He set his attentions on the mother. “Ma’am, will it be too great an inconvenience if I deprive you of both your daughters for this set?” He had not forgotten how to play the part of the gallant gentleman during his time in the country, it seemed. Chivalry was still alive and well with the Hardwicke men. Blast it.
The countess simpered, “Gracious heavens, no my lord. I see Lady Poole has arrived, and I should very much like to speak with her. We have plans for, er, for a picnic, you know.” She virtually pushed Lady Amelia into his waiting arms as she left them.
Lady Amelia glanced up to him with chagrin. “I’d be delighted.” They took their place in the lines next to their siblings, making polite conversation about the weather in Town of late, the latest gossip among the ton, and other equally ambivalent subjects with which one might converse with a young society miss without repercussions of shock or dismay throughout the set.
Alex was bored and brooding in no time. He would much prefer the silence, or even the heated disdain, of Grace.
When the set finally came to a close, the brothers escorted the Sutter sisters to their waiting mother. After leaving them safely in her care and moving out of earshot, Peter asked, “Is Lady Amelia’s conversation as insipid as her elder sister’s? I do hope Mama is not serious about wanting me to offer for Lady Margaret. I’ve no desire to marry a woman with whom it is tedious to speak. She’s, but good heavens.” He tilted his head to the side to emphasize his point.
“Not much better with the younger sister, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should find another appropriate young miss to court before Mama finds one for you.” Alex winked at his older brother. He had no doubt that half the single ladies in the beau monde would gladly set their caps on the Duke of Somerton, should he give even the slightest indication of being in the market for a bride again.
“Thanks to me, you seem to have avoided a similar fate.” Peter clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“Look at the two of you.” Derek Redgrave and another friend, Sir Jonas Buchannan, joined Peter and Alex on the side of the dance floor, wide grins all around. “With Somerton and his ne’er-do-well brother, Lord Alexander, at the ball, there will be no ladies remaining for the rest of us to dance with. All the young misses are certain to be otherwise engaged, with discussions of whom the two of you are most likely to dance with, or perchance, take for a stroll through the gardens. The rest of us might as well head over to White’s and play cards, because our presence will soon be redundant,” Derek said as he glanced at Sir Jonas.
Alex reached over and gave a light slap to Derek’s shoulder. “I hardly think you capable of redundancy, Derek. It is good to see you as well.” For the first time since his interview with Chatham, he felt a broad smile form almost without his permission.
Peter stared across the ballroom at something indeterminate. He pulled his hand up to rub against his chin in the familiar, unconscious gesture. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said after a moment. “I see someone with whom I must speak. I’ll visit with you all later, I’m certain.” He left without sparing the others a glance, making his way through the throngs to a darkened corner of the room, where his mystery acquaintance waited.
Alex’s gaze followed Peter until he lost sight of him in the crowd. His curiosity soon evaporated as the remaining party fell into conversation. “Your absence from Town has been conspicuous,” Sir Jonas said. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself? And please tell me you have been up to no good.”
They all laughed. “I hate to disappoint,” Alex said, “but I’ve merely been in Somerton. Rotheby sent for me. I’ve kept him company. Nothing more exciting than that, I fear.”
“Nothing else?” Sir Jonas asked. “Then what is this I hear of your visit to Chatham this afternoon?”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “Chatham? What on God’s good earth could you have to do with Chatham?”
He wished he could have talked to Derek before this evening, but there had been no time. But still, why should he hide his current endeavor from his friends? Word would spread through town in no time if he were to marry Grace. They would know sooner rather than later. “I went to ask for his permission to marry his daughter.”
“You? Get married?” Derek let out a loud guffaw. “Has hell just frozen over and I missed it somehow?”
Sir Jonas eyed Alex for a few moments, before a flicker of understanding traveled between them. “No. This is no great surprise. The Hardwickes have always been about family first—we should’ve expected one of them to give in soon. Hell, Somerton himself beat Alex to the punch several years ago.”
