“You misunderstand," she told Kiernan, "Ty—they simply aren't my family.”
Kiernan squatted beside her, bringing his face level with hers. “I will be your family now.”
“I have a life," she went on in a rush, "things I wish to do, things that don't include being at the beck and call of a husband.”
“As to whether or not those things include being at the beck and call of a husband,” the duke said, “I cannot say, but they do now include having a husband.”
Phoebe stiffened. “Even you, Your Grace, cannot force me into marriage.”
“It is done. The notice has been sent to the papers and a letter to your uncle.”
She reeled. A message already sent. How—when? How long to reach London with a message? Two days, if the messenger changed horses along the way? When had the messenger left?
“You sent the message last night,” she said in a whisper to the duke. "When you allowed me to send a message to my uncle." Her pulse quickened. “Sweet God in heaven, what have you done?”
An acute silence fell upon the room, broken a moment later by Kiernan’s, “Phoebe, love.”
She looked dumbly at him.
“It wasn't my father’s doing.”
She stared. “You?”
He smiled slightly.
“Not your damned honor?”
The smile never wavered.
She couldn't believe it. A traitor with honor.
Phoebe looked at the duke. “I wish to return home.”
“We have time,” Kiernan said. “If we leave tomorrow—”
“I wish to leave now,” she insisted, her gaze still fixed on his father.
"All right," Kiernan said. "It's best if the announcement appears in the papers before we arrive in London, so we will go to Ashlund first.”
“I bloody well plan to cancel that announcement," Phoebe said. "And I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”
“You can't go without me. In fact, we will ride with a large company of men in case your other admirer decides to waylay you again.”
“What’s this?” the duke demanded.
“Did my future wife neglect to tell you of the men who tried to abduct her the same night I did?”
The duke’s attention sharpened on Phoebe.
“It was fortunate that I got there when I did," Kiernan said. "If not for me, God knows what would have happened."
“You're being melodramatic,” she said.
“Miss Wallington,” the duke said in a stern voice that forced her attention to him. “Who is the other kidnapper?”
The same man I encountered in the woods the night of the fire, she wondered? But said, "I haven’t the vaguest idea."
Five minutes later, Phoebe begged Kiernan to give her time to think, and closed the library door on him and his father. She hurried to her room to collect the three articles she had hidden there earlier that morning. First, the sgian dubh, which she'd taken from the great hall. Lifting her apron, she stuffed the sheathed dagger into the pocket of her skirt. Next, she retrieved the small derringer she had found in the duke’s library and pocketed the weapon with the dagger. Lastly, she picked up her reticule, which contained the ruby ring her mother had given her before she died, along with her father’s letter. She stuffed the bag into her pocket and stood.
Blood pounded in her ears in tandem with the rhythm of her thudding heart. She smoothed her skirts, until certain the bulge wasn't noticeable, then hastened from her room and down the stairs to the front entrance. Phoebe forced her pulse to slow and her mind to quiet as she pushed open the door and stepped into the busy courtyard. She resisted the urge to glance at the upper level of the castle. If luck smiled, father and son would be in conference long enough for her to reach the village. If all went well, Kiernan wouldn't seek her out until she was long gone. Leaving on her own was a huge risk, but she couldn't see any other choice. It was simply out of the question for her to arrive in London engaged to a man who she had already reported as a possible traitor to England. The letter she'd sent to Alistair was among those the duke thought was to her uncle, and would reach London with Kiernan's announcement for the papers.