Page 56 of My Dark Duke

“Good,” he nodded, accepting her stillness as acquiescence.

He leaned forward and untied the gag first. Once he was certain she would not scream, he gingerly undid the ropes around her wrists, then leapt back theatrically as though she might bite.

“Very good,” Lord Bailey said brightly, in the same tone that one might use with a child. “We’ll go inside now - remember, don’t make a sound, or it will be the last thing you do.”

Lillian nodded, remaining mute. The cretin did not deserve the effort it would take for her to speak. Lord Bailey exited the carriage first, then held out a hand to help Lillian down. His arm remained firmly clasped around her elbow, his fingers digging deep into her flesh.

“Run to the stables and fetch one of the grooms,” he called to the dark-clad driver, as he pulled Lillian away. “He will set you up with a bed for the night.”

Though it was dark, Lillian knew at once where they were - Linton Hall. The house loomed large against the twilight sky, a massive dark shadow. Given that few of the windows were lit up, she assumed the servants had not expected their master to return.

Lord Bailey led Lillian across the courtyard to the front door, which he banged upon furiously until it was thrown open.

The baron pulled Lillian forward, urging her inside, but she was frozen to the spot, for she had sighted a ghost.

Mr Hope.

“I see you have returned, Miss Hamilton,” Mr Hope called, watching her with beady eyes.

“You’re,” Lillian stuttered, still unable to move, “You’re not dead.”

“No thanks to you,” he answered, dryly.

Her escape had been for nothing. Everything she had suffered through, all the time she had spent hiding, had been for naught. She was not a murderess - just a fool. Why had she bolted so quickly? She should have checked for signs of life, instead of running away in a panic.

Along with relief she had not killed a man, Lillian felt a stab of regret - she should have confided in Thorncastle. Had she told him the tale of her flight from Linton, he would have investigated the matter and relieved her of the burden of guilt months ago.

“No time for chit-chat,” Lord Bailey grumbled, interrupting their strange tête-à-tête. “Miss Hamilton needs to freshen up before the vicar arrives.”

“The vicar?” Lillian echoed, completely confused by the turn of events.

When Lord Bailey had bundled her into a carriage, she had thought he would ferry her to a magistrate. With Mr Hope alive, the possibility of her swinging from Tyburn’s Tree was now gone. So, what was it her cousin wished to do with her and why did he require a vicar? Nothing made any sense.

“Yes, I bestowed the living your father held onto an old chum from Eton,” the baron answered, his tone far too bright. “He has agreed to marry us. He’s a master with a quill and can make it look as though the banns were properly read.”

“You wish to marry me?” Lillian queried, pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. His words had brought more questions rather than answers.

“Yes.” He nodded, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. “It’s for the best - especially now that you have been…compromised.”

He whispered the last word with great disdain, as his eyes leered at her. Lillian bristled with indignation, unwilling to let him make her feel small.

“It was not you who compromised me,” she noted, baldly.

Lord Bailey flushed, his sweaty face growing puce. “Be that as it may,” he said, pompously. “Your reputation is at stake - as is mine, as we are related. I see no reason for you to refuse; once Thorncastle casts you off - and he will, he has a reputation for it - you will be left to fend for yourself. I would not like to see you working in some doxy-house on the docks, riddled with the pox or some other venereal disease. I am offering to marry you, to make you a baroness. It is an offer you cannot refuse.”

“I think you’ll find I can,” Lillian retorted, placing her hands upon her hips.

Lord Bailey scowled and opened his coat, to reveal the Flintlock which nestled in the inner pocket. His eyes, green like her own, looked wild, and for a moment she feared he might actually shoot her.

His madness was without reason; Lillian could not think why her cousin would want her dead. Similarly, his wish to force her hand in marriage was also inexplicable.

“I do not wish to kill you,” Lord Bailey continued, as he restlessly paced the room. “Mr Hope suggested it as the best solution to remedy matters, but when you absconded, I felt some relief. I realised I could not live with your death upon my conscience, so I decided marriage was the next best thing.”

Best for whom and why? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but self preservation kept Lillian quiet. It was impossible to extract reason from a madman.

Lord Bailey halted and turned to her, his expression unhappy. “I would ask that you come around to my way of thinking, dear cousin. For, the longer you dally, the less inclined I am to follow my plan instead of Mr Hope’s. Go upstairs and freshen up, Mr Hope will escort you.”

The other man beckoned for Lillian to follow him, and she duly obliged. Outside, in the dark hallway, he turned to her with a scowl.

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