The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen
Chapter Three
James stood at the entrance to the inn, looking back at his sister, who insisted on saying a grand goodbye to everyone in the whole building—patrons and staff alike. Yesterday, he’d wanted to drive their horses all the way to Chidswell Manor without pause, as was his wont. But with his sister traveling with him, he decided to break the journey. Their aunt lived far in the country, and he needed respite from Rebecca's sulking, and she no doubt wanted a break from his lecturing.
His rebukes were getting him nowhere, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself. He loved her so very much that he desperately wanted her to make the best of herself and have the happy, fulfilling life she deserved.
And so, they had stopped at an inn, though they had left London with such haste that he hadn’t written ahead. James was relieved to find they had space for them. They’d eaten a hearty meal and slept comfortably, and when the innkeeper woke them at dawn as requested, his wife provided them with a decent breakfast to set them up for the day ahead.
“Do hurry, Rebecca,” he urged as she approached yet another person. “We still have a long journey to make and if we hope to get there by nightfall, we must—”
“Excuse my brother,” she said to the scullery maid. Of all people! “He seems to have forgotten his manners.”
“No,” he said in return. “I have not forgotten anything, but you don’t know that girl and—”
“Now, now, brother. We don’t need to behave like that just because we were born privileged enough to not need to work.” She returned her attention to the maid, her hands now within Rebecca’s. “I wish you all the luck in the future, my dear.”
James stopped listening, huffed, and turned away. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. He was, in truth, rather miffed by Rebecca’s insinuation. It had nothing at all to do with privilege or the fact that the poor girl now the subject of his sister’s attentions was a maid. It was more about Rebecca herself. She had no strong feelings for any of these people. No, she was doing this to irritate her brother, and for that reason alone. She knew he wanted to set off early in the hopes of getting to Chidswell before the sky turned dark, and this behavior was simply a protest to the fact that they were going at all.
“What are you doing hovering there, Brother?” James jumped as Rebecca pushed past him, giggling to herself. “Come on then, James. You wanted to leave, so let’s leave.”
James stared after her in surprise, but then even he snorted with laughter, shaking his head before he followed her into the carriage. He sat opposite her, and as they rolled forward, she stared out of the window with a gentle smirk across her face. He took a deep breath, deciding to push aside his annoyance.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Reasonably so,” she replied, not looking at him.
He hesitated, then asked, “Are you looking forward to seeing Aunt Martha?”
“Reasonably so,” she repeated, still not doing him the decency of turning to look at him.
“Would it really be that bothersome to you to have a conversation with me?” he asked.
“I am having a conversation with you,” she said, finally meeting his eyes.
“A proper conversation, I mean, as well you know.”
“Like a lady?”
He hesitated again. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”
She sighed. “All right, dear brother, what would you like to talk about?”
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. What did he want to talk about? That his sister was ten-and-eight but acted more like ten-and-three, or that he felt as if he was drowning in his duties? He possessed a strong character and was not one to back down from a challenge, but Rebecca turned out to be more of it than he could ever have thought since his father's death.
“Have you thought of how you’d like to spend your time in the countryside?”
“Oh, I’m absolutely certain Aunt Martha will have me attending every social event possible, thereby leaving me with no time to myself.”
Of course. Rebecca was upset that he insisted on this visit; she felt like he’d gone against her somehow, and knowing that made him feel a pinch of guilt. He took a deep breath, reminding himself he was doing the right thing, the best thing for her as well as for himself.
If only Mother was here, he thought for the millionth time, she would know what to do.
His issue was that Rebecca simply didn’t understand the seriousness of behaving like a hoyden, and he didn’t know how to make her realize that a reputation, once sullied, could never be redeemed. He was about to open his mouth to deliver another lecture when the carriage rolled to an abrupt stop.
James' senses were on alert. There had been reports of highwaymen in the vicinity, a fact he had kept from Rebecca. Every nerve in his body was rigid with attention, and he listened carefully. He heard the coachman climbing down, a horse brushing a hoof across the ground. He felt the tension, the unease, and he swallowed, reaching into a side compartment and touching the cool metal of his pistol.
