by Gaelen Foley
“Well, he’s not my enemy,” Lady Maggie declared, much to Connor’s satisfaction. “It was ridiculous of Bryce to call him out. Amberley is a lovely man, and our neighbor.”
A lovely man? McFeatheridge would’ve laughed his head off at that one.
“A crack shot, too, from what I hear,” said Sidney.
“To be sure,” Maggie said. “I’d be pleased to introduce you. Then you could help me introduce Amberley around.”
“I’d be honored,” Sidney said, while Connor bristled with self-consciousness.
No, thank you. Still chagrined over being caught in his odd moment of jealousy, Connor did his best once more to try paying at least some attention to his current partner.
He forced a smile despite the fact that the lady took his hand for the next figure with a pursed-mouth look of distaste. Connor rolled his eyes at her obvious prejudice against him as an Irishman and gave her a matter-of-fact stare.
Her judgmental expression turned to a blanch as she caught on that her rude thoughts were written all over her haughty face.
Connor had never been gladder to return to his original partner than when Maggie came skipping back to him, sprightly and charming.
Thank God.
“You dance well, my lady,” he said, holding on to her hand firmly this time, like he’d never let go. The thought of keeping her was tempting indeed.
She beamed. “Why, thank you, Your Grace. So do you.”
“No, I don’t. And everybody hates me.”
She laughed. “No, they don’t! I don’t. The Rivenwoods don’t. Nor does Edward.”
“Well, your sister does.”
“Oh, Delia hates everyone, including me.”
“Impossible,” he said. “Listen—” he started, but she was snatched away from him again by the old, familiar grapevine move, the lines of the dancers whisking along, hand over hand.
Dammit, couldn’t he just sit her down and have a simple conversation?
But of course not. He was a bachelor, she was a deb, and they’d have to have a chaperone present, at the least.
He tried to stay agreeable, but he was losing patience with this.
Hang Society’s rules.
“Psst, Amberley,” she whispered when they were briefly reunited. “There’s the fourth person from your list. Over there.” As her dainty hand alighted on his, she flicked one finger just for a heartbeat toward the doorway.
Connor looked over, intrigued. Since he, too, had memorized the list of names culled from Richard’s diary, he recalled that the fourth man was Bishop Lord Humphries. “Red waistcoat?”
She nodded, and he inspected the fellow: a portly, middle-aged man, bald on top, shaggy fringe of hair around the sides of his head.
The unassuming clergyman stood peering through his spectacles at the gathering, thumbs hooked into his vest pockets.
Admittedly, he did not look like any sort of vicious murderer that Connor could’ve imagined. There was absolutely nothing threatening about the man.
“See what I mean?” Maggie said. “They’re all like that: harmless as houseplants. I’ll give you details when we talk.”
Connor was looking forward to that with increasing fervor.
In fact, his hunt for his would-be murderer aside, a second goal had begun taking shape in his mind. And it had everything to do with his pretty accomplice.
“So, who is your friend, Lady Margaret?” he asked with a nod toward Monsieur Smiley, who was now working his charm on some ravishing blonde.
“Oh, that’s just Sidney.” She chuckled. “If Moonlight Square had its own mayor, I daresay, it would be him. He knows everyone. I shall introduce you!” she said brightly.
“That’s all right,” he said.
“What? You don’t want to meet him, grumpy face?”
Connor just looked at her.
“He’s very friendly. Though a bit of a prankster.”
He looked like a well-heeled dandy to Connor. The sort of idle rake for which a military man had no use.
“Trust me, you’ll like him. It’s impossible not to.”
“Want to bet?” Connor said, playing the curmudgeon.
“Pshaw,” Maggie said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “I thought you said you needed allies. Well? I mean to give them to you. People I know. People I trust.”
He supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He nodded his thanks.
The dance set ended on that note, and they exchanged the obligatory curtsy and bow.
Connor was loath to let her go, but he’d barely released her hand when her auburn-haired friend was already by her side, greeting her with a quick hug.
