by Darcy Burke
"Are you sure he's telling you the truth that he didn't join them? We have no reason to believe much of what he says at this point."
Quince shrugged. "It's difficult to say for certain, of course, but I do believe him."
Gideon nodded. "Very well. What do we do now?"
How very like Gideon to want to focus on what could be done. In an odd way it made Quince miss Sabre all the more keenly because she would want to examine all the options and discuss the potential effect of any actions.
"I think there's nothing we can do but wait for the ball. Whomever the original blackmailer was, they will be expecting to contact me there."
"May I say, I'm delighted you invited them to my home," the earl said in a dry tone.
"They are lords. You most likely invited them yourself."
"Speaking of invitees, I'm sure Robert is on the list. Would you like for me to ask him not to come?"
Quince sighed. "Angry as I am at him, he will most likely be useful. You know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
"Friend isn't something I can imagine calling Robert ever again."
Quince spent the majority of his time waiting for the ball in practice with his London sword master. The exercise kept him from doing something unwise, like going to Robert's house to start in on fisticuffs again. Or trying to see Sabre. It also gave him time to think. It sounded like Robert had made up the idea of papers as a whole-cloth lie to fit the fears of The Four. But it was an effective lie precisely because it was so believable.
When he took over the duchy he, Gideon, and an army of stewards had gone through piles of papers in setting the estate to rights and nothing in those papers had even hinted at what Robert was suggesting, at least nothing that had come to his attention. But as he thought about it more deeply, he realized his father was a man who had concealed the location of a cellar where he held debauched parties for decades. Had delighted in doing so. As far as Quince knew the secret of that cellar's location had died with him. If his father had kept papers regarding the activities of The Four, they were most likely hidden. Although it was possible they were secreted somewhere at the ducal seat, it still seemed far more likely that they were at Belle Fleur. It was where his father had spent a large portion of his time. Alone. Well, alone save for the staff.
Quince had never been particularly close with any of his staff, but Sabre had developed something of a relationship with the ones at Belle Fleur. Could he capitalize on that to find out if any of them knew anything? Suspected anything? It would be easier if Sabre could just come back with him to speak to the staff, but no. He couldn't put her in harm's way. Thanks to Robert's machinations, The Four were squarely focused on him and, obviously, at least one of them was willing to use deadly force.
THIRTY-TWO
Sabre had never felt so awkward at a social event in her life. She forced herself not to pick at wrinkles in her dress or pat at her hair. It wasn't like her. Usually she would wander and flirt, never self-conscious, always at ease. Tonight she felt like, well, she felt like she imagined her friend Jack usually did. Yet there was Jack, veritably glowing while standing next to her husband receiving guests. They made a handsome couple, both towering above the average attendee. It was like arriving at a ball to be received by two gods. Sabre had arrived with Robert but her brother had disappeared. She had yet to see Charlie. Or... him.
It would be best not to think about the duke. He would undoubtedly be in attendance, if for no other reason it was Jack's first London ball and he would lend his title to the guest list. For Gideon's success. She would never understand his relationship to Gideon, which seemed both loyal and rife with animosity. Her best friends were just that. Best friends. They didn't keep secrets or harbor resentments. She couldn't dream of discovering siblings and not immediately telling Jack and George about it. Then again it seemed there were many things the duke would do that she would never dream of doing. It was undoubtedly best to continue her plan of removing him from her thoughts.
"Are there any dances left for me?"
His voice made her heart race in her chest. She looked over her shoulder to see that he had come in from the receiving line while her mind had wandered. He looked perfect. The very image of an English aristocrat. From his artfully tousled hair, to his fitted black jacket with snowy white cravat, and down to his dancing shoes. But seeing him she only wanted the unshaven, drowsy man in an open shirt who would want to lie in bed with her all day. If she wasn't careful she would make herself cry or, worse yet, beg.
With a half-smile she lifted her wrist so that he could inspect her dance card. Save for the first dance claimed by her brother, it was empty.
"It is obviously my lucky day." He set to scribbling his name on two dances.
Standing so close she could smell his cologne. It was difficult not to lean in with her eyes closed to enjoy the scent. Then she noticed his jaw.
"What happened?" she asked, lifting her hand to hover over the healing wound.
"Robert didn't tell you?"
"No, did he...?"
The duke smiled vaguely. "Indirectly, perhaps." He bowed over her hand. "Until our dances, Miss Bittlesworth."
As he walked away she checked her dance card. Both waltzes. It would be torture. A most delightful and terrible torture. It was somewhat inappropriate to dance both waltzes with the same man, but she didn't care. Perhaps she would pretend that all was well, just for this evening. That he had asked her to be his duchess. That she didn't worry constantly that his enemies were closing in on him. Those enemies would be here tonight, she was sure of it. She realized that if nothing else she could observe the attendees in the hopes of finding some clues. Watching people always provided an entertaining diversion anyway.
