“The Dark Duke?” Harriet’s heart jumped in her chest.
“Yes, miss. I know you to be a brave lady, but you mustn’t go there.” Mr. Johnson grasped her arm as though to prevent her from going for help.
Harriet pried his fingers off her arm gently. “Is there nowhere else close enough to reach?”
“Not in this weather,” the driver admitted.
“Then I must go to the duke.”
“Miss, please…,” the driver protested, but she shook her head.
“Do not worry about me, Mr. Johnson. Now come, let me help you up. You can rest inside the carriage until help arrives. You mustn’t catch a chill in this storm.”
Harriet forced him up and got him inside the carriage with some difficulty. After Mr. Johnson was secured, Harriet loosed one of the horses and pulled herself up onto the beast’s back, grasping the long reins. She hadn’t ridden a horse since she was a child, and while she was uncertain as to her skill now, she knew Mr. Johnson depended on her.
Her torn and muddied skirts split easily as she straddled the horse. Wrapping the reins tight around her fingers, she kicked the horse’s sides. It didn’t need any other urging to fly across the soaked road toward the distant estate. Her cloak flew out behind her as she dug her muddy boots into the horse’s flanks again, spurring it toward the dark, shadowy edifice she’d glimpsed moments before.
Harriet rode the horse hard all the way to the gates. The heavy wrought-iron structure was open just enough for her horse to pass, but Harriet lingered at the entrance, taking in the sharp spiked tops of the gates and the stone carved with the name of “Frostmore” near the gates.
A pair of devilish gargoyles crouched menacingly on either side of the entrance pillars. And when the lightning flashed over them, Harriet nearly screamed as she swore they moved. More pain lanced through her shoulder, and she cried out, clutching her injured shoulder.
The large mansion lay in the gloom beyond. There within its walls was the Dark Duke. Could she pass these gates and brave the risks? Harriet thought of Mr. Johnson and his injuries, and she remembered her father’s fencing lessons. She was capable of defending herself if it came to it, assuming he wasn’t like her stepfather, with men hired to trap her, so she spurred her horse again and rode through the gates, ready to risk her life in order to help her driver. But she would do her best to beg for help from the servants who would answer the door, and hopefully they wouldn’t share with their master that she was here. It was a small hope, but she clung to it, nonetheless.
The manor house was dark; only a few lights were lit near the main entrance. She abandoned her horse and ran up the stone steps, beating on the heavy oak door with the knocker. After a few minutes, a middle-aged man with a somber face opened the door. He was in his nightclothes, with a candle raised near his head. His bleary eyes focused on her in surprise and confusion.
“Please, sir. My coachman is injured. Our carriage overturned on the road to Dover. He cannot walk or ride without assistance!” Harriet blurted out quickly.
The man took in her dirty, drenched appearance and opened the door wider. “Come in, my child. Quickly now,” the man whispered in a soft tone. Harriet followed him, and he led her through darkened halls until they reached a small sitting room. The man lit fresh kindling under the logs in the hearth with his candle and turned to her.
“Now, more slowly, tell me exactly what has happened.” He gestured for her to sit on the settee. She did her best to recount the accident on the road.
“I will see to his retrieval and care at once. Please remain here. Do not leave this room—it is better that no one but myself and a few others know you are here,” the old man warned. There was a shadow of concern in his eyes that urged her compliance. He must wish to hide her arrival from the duke, and that was quite fine with her. But if the carriage was broken, she had no way to reach the port of Dover…and George may already be looking for her.
After the butler left her alone, Harriet stood up and walked to the fire, holding her hands out to warm them over the meager flames. Her shoulder still ached with a dull, agonizing pain, but she didn’t want anyone to know she’d been hurt. Weakness in a woman traveling alone was even more dangerous.
A few minutes of dead silence passed with nothing but the ticking of a grandfather clock before she heard a stirring in the hall. She looked up to see a large black dog standing in the doorway. The silhouette of the creature was startling, like the interruption of a dream by a hellhound. It let out a low growl, its white teeth bared. It was nearly as tall as her chest. The dog took a step toward her, its growl deepening to a deadlier tone.
Harriet brushed her hood back and shoved wet locks of blonde hair away from her face so she could better make eye contact. Her stepfather had several mean-spirited hounds back at Thursley, which she’d had to defend herself against more than once. She did not back away or show fear. She braced her hands on her hips and leaned menacingly toward the dog. The dog took another step forward, its brown eyes boring into her blue ones. It let out a snarl and trotted toward her.
“Sit!” Harriet shouted in a commanding tone.
The massive dog froze, the growl dying in its throat. In mild confusion, it slowly lowered its back haunches so it now sat two feet away from her. For a long moment she continued to glare at the beast, which as she got a better look at it appeared to be some kind of hound…a schnauzer? But she had never seen one this large. It had a noble black beard, a strong and well-formed body, and a glossy coat.
Harriet carefully extended her hand to the creature, who craned its neck forward, brushing its wet black nose over her fingertips in a cautious but friendly manner. It snuffled loudly but made no move to bite her as she stroked its great head. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a sense of being watched prickled along her skin, sending little tremors down her spine.
“You are the first person Devil hasn’t bitten upon first meeting,” a cold voice said from the doorway.
Harriet’s head flew up, and she saw a tall man leaning in the doorway. His head was afire with deep-red hair that was cut a tad too long, and his hazel eyes gleamed with the fire’s distant glow like topaz. His face was carved with perfect masculinity, but there was a hint of cruelty that hung about his sensuous lips, and anger radiated from his eyes. She bit her lip and tried to still the trembling of her body as she took him in. There was no question—this was the Duke of Frostmore.
He was not pretty, as some men tended to be. There was certainly nothing angelic about his face or form to bring forth a sense of natural charm. Instead, he seemed to exist in a singularly masculine way that made her sit up and take notice. Fear and curiosity warred with each other as she continued to stare at him.
“Devil?” It was a foolish thing to say, but no other thoughts in her mind were coherent enough to say. The effect George had on her paled in comparison to this man. Fighting George, had it come to that, would have been difficult, but she could tell with one look that attempting to resist this man would be impossible. She swallowed hard and resolved to be pleasant, but not overly so, lest he think she was a woman he could take to his bed.
“Yes, my black-haired companion here. I spent a summer in the Bavarian Alps two years ago and brought him back with me. He’s a rather new breed of dog, a giant schnauzer. Devil seemed a fitting name for the brute. He’s torn many a throat from a careless man and even a few careless ladies.” His tone was serious, but she thought—or rather hoped—she saw the glint of teasing in his eyes, a dark, cruel teasing.
“If that is so, perhaps the fault lies not with the beast but with his master,” Harriet replied, meeting his gaze with courage, despite the fact that deep within she was quivering.
He’s no different than George. You can handle him.