Derek nodded. “True, true. So when will you leave the masses of eligible gentlemen?” he asked. “I assume Somerton will insist on a lavish affair, even if your mother hasn’t. Where is she?” Derek asked as he looked about the ballroom.
Alex scanned the crowd for only a moment before he found his mother’s unmistakable coiffure across the way. “Just over there,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand.
“No, you numbskull, not your mother. Your betrothed. I don’t believe I have made her acquaintance before.”
“Grace is not here. She’s in Somerton or Bath or somewhere with her aunt and uncle. Actually, she may be on her way to Town, now that I think of it.” He paused a beat, again debating how much should be spoken before a gathered crowd. There could be no telling how many gossips had their ears tuned in their direction. “Chatham didn’t approve. He has an arrangement with Lord Barrow.” The words were bitter on his tongue.
“Surely you jest,” Sir Jonas said with a somber tone. “He would prefer to be aligned with Barrow than the Duke of Somerton?”
Derek said nothing, but looked at Alex as though he could see inside his head.
Neil joined them before Alex could respond to his friends. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Alex, I—take a look who has just joined the ball.” He gestured toward the entrance of the ballroom to a pair of older men deep in conversation.
Chatham and Barrow! The bastards.
Alex started to storm across the room to confront the two men, but Derek and Neil held him back. Derek’s grip was, admittedly, the more insistent of the two. Neil would probably enjoy the scene, particularly if blood were involved.
“Wait, Alex,” Sir Jonas said. “Calm yourself first. You’ll accomplish nothing if you go in without thinking things through first.”
He had a point. Alex focused on his breathing to slow his heart from pounding a hole through his chest.
“I take it there is more to the story,” Sir Jonas said, “than you saw fit to tell us at first. What can we do to help?”
“I don’t know. There may be no help.” Alex tried to hide his agony, but surely did a poor job of it. His friends and brother looked on him with sympathy.
“You love her.” Derek’s statement was quiet, simple. True. It shot straight to the belly of the problem.
Words failed Alex, but he managed a nod of his head. Tears stung his eyes before he fought them down. He could deal with that later. He needed to be focused now. Calm. A deadly peace settled over him. Grace was what mattered. And fiend take it, somehow, he had fallen headlong in love with the chit.
“Well, what are we waiting here for?” Derek walked across the room, taking smooth, purposeful strides. The others followed him—Sir Jonas with calm gait that belied his intensity; Neil taking punchy, determined steps that showed his eagerness to join in a fracas; and Alex taking up the rear, steeling his body forward while his eyes narrowed in on Chatham and Barrow ahead, almost hunting his prey.
The two blackguards removed themselves from the main ballroom, but Alex followed them with his eyes. The foursome pursued them through a long corridor lined with candle fixtures and mirrors. Peter stepped into the hall ahead of them with two men Alex did not recognize, bringing both parties to an almost instantaneous halt. “Barrow, Chatham. Would you care to join us in the library?” Peter’s tone was deceptively mild. Never a good sign.
Chatham stumbled e
ven though he was no longer moving. Surprise flickered across his face. “Somerton, good to see you.” He glanced around and his face registered recognition of the vast contingent of men who had trailed them from the ballroom. “Ah, all of you.”
Barrow’s eyes turned wild, flashing from man to man.
Peter held the door to the library open and gestured for everyone to enter before him. Alex sent him a question with his eyes as he passed through the doorway, but his brother only answered with a brief shake of his head.
He ached to put his fist through one of them, if not both, or at least to wrap his hands about their necks until they snapped. Instead, he did as his eldest brother expected of him. For now, at least.
Once everyone was settled, Peter began. “It seems, gentlemen, we have some business to discuss.”
He moved to a table at the side of the room and poured himself a glass of port, biding his time. The silence thickened in the library.
“Might I introduce Mr. Dennison and Mr. Frost,” he said after a long pause, gesturing to his two companions in turn. “Lord Barrow, you, in particular, might be interested in making their acquaintance. Though I daresay Lord Chatham will be interested, also, based on certain claims and accusations he has recently made to my brother.”
