her closer because of the other guests, but this one was empty and is a pleasant room overlooking the gardens. I have always liked it, and I’m sure she’ll be quite comfortable.”

So long as Violet was safe and in the confines of the abbey, Poppy had little care for the view or luxury of her bedchamber. But she knew that Genia meant well and made no comment on her assurances. Instead, she asked the questions foremost in her mind. “How is she? Is she conscious? Did she say where she’s been?”

Not blinking an eye at the string of questions, Genia slipped Poppy’s arm through hers. “She is awake, but feverish. I’ve sent my own maid in to look after her until the physician arrives. And she’s asked for you. So of course, I assured her that you were on your way to her.”

It was, Poppy thought, the best she could have hoped for under the circumstances. “Thank you, Genia. You cannot know how much this means to me.”

“Of course I do, dear girl,” the other lady assured her. “If it were any of my siblings, I’d feel the same. And though you have only been here for a short time, you’ve become dear to all of us—not just to Joshua. You’re part of the family.”

Her words sent a stab of guilt through Poppy. But she had no room for it just now, so she simply squeezed Genia’s hand and said nothing.

By the time they reached Violet’s bedchamber, she felt composed enough to see her sister without succumbing to her emotions. Once Genia left her with an assurance that she would bring the physician as soon as he arrived, Poppy took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The bedchamber was, as Genia had said, a pretty one, with blue and silver bed hangings and a vase of peonies on a table near the window. But it was the figure in the bed who drew Poppy’s eye.

Violet’s eyes were closed, and her cheeks were flushed with fever, but there was no visible sign that she’d been struck or beaten in any way. Her light brown hair was down and far longer than Poppy remembered it being when she’d left for London. And, most strikingly, in the intervening two years, her sister had grown from a child into a woman.

“Violet?” she said softly, perching in the chair that had been drawn up to the bedside. “Violet, I’m here. It’s me, Poppy.”

At the sound of her voice, Violet’s blue eyes, so like her own, flew open. “Poppy? You’re here? It’s not a dream?”

Gripping her sister’s hand in hers, Poppy leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek. “I’m really here, dearest. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to find you.”

When Poppy leaned down to hug her, Violet’s grasp was surprisingly strong. “I never dreamed your father would force you into marriage with Mr. Lovell,” she said pulling away to sit, but taking hold of Violet’s hand. “If I had had any notion that—”

Violet interrupted her with a shake of her head. “You could not have known. I thought as you did that he would not insist upon the marriage. Especially not after the way Mr. Lovell intruded into your bedchamber. But Papa would not be moved, no matter how much Mama or I pleaded with him. I was glad you were able to leave when you did.”

It was far more than she deserved, Poppy thought, though she was grateful for her sister’s forgiving nature. But she could not shake the guilt that dogged her as she took in the shadows beneath her sister’s eyes and the flush of fever in her cheeks.

Still, it would do Violet no good if Poppy succumbed to her own feelings now. They needed to know who had killed Lovell, and sooner rather than later.

“Violet, where have you been? Do you know that the authorities are saying you followed Mr. Lovell to St. Lucy’s and pushed him from the tower? Your father told the magistrate that he saw you, and though the duke and I both spoke with Sir Geoffrey Stannings on your behalf, I don’t know whether he believed us or not. And the constable, Mr. Rhodes, certainly believes you’re guilty. I will do what I can to find the best barrister possible for your defense, but I am afraid that—”

To Poppy’s shame, Violet was forced to interrupt her once again—she had not meant to run at her with so many questions and explanations at once—and she stopped in midsentence.

“Please, slow down, Poppy,” Violet said, squeezing her hand gently. “I know how dire my situation is, but we will not resolve anything if you are dead of an apoplexy. For now, let me assure you that I did not kill my husband, no matter what my father might have to say about it.”

Poppy frowned. “How did you know that Lord Short had accused you of killing Lovell?”

“I overheard him speaking to the constable before he forced me into hiding.” Violet’s mouth tightened at the memory. “I planned to flee as soon as I heard him, but I was too late. He locked me away that very afternoon.”

“At Rothwell?” Poppy asked. “But we searched the house. And found no sign of you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have done. I was locked in the cellar of the dower house,” Violet said. “I only knew you’d come because the footman that had been bringing me my meals—such as they were—told me.”

Violet’s expression changed to one of joy. “He also told me that you were betrothed to the Duke of Langham. I am pleased for you, sister. I always knew you would do well for yourself, what with your clever way with words and interest in learning. I suppose it was he who helped orchestrate my removal from the dower house?”

Poppy frowned. She would need to inform her sister of the real reason behind the betrothal, but that could wait. Now, she was concerned that Violet might be suffering from the effects of the fever.