He looked over at Rebecca, thinking to warn her to stay quiet, still. But he needn’t have worried because her cheeks had turned pale as snow and her eyes were wide. She was terrified, and though he never wanted her to feel that way, he was glad because it meant she was more likely to follow his instructions.
Pulling his pistol out, he stood and put his hand on the door to open it. He paused, then turned to Rebecca.
“Stay in the carriage,” he muttered as quietly as he could. With tight lips, she nodded briskly.
He opened the door slowly, peering out, but he couldn’t see anything. Opening it fully, he gently lowered his foot onto the top step, careful not to make a noise. That was when the footman appeared in front of him, unharmed though looking concerned.
“What is it? What’s happened?” he asked.
“We’re sorry for the disturbance, Your Grace, but we’ve come upon a woman lying by the side of the road.”
His whole body sagged with relief when he realized they were in no danger. But it was only seconds before he was awash with shame and disappointment in himself. They may be safe, but this poor woman was most definitely not.
“Take me to her,” he said.
The footman nodded before turning and walking away. James followed, and as soon as they reached the front of the carriage, he saw her. She was lying prone, he limbs eschew and her brown cloak tangled around her, showing hints of a serviceable dark blue dress underneath. Unruly brown hair had escaped its bun and was a stark contrast to the paleness of her face.
He crouched down beside her and gently brushed her hair out of the way, then put two fingers to her neck to check her pulse.
Thank goodness. He could feel it, weak though it was, pushing the lifeblood through her and keeping her soul tethered on this earth.
“How is she, Your Grace?” the footman asked, hovering awkwardly behind him.
James stood up and frowned down at her. “She’s alive,” he said. “Just. But she’s cold—deathly so. I suspect she’s been here a long time. Perhaps even all night.”
“And that wound on her head don’t look none too good,” the footman said.
“Indeed not.” She had a gash near her right temple, the hair there matted with blood. She must have hit her head when she fell, though looking around, James couldn’t see what would cause such a fall.
Attacked, maybe?
He bit his bottom lip in consternation when behind him, there came a gasp. He turned to see Rebecca, a hand covering her mouth and, though he wouldn’t have thought it possible, her eyes even wider than they had been.
“I told you to stay in the carriage,” he snapped.
“And I knew it was safe. I wanted to see the woman. I thought I could help, but now….”
Her voice quivered, and James knew the sight had shaken her. He put an arm around her and pulled her into a brief embrace.
“It’s all right,” he said. “She’s all right. She’s alive.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked, the emotion making her voice crack.
“Shall we find somewhere to take her?” the footman asked.
James didn’t say anything for a moment, considering their options. They certainly couldn't leave her at the side of the road. They would take her back to the inn where the proprietor would surely know where to find a physician. James brushed more hair away from the woman's face. She was strikingly beautiful, and he wondered what he would have done if he'd met her in a London ballroom. Ask her to dance, certainly, but after the dance? Would he tempt her to walk with him in the garden? Perhaps he would lead her to a secluded grove and kiss her against a tree. He gave himself a mental shake. These were not appropriate thoughts to be having about an unconscious stranger.
“She’s coming with us,” he said impulsively.
He sensed the surprised glances that passed between his sister and the footman, but he didn’t care. He’d made his decision, and he knew already it was the right one. He crouched down, moving to lift her.
“Er… do you want me to pick her up, Your Grace?” the footman offered.
“No,” James said as he carefully lifted her into his arms and stood up.
As he carried her to the carriage, the footman scurried over and held the door open. He climbed in and laid her carefully onto the bench, ensuring her gown covered her completely. He brushed the hair from her face, and as his fingertips touched her cheek, he felt a ripple of something go through him, a tingling that he’d never before experienced. At least, not to the same degree.
He took a deep breath, not taking his eyes from her, and positioned himself on the seat, gently settling her on his lap, her head cradled against his chest. He gazed down at the woman as Rebecca climbed into the carriage and sat across from them. James could feel his sister’s confusion at his tenderness as she looked from him to the strange woman in his arms.