“Maggie, my dear!”
“Trinny! You are radiant. How is the baby?”
The woman released her to clutch at her heart with a sigh. “Wonderful!”
“Except for all the screaming, of course,” drawled an urbane-looking man with black hair, who now joined them. “The boy’s got lungs fit for the opera house.”
Maggie laughed; Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Congratulations, Lord Roland. Listen, you two,” she said, “I don’t know if you’ve met our new neighbor yet. Your Grace, these are my friends, Lord and Lady Roland. Trinny, Gable—the Duke of Amberley.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” Lady Roland gushed as Connor sketched a taut bow. “I’ve been locked up in my house for months—well, not literally—but, I tell you, I have been so intensely curious to find out all I’ve been missing, which I see includes you! How do you like living in Moonlight Square, Your Grace?”
They had a friendly chat and more people accrued around them. Azrael and Serena drifted over along with another couple, the brawny, dark-eyed Duke of Netherford, whom Connor had noted at the club, and the gorgeous blonde whom Sidney had been chatting up. She turned out to be Netherford’s wife, Felicity.
True to her word, Maggie introduced him to them all.
Connor took a guarded interest in all his new acquaintances, but, still feeling like a fish out of water among all these English aristocrats, he was glad that Maggie stayed nearby. Watching the group, he soon concluded that, while Trinny and Felicity were the best of friends, both women clearly loved Maggie.
Serena got on well with her and the rest of them, too, though the raven-haired beauty was a bit more reserved, just like her mysterious husband.
Connor tensed anew when Lord Sidney strolled over to them, all elegant nonchalance. Maggie introduced the two of them, as threatened. Connor greeted the chap skeptically, but Sidney merely seemed amused at this wariness.
Apparently, the territorial glint in Connor’s glance earlier had not been lost on the happy-go-lucky viscount. But Sidney seemed to have shrugged it off, and it dawned on Connor that the ridiculously handsome man was probably used to that reaction from other males. Begrudgingly, he supposed it wasn’t Sidney’s fault that women likely adored him wherever he went.
Yet all the ladies present seemed to have sensibly figured out for themselves that Lord Sidney was a natural flirt, whose attentions, though pleasant, meant absolutely nothing.
“So you were in the Army, then, yes?” Sidney did not wait for Connor’s reply, beckoning to someone through the crowd. “You’ll have to meet Felicity’s brother—also a major, as it happens. Major Peter Carvel. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet a fellow soldier in this place, instead of all us lie-abouts.”
“It’s Danger-man!” Trinny whispered to Maggie with a giggle as Major Peter Carvel came sauntering over to them, answering the summons from Sidney.
Unlike Connor, this major was in full dress uniform for the formal occasion. He had the weathered complexion, rugged air, and haunted eyes of so many of their breed. But he smiled as he joined his sister.
“Yes, what is it, Sid?”
“Peter, we’ve got a new neighbor,” Felicity informed him, slipping one arm around her brother’s waist.
Connor noticed the siblings had the same blue-green eyes, though
Peter’s hair was light brown, while Felicity’s was golden.
“Ah,” said Carvel. The fellow veteran looked questioningly at Connor, and Sidney made short work of the introductions.
“Your Grace, this is Major Peter Carvel. Pete, this is the Duke of Amberley. I hear he was at Waterloo.”
“Were you?” Carvel asked, sounding impressed, though he gave Connor the brief once-over, assessing him in a glance, as was the way of their kind.
Connor nodded, sizing him up in turn. “You?”
“Missed it,” Carvel said, shaking his head. “I was in India. Thought the damned thing was over after Boney’s first abdication, sold my commission, and wouldn’t you know it, missed the best part.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Connor said ruefully as they exchanged a handshake of mutual respect.
It turned out Sidney was right. After taking each other’s measure, both Connor and Carvel seemed to take a certain relief in finding a fellow veteran among the civilian crowd.
