Page 4 of Marriage Most Scandalous
“The trail led there, and beyond. The duke’s arm is farreaching. Putting a great distance between herself and Austria appears to have been her priority during her escape.”
“Did she head to the Americas?”
“No—at least we pray not. And a woman of her description took ship to Portsmouth at the time. The last report we had was that she took ship again, but only farther up the coast of England. Another ship was available, to North America, but since she didn’t take that one, we concluded she decided to settle in England under an assumed name. There were no further reports. Every other man who was sent there to find her has never returned.” And then the fellow whispered, “It’s my guess they were afraid to return to the duke with only failure to report.”
Having heard enough, Sebastian stood up to leave. “I am afraid I will have to decline after all,” he said, a coldness having entered his tone. “England is one place I will never go. Good day.”
He expected the man to try and stop him again. He didn’t, probably because he realized it wouldn’t do any good. Just as well. Jobs that dealt with women had an extra level of difficulty. On every single one he’d taken, the female involved had tried to seduce him.
John found it amusing, hilariously so, claiming that Sebastian was too handsome to be a mercenary. Sebastian disagreed. It was his reputation, the sinister persona of The Raven, and his indifference to the women that created the problem. He believed in putting the job before pleasure. But the women felt differently. Intrigued by him, they saw no reason to wait until the job was finished to become intimately acquainted with him. Which is where the added difficulty came in.
He had an ingrained sense of duty, which was probably why he excelled at his chosen occupation. Anything that deviated from getting the job done was to be avoided. Anything that distracted him was to be avoided as well. And a woman trying to seduce him was a definite distraction. He might not call himself an Englishman anymore, but he was still a man. So it really was just as well that he couldn’t accept the duke’s job.
Chapter 2
His head hurt. That was the first thing Sebastian noticed as he woke. The second, and more disturbing, was his surroundings, not the cozy room at the inn where he’d gone to sleep last night, but a dark, musty dungeon. He was in a cell. Torchlight passed through the small barred window on the wooden door, revealing a hard-packed dirt floor, a clean chamber pot in the corner, and bugs crawling in and out of cracks in the stone walls.
It was an airless, medieval room but it was in better condition than his own dungeon, which indicated it was frequently used. He’d been in prisons before, but modern ones, never an actual, authentic dungeon. He’d seen the old fortress on the hill overlooking Felburg, so he knew exactly where he was.
“Bloody hell.”
He’d mumbled, but in the absolute silence of the place, it had sounded more like a shout, and he got an immediate response. “Is that you, sir?” John called out, from which direction Sebastian couldn’t guess.
Sebastian moved to the door, but before he could answer, Timothy’s frightened voice came from his far left. “Raven, I don’t like it here. Really I don’t. Can we leave now?”
The boy, too? That was going too far. He knew why he was there. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to force him to work for him. The last time he’d been inside a cell had been for the same reason. Bastards thought alike.
“Did they hurt you, Timothy?”
“No, not much,” the lad answered, trying to sound brave now. “They stuffed something in my mouth and tied me up to carry me here. I’ve been awake all night.”
“What about you, John?” Sebastian asked.
“A small lump on my head, sir,” John said, his voice coming from the right. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. Injury to himself he could stomach, but when his people were hurt in order to get to him . . .
Sebastian didn’t get angry often, but this was one of those times. He stood back, lifted his foot, and kicked at the door in front of him. It didn’t budge, not even a little, though he’d certainly knocked the dust off of it. It probably wasn’t as old as the stone it was attached to.
He inspected the room more closely. There was a stand with a tin water pitcher and bowl, a towel folded on its single shelf. The water was fresh. The bedding was clean on the narrow cot, fine linen, actually. The plate of food that had been slid under the door had probably been appetizing before the bugs found it: eggs, sausage, bread with butter, melted now, and several pastries.
Apparently the intent wasn’t to deprive him, merely to keep him from leaving. A forced guest, as it were. But for how long? Until he agreed to find the missing duchess? As if he wouldn’t disappear the moment he was out of this dungeon, no matter an agreement or not?
The fellow who brought their next meals was mute or pretended to be. He wouldn’t say a word or answer a single question. The day wore on, long and boring. Sebastian spent his time exercising and imagining his hands around Leopold Baum’s neck. John and Timothy played word games. On opposite sides of the dungeon, they were soon hoarse.
The evening meal arrived and still there was no communication from their host. Dumplings and fried veal cutlets with a creamy cheese sauce was the tempting fare, very filling, very typical of Austrian cuisine. There was some type of cake and a bottle of fine wine. He left the dessert for the bugs and took the wine to bed with him.
The next day was the same, and the next. So he was to have a taste first of what it would be like if he didn’t agree to the duke’s terms? Did the man really think he could be coerced into working for him?
Leopold Baum arrived early on the fifth morning of their confinement. He didn’t take chances. Four big, strapping guards preceded him, entering the cell with their pistols drawn. One of them tied Sebastian’s hands behind his back while the other three kept their guns pointed at him. It was a tight fit in the small cell with the guards filling the corners.
The duke offered few surprises other than his age. Sebastian, who had expected a younger man, could see that the duke was close to the half-century mark. Dark blond hair trimmed short in the fashion of the day. Sebastian wore his hair long and usually clubbed back, only because John made a lousy barber, and they traveled too much to visit a good one with any frequency. The duke had a superb barber.
Sharp blue eyes, keenly intelligent, or so they appeared. Tall, though not quite six feet. His frame was stocky, leaning toward fat. His jowls were starting to sag, though it wasn’t that noticeable under the full, short blond beard. He still held himself regally, a man of extreme consequence and privilege.
Sebastian guessed that he had either just been riding, or he still had it on the morning agenda, as he wore a jade green coat and buff-colored riding breeches, and held a crop in hand, which he tapped against his well-polished black knee-high boots.
His expression was actually congenial, as if Sebastian wasn’t sitting in a cell with four pistols pointed at him but was instead a real guest. “Are your accommodations satisfactory?”