“Violet,” she said, gripping her sister’s hand. “Neither I nor the duke had anything to do with saving you from the dower house. We went to the grange to search for you, but there was no sign of you. And Lord Short assured us you’d run away. I would have dearly loved to get you away from him, but I had nothing to do with your escape.”

“You didn’t?” Violet’s brow furrowed. “I was sure you must have been the one to make sure the door to the dower house was left unlocked this evening. I’d checked every few hours, since my father didn’t insist on me being bound—I suppose he thought I wasn’t clever enough to find a way to escape on my own—and finally tonight I tried the door and it swung open. When I ensured there was no one lurking about outside, I fled.”

“On foot?” Poppy demanded, thinking of how far the drive she and Langham had taken from the abbey to the grange had been. By carriage it wasn’t so very daunting, but in Violet’s weakened state, it must have felt interminable. “That must have been a walk of several miles. Did you have shoes at least?”

Violet shook her head. “Papa made sure to take them as soon as he had me locked away.” She tilted her head. “You’re sure it wasn’t you that had someone unlock the door?”

“If it had been me, I would have seen to it you had some sort of conveyance to carry you here.” That her sister thought she’d have left her to find her own way away from the grange was perhaps a sign of how the fever had confused her mind. At least Poppy hoped that was the reason.

“It wasn’t so far,” Violet said squeezing her hand. “I was afraid the whole time that I would be found. And you know I’ve never liked the dark, but I followed the path and the moon lighted my way. I don’t remember very much after I started up the drive to the abbey, though. I was weak and must have collapsed at some point. When I woke up, I was here in this bedchamber. Lady Bellwood has been very kind. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a lovelier room, have you?”

“No,” Poppy said smiling at her sister’s enthusiasm. “I’m pleased you like it.”

They were silent for a moment, and Violet’s eyes began to drift closed with fatigue.

Hoping to ask one more question before her sister fell into slumber, Poppy murmured in a soft voice, “Why did your father lock you away, Violet?”

But it was clear that Violet was either unable or unwilling to answer.

Contenting herself to sit by Violet’s side, holding her sister’s hand between both of her own, Poppy watched over Violet for several moments until she was startled by a brisk knock.

“My dear,” Langham said quietly as he entered the room, followed by a man of middle years she didn’t recognize. “Here is Dr. Howard come to see to your sister.”

With a nod, Poppy stood in order to make room for the physician, but Violet, who had awakened at the entrance of the two men, clung to her sister’s hand. “You will come back, won’t you?”

Poppy’s chest constricted with emotion. “Of course,” she assured Violet, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll return once the doctor has finished with you. I promise.”

With a slow nod, Violet let go of her hand, and Poppy stepped over to stand beside Langham.

“We’ll be in my study, Howard,” Langham told the doctor. “Just have the maid send for us once you’re ready.”

Then he tucked Poppy’s arm into his and led her from the room.

Once the door was closed behind them, Poppy felt exhaustion descend upon her like a heavy cloak. Some part of her knew she should pull away from Langham—especially after their intimacy in the folly—but she was honest enough to admit that she needed his support. Their betrothal would end soon enough, but she would be a fool to push him away at the moment she needed him most.

They were halfway to his study when she realized how selfish her thoughts had been. What right had she to be tired when Violet had walked miles to reach the abbey tonight? And had possibly made herself ill as a result? Shaking off her mood, she stood straighter, and as soon as they were inside Langham’s inner sanctum, she pulled away from him.

Unaware of her inner struggle, the duke went to a sideboard and poured two generous glasses of whisky. He brought one of the drinks to Poppy and pressed it into her hand. When she tried to resist, he curled his hands over hers around the glass. “Drink it,” he ordered. “It will calm your nerves, if nothing else.”

She wanted to argue that her nerves didn’t need calming but knew he wouldn’t believe her.

“Fine.” Taking the cut crystal goblet from him, she took a large gulp. A mistake, she soon realized, as she coughed and sputtered. “My throat is on fire.”

“You’re supposed to sip it,” Langham chided, taking the glass from her before patting her on the back until she caught her breath. “I might have known you’d drink spirits in the same way you do everything else.”

“And how is that?” she asked, her voice still hoarse from the alcohol.

“Full on,” he said with an affectionate grin.

She laughed in spite of herself, but then the reality of all that had happened tonight settled over her, and she found herself swaying on her feet.

Langham caught her by the arm. “Easy. I would never forgive myself if you were to collapse on my watch.”

Ushering her over to the settee, he assisted her onto the cushioned seat. Then, for a reason known only to him, he took a seat behind the desk. Poppy knew the distance was for the best, but she wished desperately that he’d have put his arms around her instead.

“How is your sister?” he asked, stroking a hand over his mussed hair.

The gesture reminded Poppy of how that same hand had caressed down her bare back earlier, and she looked down at her lap even as she felt her cheeks heat.