“So, what did you do in India?” Connor asked, genuinely curious.
“Bit of surveying for the East India Company. Then, with Netherford’s funding, undertook a private expedition to explore the northern provinces.”
“Fascinating,” Connor said.
“It was. Like entering some fantastical realm. Jungles. Cloud forests, tigers, wild elephants. Went as far as the Himalayas…”
Felicity beamed with pride in her adventurer brother and Maggie smiled as the two majors embarked on a conversation about their various experiences.
Bit by bit, Connor could feel his tension dissolving. When he noticed Maggie listening, he sent her a discreet glance of appreciation. It was no small gift she had given him tonight.
Perhaps he would yet find a welcome in his new home.
* * *
It was later in the evening, while Connor was nursing a brandy alongside Gable, Lord Roland, when the first-time father offered him unexpected condolences. “You know, I was very sorry to hear about your cousin Richard dying in that accident, Your Grace. It must’ve been horrible for your family.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you to say. To be honest, though, I hardly knew any of my London relatives before I inherited the title. I only met my uncles once as a lad—the first and second dukes. And Richard was just an infant at the time.”
“What a spate of bad luck to hit your family,” Gable remarked.
“Indeed,” Connor said darkly.
“Well,” Gable said with a nonchalant shrug, “as it happens, my father, Lord Sefton, knew all three of your predecessors rather well through his efforts in the House of Lords. If you’d ever like to ask him about them, I’d be happy to introduce you.”
Connor cocked his head. “Really? I’ll take you up on that, if it’s not too much trouble. There’s so much that I’d like to know.”
“Of course,” Gable said, then quirked a half-smile. “Although it might cost you a vote or two in the Lords, knowing him. Father lives and breathes politics. If you’re a Whig, he may try and convert you.”
“A Whig.” Connor scoffed. He had yet to find one in the Army.
Gable grinned. “Tory, then? In that case, I’m sure you will find him at your service, Your Grace. Shall I set up the meeting?”
“I’d be much obliged. I have quite a few questions regarding my predecessors.”
“Consider it done,” Gable replied. “Father usually takes appointments on Mondays, if you’re free.”
“Certainly, just let me know what time. And thanks.”
Standing on the other side of Gable all the while, his wife had been talking to the other women, but must have been half listening to their exchange, as she now jumped into the conversation.
“I’m sure my father-in-law can enlighten you about your deceased relatives, Your Grace, but what about the living relatives?” Trinny asked pertly. “Have you been getting to know any of them yet?”
Connor smiled at the question. “Well, actually, my Grandaunt Lucinda came by to scold me after the duel—as if I’d called myself out.”
Silence dropped, and every one of his new acquaintances blanched at the mention of the dragon. A few even gasped at the name. The ladies went wide-eyed, the men pulled back with diverse looks of dread, and though no one dared utter an impolite word, Connor laughed.
“I take it you know her.”
“Er, yes, Your Grace. The dowager duchess is…quite a grand lady,” Sidney offered with admirable tact.
Connor grinned. “That’s one way to put it, I reckon.”
They all started laughing self-consciously to realize that he, too, had experienced Aunt Lucinda’s fearsome ways.
“Bless her,” he said, “Her Grace is hosting a soirée in my honor, officially welcoming me to London. You all should come—if you dare.”
They laughed at his quip.
“When is it?” asked Maggie.
“Friday next. Do come, all of you, if you’re free. I know it’s late notice, but I’ll make sure you receive invitations. I’d be quite pleased to see you all there. Especially you, Lady Margaret,” he teased, glancing over.
He caught her gazing dreamily at him, and she bit her lip. But watching him chatting with her friends clearly made the girl happy.
Connor held her gaze just a little longer than he probably ought in front of so many people. But in that moment, he made a decision.
Now that she was no longer attached, he was placing Lady Margaret Winthrop’s name at the very top of his aunt’s silly bride list.
Whether the ol’ dragon liked it or not.
