Page 4 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Glancing at the small trunk packed with the requisite necessities for a weeklong trip, Marce waited once more. For the sound of anything besides the gong of the clock and the quick, erratic thump of her pulse.

Nothing.

Silence.

Empty—except for the remorse that filled her and the lies that surrounded her.

She sighed.

Odd that she longed for the time when her siblings would rush into the room and question her about where she was off to, where she planned to spend her time away from Craven House. Was she relaxing in the rejuvenating waters in Bath? Or perhaps she found peace and quiet in Brighton, along with a turn about their fashionable shopping area? Would she please bring them back sweet treats? They would laugh and jest about how Marce spent her time away. She’d even heard envious whispers shared between the twins, Jude and Sam, regarding her frequent jaunts outside of London. And in turn, Marce would tell them, in her stern, motherly tone, to mind their own business and keep their noses from the gossips.

Where Marce went and what task she was entangled in was far darker than any of her siblings suspected—and something Marce was loath to speak of.

The deal made with the Devil himself nearly eight years prior was her own personal secret…and the prison that kept her trapped.

Rowan Delconti, the Duke of Harwich, was certainly close to the beast who ruled Hades with his midnight-black hair, intense green stare, and massive frame—not to touch on his arrogant demeanor and lofty opinion of himself. If she so much as dared open a book about the master of the Underworld, there was little doubt the drawings of the creature would resemble the duke in every way. She remembered the way he’d appeared that first time; how he’d strode into her office, all arrogance and confidence, and demanded his due. Had they met under any other circumstances, Marce would have found his forceful demeanor thrilling and refreshing.

As if on cue, the chimes quieted, and a knock sounded on the front door of Craven House.

The duke’s carriage had arrived to collect her.

Darla, one of only two servants employed at Craven House, hurried from somewhere deep in the house to greet their guest.

Quickly, Marce moved to the cabinet behind her desk and retrieved the small box that held a stash of money in case anything unexpected happened during her time away from London. It was always best to be prepared, as opposed to being caught off guard as she’d once been. With the box securely under her arm, she scribbled a hasty note for Garrett and Payton in case either came home while she was away. Jude and Sam, both newly wed, were traveling with their husbands—Jude to Canterbury to visit the young Lady Theodora at her boarding school, and Sam away from England entirely. Lastly, she placed the duke’s summons in the side drawer and used the long key around her neck to lock her desk in case anyone thought it wise to snoop about in her private correspondence.

Marce longed for the day she no longer had to think of every minute detail—in case—for fear she’d be discovered.

Part of her wished to leave the key on her desk and hope someone discovered her secrets…only then would the trappings fall away, shedding light upon her deceptions.

Instead, she left the note addressed to her siblings face-up on the desk and grabbed her traveling trunk, slipping the box with her money inside before halting once more.

The house, especially this room, had given her solace for most of her life. This was the only place she’d ever felt safe calling home. The rooms and halls were filled with memories—Jude’s first steps as a babe, Garrett’s horrible years attempting to master the flute, Sam’s many years of teasing Payton for her sullen behavior, and Marce overseeing it all.

This was their home. It had taken years for Marce to adjust to life at Craven House—and truly come to think of the residence as a home—especially after everything she’d known was stripped from her when her father died.

No longer was Craven House a temporary place where her family resided.

But now, it was all to be gone—stripped from her—very soon. Yet, in a way, it was long overdue.

While sad, Marce could not muster the expected sense of loss at knowing that everything she prided herself on possessing would shortly be in another’s hands.

Less competent hands, unfortunately.

One source of regret over her duplicitous life coming to an end was present. Her family. This was their home, too. Sam, Jude, and Payton had been born within the walls of Craven House and had known no other home.

The time would come when they learned of Craven House’s fate.

And what of the women she helped in London? Travel accommodations would need to be secured, as well as a house large enough to serve as a refuge. Marce could not—would not—abandon them, no matter the hardship it caused. Her family had lived many years helping those less fortunate, and Marce would not end that now, no matter the appealing lure of absolute freedom.

A light knock sounded on the door, and Darla opened it enough to peek her head in. “A carriage be here ta fetch ye, Madame.”

“Thank you, Darla.” Marce smiled to cover her cringe. Madame. It was only fitting that the proprietress of a brothel be addressed as such, even if it had been many, many years since Craven House housed such scandalous activities.

Nonetheless, she was known as Madame Marce—and her mother before her, Madame Sasha. The ton had a long, detailed memory.

Perhaps she could outrun her reputation if she traveled far enough. Would Cornwall do, or would she need journey as far as the distant corner of Scotland—or perhaps across the Channel—to find a reprieve from her family’s past?

Marce would dwell on the matter later. For now, she had a carriage waiting to take her to Kent.