Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

“ W hat would one of the heroines of my novels do?” Rosalie muttered to herself as she paced back and forth across the floor of her bedroom. “Hang the notion that life isn’t like a novel—why shouldn’t it be?”

There was one thing she knew for sure as she reached the wall opposite the bed and turned back around: none of the heroines in the books she read would be pacing their rooms late at night, waiting for their husbands to come to them. They would be out there looking for them.

Rosalie stopped pacing. It had been three hours since the blow-up fight with the Duke, and so far, she had not seen head nor tail of him. She’d gone back to the bedroom after the fight where she’d tried to distract herself, but it hadn’t worked. Even reading had given her no respite from the anger, guilt, and worry that gnawed at her. So, she’d brushed her hair, gotten into her silk nightdress, and tried to sleep, but nothing worked. She’d ended up out of bed for the past hour, pacing the room.

We are going to have a miserable marriage. That was the most dominant thought, the one that was making it impossible for her to sleep—the idea that the next thirty, forty years of her life were going to be spent with a cruel, unfeeling man who despised her.

Nor could she blame that misery entirely on the Duke. Yes, he had been more angry than was strictly necessary, and she thought he ought to work on his temper, but she had also resorted to a low blow.

I knew calling him monstrous would remind him of his epithet, the Beast of Carramere. I knew it would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

That was another reason why she couldn’t sleep: the guilt was hounding her. She had never been the kind of person to sink to low blows or become cruel. She had always been the most spirited of her sisters, yes, but she wasn’t unkind.

“That’s enough,” she said out loud as she stared at the door. “I am not going to simply wait here, hoping that he returns to our bed! Nor am I going to ignore my problems. I’m going out there, I’m going to find my husband, and I’m going to fix this!”

That’s what Lizzy “Nobeard” Seacliff would do!

Rosalie strode to the bed, grabbed her dressing gown from it, and threw it over her shoulders. Then she marched to the door and out into the corridor. It was late now, and all the lamps had been extinguished. She couldn’t see anything, and when she reached the end of the corridor, she stubbed her toe on the corner.

“Blast!” she swore quietly, but it must have been louder than she thought because someone suddenly grunted near her, as if being woken up. Rosalie let out a gasp, made to scramble away, and tripped over the end of her dressing gown. With a lurch, she went flying, and landed on?—

Something surprisingly soft. And warm. And… moving!

“Who’s there?” the Duke’s voice said out of the dark, and then large hands seized her by the arms. She had landed on top of her husband, she realized. He seemed to have been sleeping on one of the small divans that lined the hallway, and now, she was sprawled right on top of him, her legs intertwined with his.

“It’s just me,” she squeaked, shame and another harder-to-identify feeling, warming her cheeks. “It’s Rosalie!”

“Rosalie?” The Duke’s voice sounded confused and drowsy, as if he had been deep asleep moments before.

“Yes,” she said, and she tried to get up off of him, but his hands held tight to her. “It’s me,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, the two of them lay there, her trapped in his arms, breathing silently together. His chest went up at the same time that hers went down; they were sync, in rhythm. Then his grip eased, and she pulled away and stood up.

Her eyes seemed to have adjusted to the darkness because she could see the Duke now, lying on the divan. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and stared at her.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, merely curious.

“I was looking for you,” she said, a little indignantly. “You never came to bed.”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t entirely sure if I was…” In the dark, she saw him hesitate. “I wanted to give you your space.”

“So you slept on that?” Now that she could see better in the dimness, the divan looked even smaller than she remembered it. Or perhaps it was just the sheer size of the Duke. He had curled his legs almost all the way into his chest in order to fit on the small sofa. “But you don’t fit!”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but she made sure her tone was gentle, not chiding. “You’re far too large to sleep on that. Please, come to bed.”

“But…” He frowned at her. “… we have never shared a bed before.”

“Well, it was bound to happen one of these days,” Rosalie said briskly. “We are married, after all. Even on nights when we have horrible fights.”

He seemed to consider this then, at last, he stood up. Once he was on his feet, he stretched, raising his arms high above his bed.

When he lowered them, he smiled slightly at her. “I was a bit stiff,” he admitted.

Together, they walked back down the corridor. They weren’t speaking, but for once, the silence between them didn’t feel tense; it almost felt companionable.

