Page 11 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
“That’s not necessary?—”
“It is.” His tone brooked no argument. “If there’s any possibility that Percy is involved in Lady Jane’s disappearance, then I have a responsibility to?—”
“To what? Clean up his mess?”
“To ensure that no harm comes to an innocent young woman.”
She studied his face, looking for signs of deception, but found only grim determination. Finally, she nodded.
“The library,” she said curtly. “Young men with romantic inclinations often think libraries are private.”
They searched the library in tense silence, then moved to the conservatory, the music room, and finally the drawing room balcony. At each location, Samantha felt her anxiety mounting.
Where could Jane have gone?
“The grounds,” she said as they paused on the balcony overlooking the garden. “If your nephew has truly lost all sense of propriety?—”
A soft giggle drifted up from the shadows below, followed by a distinctly masculine groan.
Samantha’s face went white. “Oh God.”
She rushed toward the stone steps leading down to the garden, her heart hammering against her ribs. Behind her, she heard the duke’s measured footsteps following.
“Jane?” she hissed into the darkness. “Jane, where are you?”
Another giggle, closer now, followed by the rustle of fabric and whispered endearments.
Samantha rounded the corner of a tall hedge and froze.
In the moonlight, she could see two figures pressed against the garden wall. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized with shock that neither was her sister.
Lady Willington—one of the spiteful women who had mocked her earlier—was locked in a passionate embrace with Lord Eastwich, a married man who was decidedlynother husband.
“Oh!” Lady Willington shrieked as she spotted Samantha and the duke. She pushed Lord Eastwich away with such force that he stumbled backward. “My Lord, how dare you!”
“What—” Lord Eastwich began, then saw Samantha and the duke approaching. His face went pale in the moonlight.
“I cannot believe,” Lady Willington continued, her voice rising to a dramatic pitch, “that you would bring me out here under false pretenses! The very idea that you would attempt to?—”
“Lady Willington,” Samantha interrupted, confusion clear in her voice, “what are you?—”
“And you!” Lady Willington pointed an accusatory finger at Samantha and the duke. “To think that respectable members of society would use such a ruse to cover their own… their own trysting!”
“I beg your pardon?” Samantha stared at her in shock.
“Don’t pretend innocence with me!” Lady Willington’s voice carried clearly through the night air. “Lord Eastwich told me he heard voices from the garden, that we should investigate. But clearly, you arranged this interruption to hide your own scandalous behavior!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Samantha protested, but already she could hear footsteps approaching—other guests, drawn by Lady Willington’s malicious protests.
“Indeed!” Lord Eastwich said, apparently deciding to support Lady Willington’s version of events, to save his own neck, no doubt. “Most shocking behavior, I must say. To think that a duke would compromise a lady so brazenly!”
“We were searching for my sister,” Samantha said desperately, but more people were arriving now, drawn by the commotion.
“Gracious!” came a familiar voice. “What is all this shouting about?”
Mrs. Combs, the vicar’s wife, appeared at the head of a small group of guests, her face creased with concern.
“Mrs. Combs,” Lady Willington said, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically, “I’m afraid Lord Eastwich and I stumbled upon the most shocking scene. The Duke of Valemont and Lady Samantha were… well, I can hardly speak of it.”
