Page 81 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“Good man.”

“Oh, and Your Grace?”

“Yes?”

“There seems to be a uniform missing from one of the maids. She claims she left it out to dry with the others, and that it’s now gone.”

“That’s odd. And she’s sure she can’t find it?”

“The housekeeper checked as well, Your Grace.”

“Could be something was amiss, and she disposed of it, not wishing to incur your wrath. I’m feeling rather generous. Replace it, but do not take it out of her pay.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Reaching out through the bond, I check in on Cynthia. Poor thing has fallen back asleep, but I don’t blame her in the slightest. Taking this bit of free time, I slip into my study and look at the stack. No doubt well-wishers and others wanting to see the duchess now that she’s officially my wife.

I skim through them, smiling at some and groaning at the others. Arlo Mathews, Duke of Dunton, of course, sends his regards. As well as a thank you for the coin he had won. The arse.

The others are mostly matters that I need to schedule. So many obligations. So many balls. I cannot wait until The Season is over and I can just take Cynthia home where it will be the two of us.

As I reach the end of the stack, another stands out in completely the wrong way. Anger clenches my gut as I pull it forward and open it.

Norhaven,

You have left me no choice. If only you were content to see your wife safely with another man. Now that she is with you, your happiness is complete.

The bells toll again, but now it’s for a different reason. Keep your wife close to your side, Norhaven. You never know when I will strike.

No signature. No quip. Nothing like the other letters. If the handwriting hadn’t been identical, I would have been concern that someone else had joined the game. Now, it’s serious. Now, I have no choice but to find and take out this threat.

But who can it be?

Grabbing a handful of sheets, I send out missives to all my friends, telling them to make haste tomorrow in the guise of a wedding breakfast. Their wives are allowed as well, but while they speak of womanly things, I need to show them the latest in the threats.

The bastard has gone too far now. A threat on my wife is a threat to me.

Chapter 42

Cynthia

I stare at my friends, my heart so full it nearly bursts. They all sit with their husbands with soft, contented looks on their faces. Same as mine, as I sigh and lean into Charles.

With the food nearly gone, the chatter starts back up, mostly with the men making jabs at my husband. Whiteport, his brother, brings a large vase out and sets it on the table. Though pretty, I do not yet have a place to put it.

“Every pound is there, brother. Seems as if you won the pot.”

The women roll their eyes as I simply look up at Charles, confused. “I do not understand.”

“‘Twas a bet!” Augusta cries out, her face full of mischief and glee.

“And the nature of this bet?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. I fear I may not like the answer.

“Who would be the last down the aisle?”

The men all turn away, looking at every spot in the room except at their wives. Turning to Charles, I cock my head to the side, happy to give him a little bit of the torment he gave me. “Is that why you refused to marry me until now? A few pounds?”

“Oh,” Augusta laughs. “It’s not just a few pounds. A thousand pounds each.”