Unless she’s in the dark as well. Lady Calthorpe’s father was the Duke of Beaufort, a very powerful man. He’d also been the person holding the overfull glass of port at Her Grace’s soiree.
“May I borrow your miniature?” Drake asked. “I’d like to present it to my mother without her knowing it is yours.”
“Do you believe she would lie about it if she knew?” As she gave it to him, her fingers lightly brushed his.
A whisper of awareness danced up his arm. “Honestly, I have no idea what to think.”
As he stood, she did as well. “I’d rather go with you.”
“Allow me to test the waters first.” He cupped her face between his palms. “You have come to mean so much to me, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”
While her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth, Britannia’s gaze meandered to his lips. “Thank you for the rose. ’Tis for me, is it not?”
“Yes.” Pulled by an indescribable force, Drake dipped his chin. “I’d hoped to deliver it under happier circumstances.”
Yes, he knew the last place he should kiss her was backstage.
Merely one stolen kiss behind a closed door?
On a relenting sigh, he lightly brushed his lips across hers. Her sweet, soft breath against his mouth hinted of unspoken promises.
Forcing himself to drop his hands to his sides, Drake backed toward the door. “Please forgive me. I shall visit my mother on the morrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
Still wearing her dressing gown, Bria read the morning Gazette while sipping tea in her parlor. The rooms Ravenscar had provided were so comfortable, she rued the need to return to Paris. But staying in London was out of the question. As soon as the Season came to an end, she must leave. Even the idea of returning next year was dangerous. What if the scoundrel behind all these awful deeds remained at large? What if he tried to kill her? Or kill someone else? What if the fire had grown out of control? She would already be dead, moreover, she might have been the cause of other deaths as well.
“The Duke of Ravenscar, miss,” said the butler.
Not waiting for her reply, His Grace stepped into the parlor, his face grim. “Mother has gone to bloody Brighton.”
The saucer clinked as Bria replaced her cup. “Oh no. And I’d hoped so much for her to be able to identify my miniature. When will she return?”
“I have no idea, but I am not waiting. ’Tis just over a half-day’s journey. I’ve asked the grooms to prepare the town car. Will you go with me?”
With the flurry of butterflies in her stomach, she almost said yes. “But I’d miss tonight’s performance.”
“Your understudy can cover for one night.”
“Florrie?” Bria snorted. “She’s awful on point.”
“’Tis only this once. Let the girl have a turn. Besides, I’ve already sent word to Mr. Perkins.”
“Without asking me first?”
“I can always advise him of a change of plans, but I need your answer forthwith. Do you want to come along or not?”
She wouldn’t hesitate if anyone in the troupe besides Florrie was her understudy. Bria tapped her fingers on the teapot handle. If she did take the night off, it would give Pauline a chance to dance the part of Effie. “All right, I’ll go.” Bria stood. “But first I must change.”
“And pack a portmanteau. We’ll stay over by the sea and come back first thing in the morning.”
“There are rooms enough for the both of us?” she asked.
“Yes. My town house in Brighton is every bit as big as the one on Half Moon Street.”
“The mind boggles at the extent of your wealth. I simply cannot fathom it.” Bria used a hand bell to ring for her maid then quickly hastened to her chamber to don a day gown and pack her necessities in her only portmanteau.
Ravenscar set the Gazette aside and shot to his feet as she returned to the parlor, the butler following with her valise. “That was quick. Any other woman would have taken until midday.”
“I suppose a woman with few possessions, accustomed to doing things herself is a bit more efficient than one who has been pampered all her life.”
“Are you saying my mother isn’t efficient?”
“I have no grounds upon which to judge, but I’m guessing she would spend a great deal of time deciding which gowns to bring, which shoes, hats, gloves, jewelry, fans…need I go on?”
Ravenscar took the portmanteau from the butler. “We’ll be slipping out unawares, so I will do the honors, thank you.”
Bria led the way to the servants’ stairs. “You seem like any normal man when you carry my things.”
“Normal? How do I appear otherwise?”
“You know what I mean. You’re a duke…one of the untouchables.”
“Hmm. I’ll have you know, I certainly have carried my share of crates and trunks over the years.”
She giggled, unable to picture Ravenscar trudging along a footpath with a trunk on his back. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“I haven’t always been a duke. And I didn’t receive any preferential treatment when I was at Eton or at Oxford.”
By the time they reached the mews, the carriage was rigged, its doors turned to the shiny, black panels without the Ravenscar crest and the coachman was standing at the block ready to lend a hand.
They’d been traveling for hours when, the town car jerked and wobbled from side to side. With a gasp, Bria braced her palms on the velvet seat.
“Ho!” hollered the driver.
Drake pounded the pommel of his cane on the ceiling. “What the devil is—?”
“Aaaaaaaack!” Bria cried as the carriage jolted and came to stop, sending her flying through the air, straight toward His Grace.
Before she could grab something to stop her momentum, his arms wrapped around her. “I have you,” he grunted in her ear.
Yes, he did.
Breathless and stunned, Bria looked into his eyes. Beautiful, expressive eyes stared back, concerned, and a deeper emotion she couldn’t put a name to.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice husky.
