Free The Gypsy Duchess by Nadine Miller

bedchamber—and after hiring on with the finest of references too.”
    Devon gasped. “Devil take it, man what are you saying?”
    “I’m saying I cannot be held responsible for forged references. The duchess admitted that much. So, then how can she justify turning a man of my station into a mere caretaker of a house to which she may never return? If I were but ten years younger, I would—”
    Devon didn’t wait to hear what he would do. Heart pounding, he limped out the door and made his way back down the stairs just as Stamden stepped from the carriage and the Bow Street runner sprinted across the street.
    “What the devil! What’s happened?” Stamden asked. “You look like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you.” His eyes widened. “My God, don’t tell me the duchess is an expert at fisticuffs too.”
    “The duchess isn’t here,” Devon replied grimly. “She fled to Cornwall after another attempt was made on the duke.”
    “That’s not possible,” the runner declared. “We’ve had men watching the town house night and day for a fortnight. Not a soul has gone in or out we didn’t know about.”
    “Except the ones who left at dawn through the tradesman’s entrance,” Devon snapped. “You lads slipped up royally this time.”
    “Damn!” The runner seemed to shrink before his very eyes.
    “Back up a bit,” Stamden said quietly. “When and where was the latest attempt made on the duke?”
    “Right here in the town house—in the duke’s bedchamber to be exact,” Devon said, signaling the groom and coachman to hand him into his seat in the carriage. “From what I could gather from the butler’s ramblings, it was some new fellow just hired on staff.”
    The runner looked triumphant. “Well, we can’t be held accountable for that.”
    Stamden’s eyes narrowed. “But you can be held accountable for letting the duchess and her party get away without our knowing—which I fully intend to point out to your superiors.”
    “That’s all very well but it doesn’t solve our problem,” Devon said, slumping against the velvet squabs, suddenly weary to the bone.
    He fought the urge to pound his fist through the window of Stamden’s carriage out of sheer frustration. “What was the woman thinking of to go racing off to Cornwall without my permission? And without proper escort? She’ll be on the road for days. Anything could happen.”
    Stamden climbed into the carriage and settled himself on the seat opposite Devon. “The duchess strikes me as a woman who is accustomed to taking care of herself,” he said, flexing his fingers in a nervous rhythm which belied his calm, deliberate tone of voice. “She was undoubtedly badly frightened when her home was invaded and did the first thing that came to mind.”
    “The first thing and the worst thing,” Devon declared, a cold knot of fear forming in his stomach. “Two failed attempts will not deter a man as desperate as Quentin, and thugs can be hired as easily in Cornwall as in London. Especially now, with the war at an end and the smuggling trade no longer profitable.”
    He stared down at his tightly clenched fists. “That senile old fool who so readily told me her destination will likely give the same information to Quentin or one of his minions.”
    “I agree,” Stamden said and promptly ordered the runner to continue his vigil and report any comings and goings at the town house.
    That done, he tapped on the trapdoor to signal his coachman to continue on to the earl’s town house as earlier planned. “So what do we do now?” he asked as the carriage moved out of the square and into the flow of morning traffic.
    Devon frowned. “The duchess leaves me no choice but to follow her and hope I catch up with her in time to protect her and my ward from the consequences of her willful stupidity. The woman must have attics to let to think she could protect the young duke without the aid of a man. I swear, if the boy were not so fond of her, I