Who Climbed Into the Duke's Bed?

Duke Lucian locked down the estate to find the woman who climbed into his bed.

In my first life, I claimed the honor. He grabbed my hand and sneered. "That woman has a scar on her right hand."

I froze to death in the ice cellar.

In my second life, Martha slashed her own hand and stepped forward. He ripped her collar open. "She has a cross tattoo on her chest. Do you?"

His hounds tore her throat out in the snow.

Now we are in our third life. The Duke issued a three-day ultimatum. He was dead certain the woman was hiding in the Duchess's wing.

Martha and I stared at each other. We were the only two maids serving the Duchess.

——

"Which one of you low-born rats crawled into Lucian’s bed last night?"

Porcelain shattered against the stone wall. A jagged shard sliced my cheek. I didn't dare wipe the blood.

Duchess Arabella stood over us. She lunged toward the fireplace, ripping an iron poker from the coals. The tip glowed a violent orange.

She thrust the smoking iron toward my right eye.

"Speak," Arabella hissed. "Or I will melt the skin off your skulls."

I pressed my palms flat against the cold floorboards.

"Madam, please." I pushed my forehead against her leather shoes. "We scrub corridors from dawn until midnight. We have no time to slip past the Duke’s guards."

It was the truth. It was the exact reason we had to fake our identities in our past lives.

Martha threw herself forward, grabbing the hem of Arabella’s skirt.

"Madam! The Duke’s men said he is looking for a woman with a burn scar on her right hand!"

Martha shoved her right hand toward the firelight, splaying her fingers wide. I scrambled to do the same.

Rough, calloused skin ruined by harsh soap. But completely whole. Neither of us had a burn mark on the webbing of our thumbs.

"You spineless things wouldn't dare anyway," Arabella muttered.

She dropped the iron poker onto the rug. The wool immediately began to smoke. Martha slumped against my shoulder, exhaling a ragged breath.

Arabella spun around, grinding her heel into the smoldering carpet. "The Duke swore the wretch is hiding in this wing. Gather every servant. Now!"

Ten minutes later, the grand hall was silent.

A row of footmen and valets stood in a rigid line against the wall. Six men in total, reeking of cheap pomade and nervous sweat. Arabella paced before them, biting the inside of her cheek.

I bumped my elbow against Martha’s ribs.

"The Duke spent ten years fighting in the trenches," I whispered, glancing at the trembling men. "Did war change his tastes?"

Martha clamped a hand over her mouth to swallow a hysterical laugh.

Arabella stopped pacing. She stared at the row of men with a manic intensity.

"Go inform Lucian that the person has been found," she ordered.

Heavy military boots slammed against the marble corridor outside.

The doors swung wide open. Duke Lucian strode in. He wore a dark officer's coat, radiating crushing authority. A dozen armed guards filed in behind him. Rifles clicked. They blocked every exit.

Arabella rushed forward, plastering on a desperate smile.

"Your Grace," she purred, sweeping her arm toward the terrified men. "Take whichever one you prefer. Dispose of anyone. No word of this will pass my lips."

Lucian stopped. The temperature in the hall plummeted. His dark eyes flicked over the men, then settled heavily on Arabella.

"Are you insane, Arabella?" His voice barely rose above a whisper. "I am looking for a woman."

Arabella froze. Her smile collapsed. She whipped around and pointed a trembling finger straight into the shadows. At me.

"Then it must be her!"

I scrambled backward.

Lucian didn't even shift his weight. He looked at my dirt-stained apron and the dried blood cracking on my jaw.

"Look at her," Lucian scoffed. "A cowering rat in the dirt. I wouldn't waste my eyesight."

Arabella grabbed Martha by the hair, dragging her into the light. "What about this one?"

Lucian tilted his head, adjusting his leather gloves. "Your maids are exceptionally repulsive, Arabella. Do you think I am blind?"

A guard shifted his rifle. Every footman in the room dropped to their knees.

Lucian unholstered a silver revolver from his belt. He dropped it onto the nearest table.

"The woman is hiding inside your wing." He stepped into Arabella's personal space, forcing her to look up. "You have three days."

Arabella held her breath.

"Produce her," Lucian continued. "Or I strip your title."

He turned on his heel. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him and his guards.

The silence lasted three seconds.

Arabella pivoted. Her open hand cracked across my cheek.

I hit the floorboards. Before I could sit up, the sharp heel of her boot dug directly into Martha’s ribs.

Martha screamed, curling into a ball.

"Don't just lie there staring at me!" Arabella shrieked, her pinned hair unraveling. "Find that bitch! If I lose this estate, I will skin both of you alive!"

Martha coughed, clutching her bruised ribs.

"Madam," she wheezed. "Wait... there are other women."