He cared. Yes, she knew he held her in high esteem, but now she was certain his regard for her extended much further than friendship. His concern made her want to embrace him and never let go.
She nodded, not bothering to look back to her seat. If only she could stay in his arms for the duration of the journey.
Outside, the clatter of horses passed them.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” the driver hollered from above. “We barely avoided a collision.”
“Carry on,” Ravenscar replied before returning his attention to Bria. “I rather like this new seating arrangement.”
Unable to help herself, she brushed her fingers over his exquisite silk neckcloth. “It is…um…cozy.”
Black eyelashes fanned his eyes while he slid his palm along the curve of her waist. “And my hand fits ever so nicely right here.”
A tiny gasp escaped her throat. “Your Grace—”
“Britannia, when we are alone, I want you to call me Drake.” Licking his lips, his gaze shifted to her mouth. “You may not realize it, but ever since you asked me to kiss you at Mother’s soiree, I’ve thought about that moment at least a hundred times a day.”
Was she floating? Bria could have sworn she’d just turned weightless. “Only a hundred?”
“Is it not obvious? Though propriety insists I remain aloof, I always seem to lose myself when we are alone.”
“Y-you do?”
“Mm hmm.”
The inside of the carriage turned into the Sylph’s magical forest as their gazes held with an awareness deep with meaning. How could she resist him when he looked at her with such fierce desire? How could she resist a man who’d protected her and shown her boundless kindness at every crisis? Drake had established her in a suite of rooms without asking for anything in return. And now they were traveling to Brighton for the single task of querying his mother about th
e identity of the mysterious Grande-Duchesse at long last. What other nobleman would go to such lengths?
He dipped his chin, his lips nearing. And the moment he kissed her mouth, the invisible thread binding them tightened. As his lips opened against hers, insatiable longing coursed through her blood. Heat spread low in her belly. Need claimed her. Greedy for more, Bria shoved her fingers into his thick hair and drew him closer.
They clung to each other, their tongues entwined in an intimate dance meant only to be shared in the confines of the tiny carriage. Bria sighed as his lips trailed to the arc of her neck.
Throwing back her head, she arched, her body screaming for more. “Every day I grow more powerless to resist you.”
“Then do not.”
“But—”
“Hush,” he whispered, his lips moving lower as his fingers swept over the sensitive skin at the scooped neckline of her bodice.
She tried to focus her mind—grasped at sanity. “We have no future.”
“We have this moment.” His voice rumbled against her skin, filling her with ravening desire. “I swear I will not try more with you than you are prepared to receive.”
“Then kiss me over and over. I long to stay in your arms and savor the taste of your lips.”
His tongue trialed along her jaw. “I’ll kiss you all the way to Brighton if that is your wish.”
For the first time in her life, Bria couldn’t think about tomorrow. She was melting in Drake’s arms and that’s the only place she wanted to be. “Yes. Oh God, yes!”
Ravenscar’s strong fingers stroked and kneaded while she floated upon a cloud of pure bliss. His languid kisses beguiled her with hot, deep glides of his tongue. Ever so slowly, he slid his hand from her hip, over her thigh and down to her exposed ankle, covered only by her stocking.
Bria gasped, stilling his hand. “You mustn’t.”
His fingers squeezed as vivid eyes arrested her. “On stage you enchant me with your shapely ankles. Surely you will not deny me the pleasure of a mere caress of this one.”
She slid her hand to his beguiling fingers, her tongue slipping to the corner of her mouth. “On stage I am not myself.”
The pads of his fingers swirled around her ankle. “No? Then who are you?”
“In La Sylphide I am the Sylph. I am a mythical creature not of this world.”
“I disagree. You are the only woman who can breathe life into the character who happens to be the Sylph.”
“But you wanted Marie Taglioni.”
His lips traced the tops of her breasts, sending shivers of joy across her skin. Everywhere he touched her brought a new swarm of mind-boggling sensations. “That’s because I hadn’t yet seen you dance,” he growled. “No one can touch your grace, your passion. I am in awe of you.”
She took in a gasp. “I am still learning, still growing.”
“Never stop.” Drake’s hand moved up her calf sending her insides into a slick torrent of want. “Kiss me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Late afternoon, the butler ushered them into the drawing room of Ravenscar’s Brighton town house. Standing stiff as a board, Drake clenched his fist. Bloody hell, Her Grace was keeping company with Edwin Peters.
Scandalous!
The man was a rotten gunsmith, not a gentleman. He held no peerage. He wasn’t the son of a nobleman. Hell, the bastard hadn’t even been knighted.
I will put an end to the man’s gold digging as soon as I have Mother alone.
Her Grace looked at him with a cool arch to her brow. “Son, I did not expect to see you here. Is something wrong? Is your sister well?” Mother’s gaze shifted to Britannia as if it were perfectly acceptable for the dowager duchess to engage in indiscretions. “Has Chadwick Theater burned to the ground?”
“Nothing quite so drastic.” Drake nailed Peters with a hard stare and scowled. “And last I heard, Ada was in good health.”
