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Letty gestured toward the man, her eyes not leaving the Duke’s. “Is he dead?”
Bertram shook his head. “No. But perhaps we should call the guards.”
“Oh, yes. You’re right. I’ll just go and do that.” She took a few steps backward. “Are you all right?”
He smirked and nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Fetch the guards. Then go back to bed. We shall speak in the morning.”
“Is that an order?”
“It’s a request.”
Letty nodded. “Very well, then.”
“Thank you.” His voice was quiet and yet heavy with significance. She blinked at him once before whirling around and leaving, her heart beating fast for an entirely different reason.
Someone just tried to kill the Duke. Somebody familiar with this area. And why did I call him Bertie?
It had just spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her hands shook in reaction as she realized how close death had been. Had she not decided to go out, to the downs, and come back…had she chosen another route, she might never have seen the assassin.
And Bertie would be dead.
She shivered as she crawled into bed, having alerted the guards that their Duke needed them. She closed her eyes and it was only then that it occurred to her that they might wonder what she had been doing with the Duke so late at night.
“Oh well.” She shrugged, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.
* * *
Even as his heart beat erratically in reaction to his nearly deadly experience, it also palpated with joy at the fact that Miss Strange had not, in fact, ran away. He had been startled awake when he found that he was unable to breathe, a pillow stuffed over his face. At first, he’d thought it was some sort of accident but the more he tried to move the pillow, the more he realized that someone was pressing it down on his face with determination.
He struggled as he began to lose his breath and then suddenly the weight was off his chest and he could breathe again. He sat up, heaving, coughing up phlegm. He spat on the floor on one side of the bed before turning to witness the scuffle taking place on the other side.
All he could see was swirling cloth, all he could hear were grunts and thumps. He slipped out of bed, trying to see who his savior was but unable to recognize them beneath the dark cloak they wore. He wasn’t sure who it was until her hood fell away and he saw Letty, struggling to keep the man beneath her down. He immediately sprang forward and kicked the man across his jaw before punching downward and hearing the crunch as the man’s nose broke. Letty moved away and for a moment, he was afraid she would leave. But when he looked up, she was still there watching him with hooded eyes.
Letty.
He realized that he had been deathly afraid that he’d never see her again. The sense of relief he felt made him wonder if he had imagined that she called him Bertie.
He wanted to shout with laughter, happiness burbling up his throat like a boiled-over pot. Instead, he adopted her light-hearted tone, almost dancing with relief that they could joke together after what he’d done earlier in the day. He felt hopeful that she had forgiven him.
He wanted to go to her, ask her why she had even been in his room in the first place, but that had to wait. He had an assailant to attend to and he needed to find out who sent him.
His guards milled around, unsettled that an intruder had managed to get in on their watch. Bertram had no time to worry about that now. He would conduct an audit later, to find out what had happened. Clearly, there were a lot of holes in his security that needed to be filled.
He followed the guards as they took the prisoner to the dungeon. On the way, he gestured to a footman and gave him some instructions. They dropped the man on the straw mat in the lowest, coldest cell they had. Bertram took the time to get a good look at his face. He was not familiar with his visage and was quite sure that he was not a local man.
“Where did you come from, and who sent you?” he asked the unconscious form.
The footman came in, a steaming jug in hand. “I have the hot water you sent for, Your Grace.”
Bertram stepped back with a nod. “Good. Pour it on him.”
The footman obeyed, upending the hot water over the man’s chest. He jerked, shooting to a sitting position with a scream. Bertram held up his hand and the footman stopped pouring and stepped away.
“Forgive the rude awakening. I could not wait for you to decide to rejoin us.”
The man looked up at him, brow furrowed with pain as he rubbed at his chest. “You burned me,” he hissed.
“Again, I apologize.” Bertram’s smiled. “Now if you would be so kind, who sent you to murder me?”
