Page 73 of The Virgin Duchess

“I assure you, it is the least of your concerns.”

Frederick’s stomach sank. He knew that voice well. It was the Baron, and as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw the dark shape of his figure standing across the room from him.

The click of the man’s shoes echoed in the empty space as he turned and faced Frederick, steadily approaching. Frederick straightened even more, noting that his pistol remained tucked into the back of his trousers.

“You just couldn’t let it be, could you?” Halfacre shook his head as he stepped into the light that streamed inside from one of the dingy windows. “I was well on my way out of the country. I would have been happy enough to have left London to the rest and continued about my business elsewhere.”

“And let you abscond to Scotland where you might pull your tricks on some other unsuspecting young lady? No, I think I prefer you here so that I might ensure you never do such a thing again.”

Halfacre crossed the remaining feet that separated them in a flash, pulling his hand back to strike Frederick before he had the opportunity to react.

“And I should like to hear you beg for mercy,” Halfacre glared, reaching into his breast pocket and producing a small blade, “Your Grace.”

The sneer Halfacre offered was pure venom, and though Frederick would have liked to stand up from the filthy ground, he waited. It would take the right moment to get out of this situation unscathed.

“I would have returned your precious Rose to you. After a time, and the two of you could go about your miserable lives.”

Rage simmered in Frederick’s blood, and he clenched his jaw, the bones and muscles aching for how Halfacre had struck him.

“How did you even catch wind of her? She was never one to partake in the revelries of the ton, keeping to herself. Why did Rose even enter your considerations for a bride?”

Halfacre glared at him, but the tinge of sarcastic amusement lit up his stare, and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You are such a fool, aren’t you?” Shaking his head, the Baron began to pace in front of Frederick, back and forth over the floor that was matted with grime and dirt. “A gaming hell is a fine investment. Popular among the majority of men regardless of class. Still, perhaps its best use is to gain information. There is little that is said within the walls of a hell that isn’t heard by someone. And all that information can be obtained for a price. As you’ve seen.”

Turning to Frederick once more, Halfacre took his knife and twirled it against his fingertip, his touch light as to not cut himself.

“I own several debts. Men losing their family fortunes to my gaming hell. But there is little good in money that can never be repaid. However, knowledge is always beneficial. When some poor sap cannot put forth what I am owed, I can take payment in the form of information. And information about your precious Rose was among that which I procured.”

Hearing Halfacre pontificate endlessly about how brilliant he was grated against Frederick’s nerves like a jagged blade. But it was serving his ends. The man was distracted from Frederick’s position, and the Duke began to pull himself up to stand slowly as the man droned on.

“I had thought it would be utterly unhelpful—until I heard that Rose was a bit of a recluse, not interested in the drums and parties of the ladies around her. It appeared that the young woman did not believe herself to be valuable to a suitor, or some the rumors went, and she had never been properly courted. The perfect target for my endeavors.”

Frederick’s foot scraped along the ground as he angled it behind himself, and he froze, waiting to see if the Baron had noticed. While the bastard did pause, it appeared to be simply a break to allow himself to catch his breath. The egotistical cretin certainly loved the sound of his own voice.

“Your sweet Rose, the perfect wife—at least for a time. At least until I got what I came for.”

“Which was?”

Wincing, Frederick regretted speaking as soon as the words had left his mouth. Still, the gleam in Halfacre’s eyes spoke only of utter delight with himself.

“Why, money, of course. It’s that what we all want? A way to give ourselves the lives we deserve.” Frederick glared, and Halfacre only scoffed, waving him off. “Please. At least I wasn’t lookingfor what you have been so avid about, according to those rumors, of course. Or would you have preferred me to be looking to sink my prick in your sister’s pocket?”

Frederick lashed out, unable to control himself, and as soon as he was up in the Baron’s face, the man’s knife came to Frederick’s chin, forcing him to stop short.

“Ah, ah, ah. Wouldn’t want to test my patience. I assure you that I have no issue with using this. I have had to set many affairs to rightsan up many a , and you will only be the most recent addition to the list.”

The truth of Halfacre’s words hit Frederick like a punch to the gut. He’d killed. There was no mistaking the tone and meaning behind his words. Frederick’s stomach roiled, and the idea that he had nearly allowed his sister to be seduced by a murderer snaked through his veins like poison.

“But then what do you go and do, hmm?” Halfacre pressed the knife into Frederick’s skin, and he could feel the moment it punctured his skin, a warm trickle of blood leaking out. “You went and spread word ofmybusiness all through the ton. It reached me all the way at the border, and I knew, I just knew, that you had ruined my chances to find another bride.”

The composed look of mild annoyance changed on Halfacre’s face until he stared Frederick down with the raw ire of a man gone mad with rage.

“I do think,” he pressed on his knife, forcing a hiss from the Duke, “punishmentis required for that. Don’t you…Frederick!?”

His last word was a scream, and the simple act of raising his voice sent a shiver through Frederick’s spine. This man was so much more unhinged than he had predicted. Frederick needed to get away from him, just far enough back so that he could pull his pistol and be done with this.

An idea struck, and as much as Frederick didn’t like it, he suspected that it was his best bet. So, steeling himself, he prepared himself for the worst.

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