“Indeed. Nonetheless, it is lovely to see you Miss LeClair. I hope you are well?” Mother asked, her lips turning white—a sure sign she was furious.
Britannia curtsied, hiding any hint of shock she might have felt. “I am, thank you.”
“Please, join us.” After making the introductions, Her Grace rang the bell. “I’m curious to hear what brought you to Brighton without sending advance notice.”
The butler stepped inside and bowed. “You rang, Your Grace?”
“Please have the housemaid bring us some cordial and cucumber sandwiches.”
“Straightaway, madam.”
Mother leveled her gaze upon Drake. “And do sit down. Looking up at you is making my neck sore.”
Taking a seat beside Britannia on the settee, Drake reassumed his glare at Peters. The man pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open.
“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” asked Drake.
Peters didn’t make eye contact, the coward. “Perhaps I’ll take a stroll to the shore.”
“It is a splendid day for it.” Drake pulled the cushion from behind his back and squeezed it while he watched the gunsmith leave. Once the man disappeared, he tossed the pillow aside and turned his attention to the dowager duchess. “We shall talk later.”
“If we must.” She fluffed her skirts as if she hadn’t a care. “Now tell me, why are you here?”
Before he produced the miniature, he summarized all that had transpired leading up to the fact that he believed his star performer was being targeted by a madman. He explained about Britannia’s keepsakes and only then did he pull the tiny portrait from his waistcoat pocket.
“Yes.” Her Grace looked to Britannia. “You should have approached me about this sooner. I daresay it might have saved everyone a lot of todo.”
“Who is it?” asked Drake.
“You know her, Son. I cannot believe she has changed so much you didn’t recognize Lady Charlotte Somerset, now Lady Calthorpe.”
“Calthorpe?” Britannia scooted to the edge of the settee. “She is the last person I would suspect.”
“But she did spill wine down your dress,” said Drake.
“The incident was an accident after which she apologized profusely.” Standing, Britannia began to pace. “She even established a credit in my name at Harding, Howell and Company.”
“Possibly to displace blame?” suggested Her Grace.
“I do not believe it.” The ballerina stopped in front of the hearth and threw out her hands. “Not long ago, she invited us to her home for a recital and paid us handsomely.”
The housemaid brought in a tray, distributed glasses of cordial and hastened away. Obviously, the servants were as abhorred by Her Grace’s indiscretion as Drake.
Mother reached for her drink. “Did anything untoward happen while you were at Her Ladyship’s town house?”
Dropping her arms, Bria returned to the settee. “Nothing.”
Drake swiped a miniature sandwich from the plate. “Miss LeClair was born in February of 1814. Did Her Ladyship have an affair with George during the season of 1813?”
“That was quite a long time ago. Who remembers who was tupping whom? I had two young children at the time.” After filling three teacups, she picked up the dainty china pitcher. “Milk?”
“Please, for us both, no sugar,” Drake replied before continuing, “But you were still involved with the Season at that time.”
“True. Lady Charlotte, hmm…” Mother placed one of the finger-sized sandwiches on a plate while her lips disappeared into a thin line. “I vaguely remember her first Season. She was lovely and terrified, just as we all were our first time out.”
The dowager duchess grew silent for a time while she nibbled. “Come to think on it, I do not recall hearing anything about Charlotte again until Beaufort announced her betrothal to Calthorpe.”
“What year was that?” asked Drake.
“Now you’re stretching my memory.” She pushed her plate away.
Britannia stilled her glass halfway to her lips. “Do you think her
generosity might be because she knows something about my parentage?”
Giving Drake a nudge, Britannia looked flummoxed. “Could be. The only way to know for certain is to ask her.”
“But why wouldn’t she say something to me?”
“Chances are there would be a mortiferous scandal. Even after twenty years.” Mother flicked a bit of lint from her red velvet sleeve. “Why else would someone be sending you threatening messages?”
Drake stood and offered his hand to Britannia. “Miss LeClair, would you mind leaving me alone with my mother for a moment? You’ll find a library the next floor up.”
She hesitantly placed her hand in his palm, her gaze shifting between them. “Very well. But you’ll tell me if you uncover anything else, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Needing something more powerful than cordial, Drake poured himself a tot of brandy while he listened to Britannia climb the stairs.
Mother whipped open her fan and briskly cooled her face as if hit by a sudden blast of heat. “Please tell me you are not thinking of confronting Lady Calthorpe. If she is that ballerina’s mother, the poor woman’s life could be ruined by exposing such a scandal…and after twenty years. My word!”
Drake rested his elbow on the sideboard. “I’ll speak to Her Ladyship in confidence. No one else needs to know. Britannia doesn’t want anyone to suffer because of her inquiries. She merely desires to uncover the truth.”
Mother nearly coughed out a laugh. “So you think.”
“So I know.” To drown his irritation, he tossed back his drink, consuming it with one swallow. “With that decided, I cannot tell you how shocked I was to find you keeping company with Mr. Peters.”
“Shocked? He’s attends my every event at Ravenscar Hall. Surely you suspected.”
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