Once they were back in the room, the Duke took a nightshirt from the set of drawers in the corner and then went behind the screen to change. Rosalie perched on the edge of the bed and tried to summon all her courage as she listened to the rustle of fabric against his skin.

“Will you tell me what was in the letter?” she asked at last before her courage could desert her.

Behind the screen, she heard the Duke pause, but then he resumed his undressing.

“I suppose it’s better to just tell you,” he said after a moment. There was another long pause. “Actually, judging by the way you go about finding out information, it might be safer at this point.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said, watching his shadow move behind the screen. If she was correct, he was now wearing nothing at all. She saw the shadow lean over the basin, and she heard him splashing water on his face. “I am stronger than I look. You might think my head is always in the clouds, or some book, but I grew up with Jebediah Crampton as my father. It made me tough—tougher than I wanted to be.”

Another silence then, “Is that why you read so much? Because it’s the one place you don’t have to be tough? You can just be a happy, tender-hearted romantic?”

She smiled but didn’t answer his question. “What was in the letter?” she repeated. “I’m not trying to be nosey, but if it’s about Lord Redfield, then it could affect me.”

The Duke sighed but not in an exasperated way. More like he was releasing a heavy burden. “The letter was in code, so I’m not entirely sure of everything it’s saying,” he began. “It was sent to me by one of my contacts in Scotland Yard. They write that there has been an influx in opium dealing in Lord Redfield’s estate. You know, of course, that the Lord Redfield that kidnapped your sister is dead?”

“Yes of course. He was killed in prison.”

“Well, his son has inherited his estate. I don’t know much about this new Lord Redfield, but if this letter is any indication, he is just as villainous as his father. I am concerned about increasing opium activity, especially because his land borders mine. I don’t want to see a rise of criminal activity in my duchy, nor do I want my tenants to become hooked on that vile substance. It’s important that whatever is happening be stopped at once and the new Lord Redfield be taken down if he is indeed behind it.”

“Is there any chance he isn’t behind it?” she asked, swinging her feet against the bed.

“I suppose it’s possible a gang is using his land without his knowledge.” The shadow had begun to dress itself, and she watched as it pulled the nightshirt over its head. “But considering the criminality of the late Lord Redfield, I imagine his son is similarly inclined. And it wouldn’t be easy for a gang to get away with this without Lord Redfield’s knowledge. And if he knew and wasn’t doing anything, well then, that’s almost as bad as profiting from it.”

“Yes, I agree,” Rosalie said.

The Duke pulled aside the screen and appeared in front of her again. He was now the most informally dressed she had ever seen him, in just undergarments and a nightshirt, and some of the hair around his face was still wet from the washbasin. She swallowed, her heart cantering.

“So, you came here in order to try and stop Lord Redfield?” she asked, unsticking her throat.

“That’s right.”

She tilted her head to one side and gave him a lopsided smile. “You could have just told me. I wouldn’t have been offended if you wanted to stop a drug smuggler instead of going on honeymoon with me.”

“Well… after everything you’ve been through, I thought that stopping another criminal would be the last thing you wanted.”

“Please,” Rosalie laughed. “Don’t you know by now that I want my life to be like a novel? And this is exactly that! As horrified as I was when Violet was kidnapped, there was a small part of me that was jealous.”

The Duke’s eyebrows went up. “Are you in earnest?”

“Yes.” She shook her head. “I know it sounds insane, and I knew at the time that I wasn’t actually jealous, but I just have always craved adventure—for something exciting to happen to me. And while I’m not glad that there’s opium being smuggled into the estate, I’d also rather know about it and help you than be kept in the dark.”

The Duke hesitated. “But it could be dangerous.”

Now it was her turn to snort. “Haven’t you seen by now how brave the Crampton sisters are? I can handle myself.”

“That’s true,” he said, inclining his head. He came to the bed and turned back the covers then sat down on it. She turned around, and they looked at each other for a moment.

“So, do you have a plan?” she asked.

“Of course. I’m going to sneak into his house and look for whatever information I can find.”

“You’re going to sneak in?” she asked, incredulously. “That sounds extremely dangerous.”