Quince knew Gideon's townhouse as well as he knew his own. The staff didn't interrupt him as he ducked through a side door and up a set of back steps to the hallway with the bedrooms. Once there he set his hands on the wall to brace himself and just breathed. After a few moments the band of pain that had trapped his chest eased a bit and the rapid beat of his heart slowed. Sabre had looked fragile, like a pale and saddened shadow of herself. And she had been so quiet. If another man had done this to her he would have killed the bastard without remorse. But it hadn't been another man. Somehow he had done this. And he knew that he would do anything to set it to rights. There was no room for pride. He would do anything for her, give anything to her. By God, give up anything for her. He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No, no. There was too much at stake tonight to spend it weeping in a darkened hallway. He straightened his impeccably tidy jacket and returned to the party.
Sabre had a completely full dance card by the time the music began. In her first dance with Robert she attempted to ask about the duke's wound but her brother had been even more mulish than usual. Her dance with Charlie had been full of laughter and teasing, which she enjoyed even though she regretted how it interrupted her focus on cataloging the attendees of the ball. And cataloging she was, now that she had put her mind to it. Names, faces, clothes, mannerisms. It was a challenge but, as she already knew many of the attendees, it wasn't unachievable. She also tried to track who spoke to whom, who danced with whom.
Then it was time for the waltz to start and she knew that she wouldn't be paying any attention to the other guests. If the duke ever appeared to dance with her. She hadn't seen him since he signed her dance card. But there he was now, making his way across the room to her as the first notes were being played. Arriving at her side he bowed and she curtsied.
"Shall we?" he asked.
She nodded and he swept her up into the steps of the dance. They hadn't danced before and it only served to remind her of fencing with him. Or, if she were to let her mind wander into dangerous territory, being intimate with him. She trained her gaze on his left shoulder and tried to focus on having pure thoughts. It was difficult to do while feeling the warmth of him, smelling his cologne. All she wanted was to step forward
and burrow into his embrace. But he was getting ever closer to danger, she was sure of it. He didn't even want to marry her. Why torture herself with what could never be?
They didn't speak. She didn't even look into his eyes. When the music ended he bowed over her hand and then he was gone. She felt her throat close tight in despair, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. Her heart shuddered in an irregular beat, yearning for what could never be. Damn him. Damn her treacherous heart.
After a few moments, collected, she went back to observing all the attendees.
Quince was usually quite good at waiting. Too good at it, perhaps. He had oceans of patience that could sometimes lapse into downright laziness. But not tonight. Tonight two important things were to happen. The blackmailer would contact him. And he would get to dance with Sabre again. He finished his third glass of wine and continued to argue with himself about whether to approach Jack and demand to know why Sabre was so withdrawn. But he would probably hear something about himself that he didn't want to hear. Although he would like to point out that she left him. There was no good reason for her to be moping about it.
"You broke her heart, you know."
The duke almost jumped. He hadn't heard Robert approach, but now the younger man stood beside him to look out on the dancers in the ballroom.
"She kept throwing it in front of me. I was bound to trip over it eventually."
"I don't think I care for your cavalier tone in regards to my sister."
"Two days ago you were willing to trade her for cooperation and now you don't like my tone? Pardon me if I consider your fraternal rights a bit curtailed as you don't have her best interests at heart."
"You can ask either of my siblings, I don't have a heart. I do, however, have eyes and it is perfectly clear that what she wants is you. Why shouldn't I try to gain your cooperation while also giving my sister what she so desperately wants to have?"
Quince's voice was rough as he said, "If she wanted me she could have me. She's the one who walked away."
Robert was quiet for a long moment and when he spoke again it was to change the subject. "Any contact from our friends yet?"
"No. I've expected at any moment to receive a note, since I doubt they would be so bold as to approach me on the ballroom floor. Unless," Quince added with suspicion, "you are my contact?"
"Although I instigated their actions, I can assure you that I am not involved with them."
"Perhaps I should warn you that Gideon is displeased with you."
Robert smiled. "That became clear earlier when he shook my hand and nearly crushed it."
"You should be delighted that he still considers you a good enough friend to shake your hand," Quince mused.
"Perhaps I should, your grace."
"Now if you'll excuse me, I believe the second waltz is about to start." Quince handed Robert his empty glass and set out across the floor to find Sabre.
He found her in conversation with her other brother, Charlie. She was laughing and swatting Charlie on the arm with her fan. The young man teasingly stumbled back as though she had dealt him a mighty blow. Then he caught sight of the duke and his demeanor changed. His eyes glinted with challenge and he straightened to his full height.
Quince slowed his step. Whereas Robert seemed frustrated and at a loss over his sister's behavior, Charlie was furious and protective. Sabre looked over her shoulder to see what had caught Charlie's attention, and then went up on her tiptoes to whisper in her brother's ear. Whatever she said made him look down on her with an affectionate smile.
Quince bowed to them. "Miss Bittlesworth, Mr. Bittlesworth."
With the slightest of bows Charlie said, "Your grace. What brings you to this side of the ballroom?" He had put a possessive arm over Sabre's shoulders.
"A dance with your lovely sister, Mr. Bittlesworth."
Charlie looked down at her in mock confusion. "Did you not promise the second waltz to me?"
