Page 92 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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Mrs. Littleton was definitely notdead.

The elderly woman dozed by the fire of her shuttered cottage, her stockinged feet propped on a three-legged stool. Simon approached her with such stealth that the cocker spaniel at her side barely roused until Rhys tossed it his glove. The dog rose to take the offering to the hearth.

“Dogs like me,” Rhys said smugly. “I have a trustworthy face.”

The cocker spaniel sprang up and growled.

In the next instant a gangly young male burst into the room from the kitchen. He brandished a carving knife, which he instantly relinquished as Rhys vaulted over the stool and restrained him in a crushing grip across his windpipe, his back flush to the wall.

Simon gave a terse nod of thanks. Despite his impression of negligent youth, Rhys had not become a Royal Hussar in a cavalry regiment by chance. Friend and defender, his brother-in-law could take care of an uprising and himself. As he proved again when another man stumbled into the parlor through the front door.

The newcomer glanced around the room, appraising his odds, and raised his hands in surrender.

“Take them out of here,” Simon said to Rhys in an undertone.

“The earl won’t like this at all,” the younger of the two men muttered as Rhys gave him the chance to breathe.

“We’ll write him a letter of apology, shall we?” Rhys motioned to the kitchen with the carving knife he had confiscated. “In there. Quickly.”

Rhys and his two prisoners had just disappeared when the housekeeper opened her eyes. Disoriented, she sat forward with a gasp. Recognition slowly dawned across her face as she regarded Simon. “It is you, your grace. I knew you would find me. I told the earl as much. But it took you so long. I thought I’d truly be in the grave before you came.”

Simon placed his hand on her mottled wrist in reassurance. “Why did you hide from me?”

“His lordship swore my son would be hunted down if I spoke against him. I was frightened and I’ve lost the use of one arm. I broke several bones, you know.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “You must have something damaging to say against Bruxton if he has gone to such lengths to silence you.”

“His lordship takes care of us,” she said, now uncertain, agitated. “I have my own maid and footmen. He sent the surgeon to my husband during his last days and made him comfortable. I have all the tea I can drink. And cake. I love my cake.”

“I would have helped you if I’d known.”

She nodded vaguely. Her expensive paisley shawl slipped off the back of the chair. Simon retrieved it from the carpet. “Mind you don’t let the dog chew my wrap,” she said. “He’s naughty like that. Oh, I am tired. Why did you not let me sleep? I want my peace.”

Simon was quiet.

Mrs. Littleton lived in a snugly thatched cottage. No doubt there was plenty of food on her table. She had a surgeon, and servants at her call. Bribes from the earl -- to keep his secret? Did Bruxton guard her out of guilt, fear, or kindness?

He waited several moments for her to settle. “I shall take care of you from now on, ma’am.”

“Do I have your word?” she asked fretfully.

“Indeed.” He paused. “But you must trust me. Did you witness my sister’s death?”

She spoke in a hesitant whisper, as if afraid of being overheard. “I went to her that day with my receipt book. I needed to ask her to make selections for his lordship’s midsummer supper. Political men had been invited to the house. It was an important event for the earl. I feared her ladyship had taken ill. She had not been herself for some weeks.”

“She hadn’t summoned you to her room?”

“No. I was anxious for her. She and the earl had fought the night before. Her bedchamber door was ajar. I called her name and entered. Lady Bruxton was not a stickler for rules.”

“There was no one else present?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The shawl slid again. “The earl came into the chamber a minute or so after I arrived. It was only then I realized she had been weeping. And hiding in her room from him.”

“Hiding,” he said, his skin prickling at the notion. A countess, his sister, cowering from her own husband. “She did this often?”

She continued, evading an answer. “She’d pulled a chair to the open window. It was misting heavily and I wondered at first whether that was why her face was wet. It alarmed me to find her in such careless position.”