“She’s exhausted but in good spirits. Beyond that, I look to Dr. Howard’s expertise.” Poppy’s voice sounded wobbly even to her own ears.

“Did Violet say what happened?” If Langham noticed her agitation, he was kind enough not to acknowledge it and in any case most likely attributed it to her concern for her sister’s well-being, “Where she was being held?”

Having regained her composure, Poppy told him what Violet had said about her father locking her in the cellar of the dower house.

“It didn’t occur to me to check there,” he said with a curse. “I should have realized he was lying about not knowing where she was.”

“You’re not omniscient, Langham,” Poppy told him. It was just like the man to blame himself for an inability to see through solid stone walls.

But instead of laughing, he clenched his jaw. “I know that all too well,” he said tightly. “Especially after what Rhodes told me once you left us at the folly.”

Something in his tone sent a spiral of fear through her. Whatever the constable had revealed, she knew it would be very bad.

“The coroner’s inquest has been set for two days from now in Aylesbury,” he said, with a gentleness that only emphasized the gravity of the news. “I’m unfamiliar with the coroner, a man named Trowbridge, but I will speak to Stannings first thing tomorrow to learn more. And perhaps I’ll send another note to Eversham to let him know the latest developments.”

Poppy had known that there would be an inquest, of course. She had followed enough murder cases with Kate and Caro that she was quite familiar with the ways in which violent deaths were investigated. But when the inquest was held was up to the discretion of the coroner, and since neither Rhodes nor Stannings had mentioned the proceeding, she’d assumed they’d have sufficient time to prove Violet’s innocence before it was scheduled.

She realized now just how naive that assumption had been.

“I am sorry, my dear,” Langham said, grasping her hand. “I should have known better.”

“You can hardly have known the exact date when the coroner would schedule the inquest, Langham.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “That’s not what I’m apologizing for. I was so damned arrogant that it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to stop the suspicions against your sister in their tracks with a few words. Clearly, I was wrong.”

There was genuine regret in his eyes, and though a few days earlier she’d not have believed him capable of it, now she knew him well enough to know he was not only frustrated at himself, but also hurting on her behalf. There was so much more depth of emotion lurking beneath the façade of hauteur he presented to the world. And she was one of the few people outside of his family he’d ever allowed to see it.

Blinking back tears, she realized that once their sham betrothal was at an end, she would likely never see him again. The realization hurt her more than she’d ever have believed. Her own emotions were in a turmoil, but one thing she knew now was that she would never forget this dear, dear man who had somehow managed to make her fall in love with him.

Misinterpreting the moistness in her eyes, Langham crossed to sit beside her on the settee. “Do not fear. I have been unsuccessful thus far, but I have faith that Eversham will be able to bring the weight of all the authority of his position with the Yard to bear on Violet’s case. He’ll figure out who really killed Lovell, whether it was your stepfather attempting to keep him from revealing the extent of their swindle or one of the revelers in the cave.”

Poppy took his hand in hers and squeezed it. They’d long ago abandoned gloves, and the answering warmth of his strong fingers around hers gave her a jolt of much needed confidence. She might be afraid for Violet’s life now, but like Langham, she trusted Eversham. And despite his own disappointment in himself, she trusted the man beside her as well. Her sister might be in danger, but she was not without powerful friends.

Which reminded her of something her sister had told her. “Violet said the door of the dower house was unaccountably unlocked tonight. She’d been told of our betrothal by one of the servants sent to bring her food and water, and so when she escaped, she made for the abbey to look for me. That is how she arrived here tonight.”

“Unlocked?” Langham repeated, pulling away to look her fully in the face. “Were they really so careless as to leave the door open so that she could escape? I find that hard to believe, given your stepfather’s no doubt strict way with his servants.”

“As do I,” said Poppy with a grim nod. “Your assessment of his way with the household staff is accurate. He does not suffer mistakes easily, and I cannot imagine that whichever of them he put in charge of seeing to Violet’s needs would have made such a foolish error. Perhaps Violet has another ally in Rothwell Grange?”

She had a guess, but it seemed too childishly hopeful to be true.

“Your mother?” Langham asked, speaking her own conjecture aloud. “It did seem when we visited that she disagreed with your stepfather’s treatment of both you and your sister.”

Poppy felt her chest constrict at the notion Mama had finally found the strength to stand up to Lord Short. She only hoped that her stepfather didn’t punish her for it. “Perhaps,” she agreed aloud.

They were silent then, as she contemplated what would happen when her stepfather learned that Violet had escaped.

“Poppy,” the duke said into the stillness. “We should talk about what happened in the folly. I believe the nature of our agreement has—”

But whatever it was he’d been about to say was cut short by a knock at the study door. “Enter.”

Poppy clasped her hands in her lap and watched as Dr. Howard entered the room. Her heart in her throat, she waited for the physician’s assessment of Violet’s condition.