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're in our third life. The Duke just issued a three-day ultimatum, dead certain that the woman is hiding in the Duchess's wing.

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

——

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

Porcelain exploded against the stone wall. A jagged shard sliced across my cheek, but I didn't dare wipe the blood.

Duchess Arabella stood over us, her heavy silk gown swishing like a coiled snake. She lunged toward the fireplace and ripped the iron poker from the hot coals. The tip glowed a blistered, violent orange.

She thrust the smoking iron directly at my right eye.

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

I pressed my bare palms flat against the cold floorboards, terrified to even breathe.

"Madam, please," I choked out, pushing my forehead to her leather shoes. "We scrub the stone corridors from dawn until midnight. We serve your tea perfectly steeped at four. We have absolutely no time or energy to slip past the Duke’s armed guards."

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

Martha threw her body forward. She grabbed 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 screamed.

She didn't give Arabella a second to process. Martha shoved her right hand straight toward the firelight, splaying her fingers wide. I scrambled to do the same, holding out my own trembling hand.

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

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

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

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

Ten minutes later, the grand hall was suffocatingly silent.

A long row of footmen, valets, and butlers 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 line of trembling male staff. "Did war change his tastes?"

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

However, Arabella had stopped pacing, staring at the row of men with the focused, slightly unwell look.

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

Heavy military boots slammed against the marble corridor outside.

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

Arabella rushed forward, plastering a sickeningly desperate smile on her face.

"Your Grace," she purred, sweeping her arm toward the row of terrified men. "Here is the staff. Take whichever one you prefer. Dispose of anyone. I assure you, no word of this will pass my lips."

She had entirely convinced herself of the rumor.

Lucian stopped dead in his tracks. The temperature in the hall seemed to plummet. His dark eyes flicked over the line of men, then settled heavily on Arabella.

"Are you insane, Arabella?" His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it cut across the room like a razor. "I am looking for a woman."

Arabella froze. Her confident smile violently collapsed. Panic seized her throat as she whipped around and pointed a trembling hand straight into the shadows. At me.

"Then it must be her!"

I scrambled backward, my heart slamming against my ribs.

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 brutal sound of disgust. "A cowering rat in the dirt. I wouldn't waste my eyesight."

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

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

A guard in the back shifted his rifle. Every single footman in the room dropped to their knees in sheer terror.

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

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

Arabella held her breath, her chest heaving.

"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 with explosive force.

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 tight ball.

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

Martha coughed, clutching her battered side.

"Madam," Martha wheezed, gasping for air. "Wait... there are other women."