“I’ve done it before. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to ensure that he is out of the house, and I’ll disguise myself as a servant.”

“I have a better idea,” she said, and now, it was his turn to look incredulous.

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, and I thought it would be obvious.”

“And what is that?”

She smiled wickedly, enjoying his annoyance. He clearly didn’t like being told his plan wasn’t any good. “You use your reputation, of course!”

He blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

She scooted closer to him on the bed. “You are known as the Beast of Carramere, right?”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded.

“Well, the Beast of Carramere is known as a ruthless man, is he not? And while I have never heard you tied to any criminal activity in the past, it probably wouldn’t be much of a stretch for someone to believe that a man of your reputation would get into the opium business.”

“I would never?—”

“I know, but what I’m suggesting is that we use Lord Redfield’s perception of you to trick him. You go to him and propose becoming involved in the opium trade—tell him you’ve heard he is the person to hook you up. You could even pretend that you want to use opium for medical purposes now but imply that you eventually would like it to become a recreational drug, especially for those in your duchy—that you hope to profit off of the addiction of others. Though perhaps you could phrase it in a more… veiled way.”

She held her breath, waiting for her husband to be offended, but to her surprise, the Duke looked intrigued.

“That could work,” he began slowly.

Rosalie nodded eagerly. “And then, you slowly ingratiate yourself, perhaps offer to invest in the business. Once you are business partners, it will be easier for you to spy on him and gather whatever information you need to report him to the authorities. It would be a much more effective way of getting inside information than merely snooping around.”

The Duke was quiet for a moment, and she waited, hoping that he would see the brilliance in the plan. Energy was coursing through her, and she hadn’t felt so excited in a long time. She really did feel as if she were in on one of the schemes that Lizzy “Nobeard” Seacliff and Captain Blackthorn might dream up.

But then, the Duke shook his head. “It’s a good plan,” he said, meeting her gaze, “but I don’t think I could pull it off. I don’t know anything about opium or the drug trade. And while I’m known for being ruthless, I’m also known for being morally unimpeachable in all my dealings. That’s why Scotland Yard originally approached me.”

Rosalie thought about this for a moment then an idea struck her. “That’s why you should bring me!” she said, eagerness lighting up her face. “I know all about opium, not only from books I’ve read about it but also from my father. He was involved in the trade, and there were many times when he talked somewhat openly about it when friends were visiting.”

The Duke looked uncertain. “Even then, there is my reputation…”

“But we can prove to Lord Redfield that I have corrupted you even further,” she said, breathless with excitement. “All we need to do is convince him that I am truly my father’s daughter and that I took advantage of your reputation and convinced you the best way forward is to lean all the way into what people think of you: since they already think you’re a beast, be one. We can make it out like it was my idea to get involved in opium.”

She could tell that the Duke was tempted. He had the same eager tautness in the way he was sitting that she did.

“It would be a rather remarkable feat if we pulled it off,” he said slowly. “And it’s not an unconvincing story.”

“I think it would work,” she insisted, and at last, the Duke laughed and relented.

“All right,” he said. “We can do it. But I don’t want you getting too excited. We’re not doing this for the adventure; we’re doing it to help our tenants and all those affected by the opium trade.”

“You’re right,” she said demurely, but she had a feeling, as he went to blow out the candles, that he was excited as well. She could see it in the small smile on his lips and the glint in his eyes.

He leaned over the candle to blow it out, and as he did, his shirt gaped, and she caught a glimpse, again, of the scars on his shoulders.

Quickly, she turned away in order to hide her shudder. It wasn’t that the scars disgusted her, but they did disturb her. And they were a good reminder of the seriousness of what they were planning to do: there were bad people in the world, and they had to be stopped.

The light was blown out, and the Duke settled down in the bed, pulling the covers up around him. She did the same. The bed really was very small, and their bodies were so close to one another that she could feel the heat emanating from him, even though they didn’t touch, and it made goosebumps run up and down her arms.

He is a good man , she thought to herself as she turned over to her side. He wants to stop villains, not be one. I don’t know how he earned his epithet, but it’s not true. He’s no beast.

And just as she began to drift off, she made a promise to herself: if Lord Redfield was half as bad as the man who had whipped the Duke so brutally, then she would do anything she could to bring him down.