Peter paused, took a sip of his port, and the tension in the room increased. “They work for Bow Street.”
Barrow bolted from his seat and made for the door, with Dennison and Frost hot on his heels. Chaos erupted in his wake.
Sir Jonas shot up to assist the Bow Street Runners in returning Barrow to the room. All color drained from Chatham’s face, and he slunk into the shadows of the room. Alex burst forward to attack anyone he could, desperate to plant a fist against Chatham’s nose or one of Barrow’s wild eyes, while Derek and Neil forcibly held him back.
Only Peter remained calm.
Chapter Nineteen
“What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?” Chatham asked in an obvious attempt to feign innocence. His chin quivered, sending the extra chin hanging above his neck into convulsions.
In the brief moments since Peter had introduced his companions to the group, Barrow had been bodily returned to the room after a desperate attempt to flee. Alex fumed from his seat, where Derek and Neil stood at his side, a staying hand from each pressed none-too-gently into his shoulders, though he was sure Neil would allow him to break free if he felt the need to. Derek was an altogether different story.
Alex’s anger at these two men threatened to explode, to overwhelm his enforced calm, to outweigh his judgment. There was Chatham’s callous treatment of his daughter, his false accusation against her aunt and uncle, and his denial of Alex’s pursuit. There was Barrow’s treatment of Grace, which, whether he forced himself on her or not, he left her alone to deal with the shame of his actions and a pregnancy to boot. Alex couldn’t even think of how the man had mistreated Priscilla. The bastard deserved no less than the hangman’s noose.
But in the eyes of the law, he had done nothing wrong, at least nothing that Alex could see. Why would Barrow be more interested in the presence of the Bow Street Runners than Chatham? The marquess was the one who had made false accusations. Alex looked to Peter and waited for an explanation, biting down hard on his tongue to keep himself still. Peter may not explain things as briskly as he would like, but he always—always—had every aspect of a situation well thought out and handled before anyone else understood the complete scenario.
Peter turned to Chatham before responding. “Lord Chatham, I believe Mr. Frost can explain things to your satisfaction. He has some business with your friend, Lord Barrow.” Peter gave a no-nonsense nod of his head in Frost’s direction and took a seat before the fire.
Frost cleared his throat and eyed Barrow. Dennison held Barrow still, with the help of Sir Jonas. “My lords, it seems His Highness, the Prince Regent, has some questions for the earl.”
Alex’s eyes felt like they would pop free from their sockets, but he kept silent. Questions from the Prince Regent? That could only mean treason. He stared first at Barrow pulling against his captors, and then at Chatham, whose nervous eyes shifted about the room.
“Unhand me,” said Barrow. “I demand to be released at once. This is preposterous.” Nervous laughter escaped him, apparently against his will.
“I’m afraid, my lord, that is impossible,” said Frost. “You got away from us once, but you won’t escape again. You won’t be leaving my sight until His Highness’s questions have been satisfied.”
Dennison tightened his grip on Barrow’s elbow and shoved him back into place when the man pulled away, yet again, in another desperate attempt to free himself. Alex turned his attention to Chatham, whose shifty eyes had started to twitch. The marquess stood and slunk toward the door. Alex itched to manhandle him and force him to stay put, but Derek’s hands against his shoulders pressed him more firmly to his seat. Sir Jonas left Barrow’s side and slid into a position before the door, blocking Chatham’s escape.
Sweat covered Barrow’s brow and dripped from his nose onto the once-crisp linen of his cravat. “Will not escape again? Ha ha! You can’t be serious.” He searched the room but found no one sensitive to his plight—not even Chatham at this point, who seemed more inclined to preserve his own person. Unsurprising. The man always looked after himself first, as made imminently evident by his handling Grace’s situation.
Barrow faced Somerton. “Your Grace, there must be some mistake. Whatever could—could—could these men believe—I—I’ve done?” His voice rose in pitch, almost with each word. Then he let out a whinny-like laugh, followed by a snort.