"I didn't and you know I didn't."
He rubbed his chin with his free hand. "No, I am fairly certain you promised it to me. Unless, of course, you would prefer to dance it with his grace?"
"He is far less likely to step on my toes on purpose."
Charlie chuckled. "Come now, I only did that once."
"And the bruise lasted for a week."
"How was I to know you were such a delicate little flower?"
Sabre elbowed him in the stomach. "You already knew you were a big clumsy oaf. Now let go of me."
"So you chose him over me? As you wish, my martial little sister. But do tell me if he steps on your toes and I will have words with him. If you leave anything of him after your own retribution."
It was a relief to see Sabre with some of her spark back. And Charlie Bittlesworth was making it very clear he would do anything for his little sister. It was good to know that at least one of her brothers would.
Quince bowed over Sabre's hand and, with a nod to Charlie, led her out to the dance floor.
"Your grace, I'm sorry my brother is..."
"Protective?"
She laughed. "I was thinking rude."
"Manners take the hindmost when one is protecting one's family."
She sobered. "Have you seen your sister yet?"
"I thought it best not to emphasize the connection as it could be a danger to her. Hopefully Jacqueline is keeping her cloistered. Have you seen her?" He could hear his own voice roughen at the end.
Sabre smiled. "Indeed I have. She's a lovely girl, but a bit shy."
"Do you consider that a cardinal sin?"
"Cardinal, no, but a pity."
"I was shy as a child so she may yet grow out of it."
"That's no measure, you're still shy now."
Quince was surprised. "I am not."
Sabre arched her eyebrow at him. "No? Excellent. Then I have a great number of people I would like to introduce you to this evening."
He frowned and looked out across the ballroom floor at the other dancers. "Don't mistake misanthropy for shyness."
"Hmph!" she said, as though that were her final word on the subject.
He looked down at her and she still had an arch look on her face. He found himself speaking before he could stop it. "I miss you."
She blushed bright as her dress and lowered her gaze to his cravat. He hoped she wouldn't withdraw as she had during their first dance. Suddenly he realized he couldn't stand it if she were to withdraw again. He maneuvered them through the dancers and to the hallway. Grabbing her hand he led her deeper into the house.
"Where are we going?" she asked with a laugh.
Perhaps Gideon was right. Perhaps what she wanted was a little adventure. "I've heard a great deal about the seductive properties of libraries."
"Quince!"
Oh thank God, she had used his name again. They were already in the unlit portion of the house, kept dark to discourage the guests from wandering. Backing to the wall he pulled her against him, lowering his head to capture her lips. The sweetness of kissing her almost brought him to his knees. His beautiful, bold Sabrina. She wrapped her hands in the lapels of his jacket and he heard her whimper.
Breaking the kiss he said, "We're almost there."
He took her hand and led her to the library. The heavy oak door was already open, the room dark. Pulling her inside he shut the door and backed her against it. He wanted her desperately. Perhaps this memory could replace their first, somewhat disastrous, encounter. As he kissed her he thought perhaps the leather couch would be better. He kissed her throat, her lovely shoulder.
"Quince?"
He could tell from her tone that something was wrong. As much as he was loath to, he took a half step back. "Yes, love?"
"We... I need to stop. I..." there was a catch in her voice and she finished in a whisper. "I'm trying to recover from you."
It was as though icy water had been poured down his back. He released her and took another step backwards. "Beg pardon?" he asked dumbly.
"I'm
sorry," she whispered, then opened the door just far enough to slip through and away. The opening at the door let in a sliver of dim light from the hallway. Even that, he thought, was brighter than what was in his heart.
THIRTY-THREE
Quince couldn’t believe that Sabre had left him again.
"Sorry, old boy, but maidens are notoriously fickle."
The voice came from behind him. It was a mild voice, plain, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness that carried across the room like a fetid wind. Quince had never heard this voice before, but somehow he knew, without doubt, that it was the blackmailer.
Regardless of how little he felt up to it, the duke knew this exchange would be vital. He could show no fear, no weakness. "Fortunately there are a good deal of them out there on the dance floor. Like fishing from a stocked pond, really."
"Yes, but remarkably few of them are Bittlesworth's headstrong daughter. I imagine bedding her would give you a great deal of pleasure. You've made no secret of how much you detest him."
Quince suppressed his need to defend Sabrina and focused on divining where the accursed man was in the room. "All pleasures are short lived, my lord. What I seek is satisfaction."
The blackmailer chuckled. "A quicker wit than your father, I see."
Quince was fairly sure that the man was standing across the room near the windows. Had he entered from outside? Or from the hallway? The door had been open when they came in. "My father was not slow witted, he simply didn't have as much levity as a typical hedgehog."
"Is that how you see yourself? As a hedgehog? Are you rooting about in my garden, Leo?"
The duke felt his blood run cold. "I have no right to that name. You may address me as Beloin, or your grace. Or hedgehog, if you like. I'm sure there are some pests in your garden for me to devour."
The blackmailer was quiet far too long for Quince's comfort. When he spoke again he had moved across the room. "You don't have any papers, do you?"