CHAPTER 13
A Thorough Report
Maggie couldn’t believe how fast two hours had sped by in Amberley’s presence. Perhaps he possessed some mysterious Irish magic that he’d brought with him from the Emerald Isle. But certainly, he’d brought his Irish charm, and he’d used it to work an effortless enchantment on everyone around them that night.
Especially her.
In her fascination, she noted several new things of interest about him. One: his brogue deepened after his third draught of whiskey, though his brilliant blue eyes never turned red or glazed. Good.
Two: he was polite to the ladies, but the formidable major was clearly a man’s man. He got on well with the lords of Moonlight Square, easily earning their respect with his authoritative bearing.
It had pleased Maggie deeply to look around at her circle of acquaintances and know they had taken him in—in part because of her. She’d certainly never needed to take such bother for Bryce, who was as nonchalantly independent as a cat. But the threat to Amberley’s life, and the gunshot wound he’d received from her former suitor—these things had jolted her out of her anxious preoccupation with her own marital fate, and back to her more customary mode of concern for others.
She regretted having let the discomfort of her current living situation turn her so self-centered for a while there. It really wasn’t like her. She did find, however, that it was easier to ignore Delia’s petty insults and so forth by focusing on Amberley’s far more serious situation. What did courtship really matter when someone out there was trying to kill you? Her problems seemed so small by comparison. No, courtship could wait.
Although, she mused, taking another long sip from her second glass of strong fruit punch, it might be possible to think of both at the same time…
To be sure, it filled her with a spinning sense of excitement to look over and catch Amberley’s eye amid the crowd; the way he looked at her reminded her afresh—viscerally—of their secrets together and their shared task.
He remained discreet, though, true to his word. She was quite sure her reputation was safe with this man.
As he carried on his conversation with Netherford and Major Carvel, Maggie savored the sight of him in their midst, his raven-black hair and cliff-like shoulders towering over the ladies gathered in their group.
She refused to stare, half listening to Trinny detailing her new baby’
s habits, but inside, Maggie was still counting things she’d noticed about her new neighbor.
Three: someone must’ve told the Irishman at some point in his life that blue was his color, for the sky-blue waistcoat he’d chosen beneath his impeccably fitted black tailcoat turned his eyes the dark cobalt of the sea just below the horizon, like she’d seen once on a trip to Brighton.
Finally, the fourth thing she noticed was that he did not dance with any other girls that night, and this pleased her immensely. She should not have liked to share him. But then she remembered abruptly that, in fact, he was not hers to share or withhold.
Not yet. But maybe, one day, when no one was trying to kill him anymore…
And so passed two hours in this fashion, much to her surprise. When Amberley meandered his way over to her side and leaned down to murmur in her ear, her heart pounded faster.
As he headed toward her, she wasn’t sure if he was going to ask her to dance again or what, but he suggested, with his warm breath a beguiling tickle at her ear, that now might be a good time for them to steal away for a brief, private talk.
Oh God yes. Talk? Her body had other ideas, but she ignored them.
She knew he only meant so she could give him the information she’d collected on his list of suspects. Hiding her eagerness, she glanced up at him with a subtle nod. He straightened up to his full height and gave her a follow me sort of glance, like at the bookshop.
Of course, she had the sense to let him get a good lead on her before drifting away from her friends. Tall as he was, it was easy to note his winding course through the thronged ballroom; it was past eleven, and the Grand Albion was now bursting at the seams with the crème de la crème of London Society.
The music played on, the couples danced, the wine and spirits flowed, and the hum of conversation had now risen to a dull roar.
Clever boy, she thought as she watched him saunter out of the wide doorway at the back corner of the ballroom.
Beyond it, Maggie knew, lay a landing, where a red-carpeted staircase both descended to an outdoor terrace, where the gentlemen were welcome to smoke, and ascended to the next floor, where the hotel had provided an opulent ladies’ lounge with all the conveniences.