Peter never faltered. “Mr. Frost, why don’t you detail His Highness’s complaints and questions for the earl, while witnesses are present? I believe now is as good a time as any.”
Alex moved to the edge of his seat. He didn’t want to miss a word of this.
Frost inclined his head before turning to face the center of the room. “Your Grace. My lords. His lordship, the Earl of Barrow has been accused of treason against the crown.” Just as expected. Though somewhat unexpected as well. Alex’s luck was beginning to look up, indeed.
Barrow jerked violently against his captors, only to be forcibly held in his seat.
Chatham moved three steps backward without a glance and bumped into Sir Jonas, who planted his hands on the marquess’s shoulders. This action both steadied the man and hindered any further attempts at escape.
Alex’s pulse quickened, but he remained seated. He refused to move his gaze from Barrow. Chatham could be dealt with later. Barrow would pay now.
Frost ignored the commotion around him and continued. “His Highness, the Prince Regent, has reason to believe his informant. He’s agreed to allow Lord Barrow a trial before his peers. However, Lord Barrow may not leave England again, most certainly not to travel to the continent. His Highness will not chance Lord Barrow’s continued involvement in illicit activity.”
Chatham interrupted. “Treason?” He overplayed his attempt at conveying shock, especially since treason had already been mentioned a few moments earlier. Chatham had no hope of convincing Alex that he wasn’t fully informed of all of Barrow’s dealings. These two had worked in concert. Now he need only determine how Grace’s kidnapping played into this and how it would serve Chatham.
Frost glared at the marquess before continuing. “Yes. Treason. Dennison and I’ve been charged by His Highness with the task of collecting Lord Barrow for his trial.”
“I refuse to go with you,” Barrow said. “These charges are ridiculous—completely unfounded. Somerton, you cannot believe the man.”
Peter simply raised an eyebrow, only for a moment. Just long enough to convey his disdain. He said nothing.
Neil, however, could no longer remain silent. “Barrow, you bloody dunderhead, you’ve done a poor job of hiding your tracks.” Contempt for the man burned through his eyes like daggers. “Half the regulars at White’s have been curious about your frequent �
��holidays’ to the Continent for some time. And more than a handful have whispered about your dealings with the French a bit too loudly in recent times for any guise of secrecy.”
For a moment, Alex exchanged roles with his younger brother. He grabbed hold of an arm to forestall the hotheaded Neil from charging across the room and assaulting Barrow. If anyone was going to strike the man today, it would be him, by God.
“Your so-called ‘business’ with the Marquis de Fontaine put my brother in danger, you bastard. His regiment was in Leipzig!” Neil pulled so hard against Alex’s arm that Derek moved in front of the youngest man. His broad frame blocked any attempt at an attack.
Peter raised a hand to silence Neil. “Let these men handle Barrow. We don’t know—”
“We don’t know?” Neil interrupted. “We most certainly do know the dangers Richard faces every day.”
“I was saying, Neil,” Peter said as a gentle admonishment, “we don’t know enough of Barrow’s involvement in any dealings with the French to become his judge and jury. It’s best to allow these men to take him for a visit with the Regent and a trial. Allow justice to be served.”
Justice, indeed. There wasn’t a doubt in Alex’s mind he’d be found guilty, even if he was innocent of treason. But Barrow was guilty of enough else that Alex could feel no pity for the man. Not that he would want to.
He tried to sort through everything happening around him. Barrow was a traitor, at least in Prinny’s eyes. He would never go free. He would never marry Grace. That meant Alex could marry Grace. He would make it happen. He had to.
He was oblivious to the conversation that continued until Barrow burst free from Dennison’s grasp and bowled over Chatham to get through the door. Alex came back to himself when Sir Jonas shouted, “Deuced hell,” before all three men fell in a pile to the floor.
Dennison and Frost joined the fray and wrestled Barrow into submission. In the intervening melee, Derek, Neil, and Alex each let go of their holds on the others. For the first time since they had entered the library, Alex was free to do as he pleased.
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