Page 108 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Of course,” Mother exclaimed. “That is another of his talents. Relaxing the womb and the muscles is one of the grandest ways to hurry along a stalled labor, or a difficult one.”
Fawkes could tell Ellie was thinking of her sister, about to enter her confinement, and he opened his mouth to offer to make such a tincture…but Merida intervened.
“What’s a womb?”
“Andthat,” Ellie said smoothly, turning back to the tree, “is our cue to open another gift.”
But a furious pounding interrupted them.
It took a moment for Fawkes to realize it was the front door, and then only because Tramp jumped to his feet, stepped on his own ear, fell over with a yelp, jumped up again, and shot toward the foyer.
“The door?” Ellie asked unnecessarily.
“Visitors!” Mother exclaimed. “On Christmas evening, how delightful!”
But Fawkes, already on his feet, was frowning. “Are ye expecting anyone?”
As his mother shook her head, Ellie joined him. “You are not in London,” she reminded him, placing her hand on his forearm.
He glanced at her, brows lowered, uncertain the reminder helped. Nay, he wasn’t in London, and he wasn’t at Blackrose’s beck and call any longer…but old habits died hard.
“The Clutterbucks are in the kitchens,” he finally said. “I’ll answer.”
Ellie went with him.
The pounding had begun again as they reached the foyer. Tramp was whining and scratching at the door. Fawkes didn’t have his dagger with him—he shouldn’tneedit—but he pushed Ellie behind him all the same as he reached for the handle.
“Jesusfookit’s cold out there!” exclaimed Thorne, pushing his way into the foyer and kicking the door closed behind him, but not before a great gust rushed into the house. “Ye were just going to leave me out there to freeze to death?” he asked, brushing snow from his greatcoat.
Fawkes’s stomach had soured at the sight of the man, his chest going tight. This wasn’t good.
The Duke of Stroken’s last will and testament has been read.
“Merida?” he called, still watching Thorne warily. “Run down to the kitchens and ask Young Clutterbuck to take care of His Grace’s horses, would ye?”
He heard the girl scamper off, and Tramp barked a few times in ecstatic confusion—clearly torn between going after his friend and staying here with the excitement, before plopping on his rump and commencing his favorite pastime.
Thorne was peeling off his gloves. “What is that dog doing?”
Without glancing over at Tramp—without needing to—Fawkes bit out, “He’s licking his ballocks. What are ye doing here?”
The other man chuckled, becauseof coursehe did. “Well, I cannae blame him. If men could do that, we’d likely spend a lot more time in our rooms, alone.”
“Tramp!” Fawkes’s sharp command jerked the dog’s gaze upward. “Go find Merida. Go! Merida! Go on, that’s a good boy.”
With a gleeful yip, the pup leapt to his feet and trundled toward the kitchens.
And in the foyer, the silence spread.
“Thorne—Your Grace?” Ellie whispered from the shadows under the cuckoo clock.
Thorne’s eyes widened. “Danielle? What are ye doing here?” He rounded on Fawkes. “What is she doing here?’
Thorne must know her from the investigation—he would’ve been the one to bring her the coded messages—but that didn’t stop the sharp spike of jealousy in Fawkes’s gut. “What areyedoing here?”
“What amIdoing here?” the man repeated incredulously. “I’m here because I own the place. Remember? My uncle, the Duke of Stroken, held the papers on Hangcok Hill, although I didnae ken until I showed up for the funeral.”
Of course. Thorne had been the old arsehole’s heir since the man’s son had died, four years back.
