Page 35 of Disciplined by the Duke
But she didn’t think she would find Bob alive and well anymore.
Ice raced down her spine as she remembered the threats Pike had leveled at her. Her jaw clenched. She had gotten herself into this trouble by her own choices. But Bob was an innocent. If he’d been harmed because of Westmore’s scheme she’d . . . well, she didn’t know what she would do. But she had to do something.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Blackmun.” Liz rose to her feet, and the woman followed suit. “If I hear anything regarding your nephew I’ll inform you immediately. And if you hear from Bob please do let me know.”
“If you’d like.” Mrs. Blackmun’s shoulders hunched as she walked Liz out. She gave Liz a trembling smile as she shut the door between them. Liz could tell by the expression on the woman’s face that she didn’t hold out hope that any news would be good.
Liz found Joseph, the kitchen boy, down the lane playing with a group of children. With a jaunty tip to his small cap, he led her to the cart they’d driven into the village. Climbing onto the cart, Joseph waited until she was settled before slapping the back of the plow horse with the reins and turning towards home.
Her young driver tried to start a conversation, but Liz was too distracted to engage with him. Her mind raced from one possible scenario to another as the boy whistled a merry tune. A boy not too much younger than Bob Blackmun. Did the footman have a similar turned-up nose and freckled face? Liz sighed. How far would Westmore and his men go to rob the duke? She’d witnessed blackmail, threats, and intimidation, but she’d never seen any evidence that the earl or his men would go so far as murder.
The bump of the cart evened out as they turned onto the graded drive to Hartsworth House. Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly closed them before any could roll down her cheeks. She was overwhelmed and needed someone to talk to. “Oh, Amanda,” she murmured.
The whistling stopped. “You say something, miss?”
“No.” She cleared her throat. Movement by the stable caught her eye. Turning her head, she watched as Mr. Pike, a saddle tossed over one shoulder, made his way to the tack room. “Yes, I did say something. Let me off here, please.”
“All rightie, miss.”
The cart shuddered to a halt, and Liz sprang off. She stalked to the tack room, having no idea what she wanted to say to Mr. Pike, but in a hurry to say it. She entered the large storage space and made a beeline for Pike. Her stomach unclenched slightly when she saw three other men at the far side of the building, far enough away not to hear her conversations but close enough so her “second cousin” couldn’t harm her.
He stood with his back to her, his focus on the torn leather of a saddle’s girth. She had no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part to accuse him of, only a gut feeling. And a lot of anger. She decided not to mince words. “What did you do to Bob?”
His body jerked, but when he turned around to face her his expression was calm. “Who’s Bob and why would I have done somethin’ to him?”
“Bob Blackmun, the footman. The young man you had an argument with and threatened after he caught you with”—she swiveled her head left, then right, and dropped her voice—“one of Westmore’s men.”
He snapped the leather strap taut between his hands. “Shut yer mouth about the earl. I’m not the only one with somethin’ to lose if it comes outwe’reworking for him.”
Liz dropped her voice lower. “I may work for the man, but I will not be involved in causing harm to come to others. If you’ve hurt—”
“You’ll what?” He stepped closer, forcing Liz to stumble back. “You have one job to do here, missy. Nothin’ else is your business. I can do what I want and you can’t stop me.” Voices in the distance faded out to nothing, and Pike turned his head to watch the other grooms leave the building at the far door. When he turned his head back, a large smile creased his face. One that showed altogether too many brown teeth.
Her heart jumped like a rabbit caught in a snare. It was broad daylight, she reminded herself. She lifted her chin. Pike couldn’t very well harm her when the rest of the servants bustled with activity around the grounds. She hoped.
“Now I’m not saying I did somethin’ to no boy, but you’d be wise to remember that I could. Yes, sir, I could.” He held up one meaty hand and flexed his fingers. “A nice, small neck like yers I could snap with just this here hand.” He snapped his fingers and Liz flinched. “You’d be gone like that. So I’d be careful what I said and what I did if I were you.”
Her newly learned survival instincts flared to life. Show no fear to predators. She stepped into the odious man and poked a finger at his chest. “I wouldn’t be as easy to hurt as some poor unsuspecting boy, Mr. Pike, andyouwould do well to remember that. And if I find any evidence that you harmed Bob Blackmun not even the earl will be able to save you from the hangman’s noose.” She stepped around him and made her way to the door.
Her bravado would have been more impressive had she not walked backwards towards the door, never taking her eyes off the groom. She knew better than to turn her back on a snake.
He glared at her but made no move to follow her retreat. She was almost through the door when his voice stopped her. “I got an answer to your letter, Miss Smith.”
Liz paused, halfway in the sunlight. Her body quivered with the need to flee to the house, to safety, but she forced her feet to remain planted. She’d almost forgotten about her plea to Westmore. “And?”
He wrapped the leather strap of the girth around his left hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “Request denied.”
Even though she hadn’t been expecting a different response, her breath hitched.
“And Miss Smith?” He took one step towards her, lowered his clenched fists to his sides. “I’ve been told to do whatever I need to do to make sure you get the job done.” His gaze crawled over her body, as though searching for her weakest point. “I can be right convincing.”
Spinning on her heel, she hustled across the wide expanse of lawn to the closest door of the house. She tossed several glances over her shoulder as she fled, but he didn’t follow. She pushed the kitchen door open, hard, and it flung against the wall and bounced back, hitting her shoulder.
Peggy looked up from a wooden table, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded dough. “Whoa. Are you all right?”
Liz rubbed her shoulder. “Fine.” The smell of baking bread and the heat from the ovens enveloped her. Some of the tension eased from her muscles. She watched as the cook divided the dough into three parts, stretched them out, and began braiding the pieces together. “What are you making?”
“Brioche.” Her hands paused. “Some people don’t bake it anymore because of the war, but I don’t think it hurts anyone. The French have to be good for something.” She spread butter over the top and covered the loaf with a towel to rise. “Did you meet with Bob’s family?”