Must Be Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Dunstan stuck his hand in his pocket and leaned one shoulder against a fluted pillar. He smiled for Leila’s sake when she flung him a laughing glance.

  He had no reason to believe she wore her hair unpowdered just for him, no more than he had reason to believe she laughed more gaily or glittered more brilliantly for his benefit. But the way her gaze sought him out gave him the confidence to believe she did.

  Keeping her in sight, he relaxed and turned his powers of observation on the rest of the crowd. He noted the entrance of Lord John Albemarle and the young Viscount Staines before Leila was aware of it. They escorted a woman Dunstan recognized as Lord John’s sister, Lady Mary. Behind them followed Henry Wickham, looking disdainful.

  Dunstan watched his elegant enemy whisper into the ear of another gentleman, observed with interest the way murmurs rippled through the crowd wherever the foursome walked—knew when he gradually became the focus of every gaze within their vicinity.

  Dunstan had no quarrel with the Malcolms, and he sincerely liked shy Felicity. He didn’t want to disturb the child’s first ball. But hell would freeze over before he let maggots like those four malign his family and tarnish his reputation with their lies.

  Grimly, he shoved away from the post and plowed straight through the crowd in the direction of the troublemakers.

  No more hiding out, licking his wounds. He might not care about himself, but he was prepared to fight for those he loved.

  Twenty-five

  Leila’s nose for trouble twitched, but she couldn’t break away from the dancing without causing concern and disruption.

  Trying not to panic, searching for Dunstan through the swirl of dancers, she survived the final steps of the dance, curtsied to her partner, and instantly swung toward the entrance.

  Her breath caught at the sight of Dunstan offering his arm to the insipid Lady Mary.

  She’d never suffered a moment’s jealousy in her life, but flaming arrows of fury shot through her breast now. At the same time, the scent of calamity rose from across the ballroom. Glancing around, she realized she wasn’t the only one who sensed danger.

  Aunt Stella appeared in the doorway leading to the gaming rooms. The duchess always knew what was happening and who was involved.

  Leila’s mother fluttered nervously toward Felicity, shooing her in the direction of the supper room.

  With a sigh of resignation, Leila noted that both Joseph and David Ives had miraculously appeared from wherever they’d been hiding. Violence simmered in the air.

  As Dunstan descended the stairs with Lady Mary, Wickham stared daggers after them. Lord John appeared on the verge of apoplexy, and Staines seemed slightly bewildered.

  If Leila could have been certain the ballroom wouldn’t burst into flames from the mounting tension, she would have watched the coming confrontation almost with anticipation.

  But flames seemed the most likely result. Gathering her skirts, she sailed toward Dunstan and his companions, cursing the musicians who struck up a country dance just before she reached them. She would kick the obstinate Ives for fomenting rebellion, but the music carried him away from her. In retaliation, she caught Wickham’s arm.

  “You’re late,” she reprimanded him. “I saved this dance for you.”

  Looking startled and just enough off balance for Leila to lead him into the dance, Wickham glanced from Lady Mary to Dunstan and back to Leila. He smiled slowly. “My pleasure, my lady.”

  The steps of the dance did not leave her in his company for long. She landed in the arms of young Joseph Ives for a lengthy swing. “Keep Felicity occupied,” she hissed at him as they circled together. “I’ll deal with your brother.”

  “You’ll be the first one who could deal with him, then,” Joseph warned. “Rampaging bulls have more restraint than Dunstan when his temper rises.”

  “It’s not aroused yet,” she assured him, before swirling away to her next partner.

  She linked arms with Dunstan in the allemande—just long enough to catch a strong whiff of his jealousy. She shot him a warning look, which he ignored with a smirk.

  The man was jealous. Over her? Simply because she danced with Wickham as he danced with Lady Mary?

  She’d stirred an Ives to an irrational emotion! Dunstan’s proprietary attitude made her feel—desired? Powerful? And deuced annoyed that he still thought her no better than Celia.

  The music brought her back to Wickham before she could think of any magic spells with which to cast all men to Hades.

  “Perhaps we should retreat to the balcony for fresh air after this invigorating dance?” Wickham inquired as the musicians plucked the last note.

  She could better smell his intentions in the open air. Or drive Dunstan from mischievous to dangerous in a matter of seconds.

  “No, thank you,” she answered, trying not to glance around too obviously. Where was the damned man? She still sniffed danger. “I must see to our other guests.”

  With a gesture of dismissal, she turned away, only to bump directly into Lord John. Foreboding permeated the air around him. “I did not expect you to show your face, sir,” she said coldly, sweeping her skirts away from him.

  “I am the innocent here, my lady,” he protested. “You are the one who invites murderers to accost my sister.”

  Damn Dunstan. Just what was he up to? And where?

  Raising her chin so she must look down on the arrogant young lord, Leila regarded him with hauteur. “If there is a murderer here, sir, I wish you would point him out to me. I’ve seen no evidence of one.” Lifting her heavy silk, she nodded regally at a lady beyond his shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests.”

  Lord John grabbed her elbow and whispered in her ear before she could escape. “I’d suggest you strive to find my company more to your liking, my lady. Your nephew may soon become part of my family, and I can make both your lives exceedingly unpleasant if you do not act with a tad less condescension.”

  She gifted the puppy with a look of scorn. “I believe you mistake me for Celia Ives,” she said, startling even herself with the comparison. “I suggest you find someone who is more your kind to terrorize. I’ll not let you blackmail the boy into marrying just so you might live off him like the leech you are.”

  Now that Staines had been brought to her attention, Leila searched the room for him. Instead, she discovered Dunstan bearing down on them with menace written across his taut jaw. She almost laughed at the odor of cowardice emanating from the young lord, who abruptly released her elbow.

  Dunstan halted in front of them before Lord John could escape. Although he clasped his big fists behind his elegantly garbed back, the set of his jaw alone was menacing. “Her grace commands your presence, my lady,” he intoned without inflection. His gaze fixed challengingly upon Lord John even as he spoke to Leila.

  “I daresay if she did, she also commanded yours,” Leila replied wryly. “So which battle do you wish to commence first, hers or yours?”

  With a wicked gleam, Dunstan offered his arm. “Malcolm women frighten me far more than this insect.” He didn’t even glance back at Lord John as he added, “We’ll meet another time, sir. Your sister awaits you on the balcony.”

  Covering her hand with his own, Dunstan dragged Leila through the crowd of curious onlookers, toward the anteroom where her aunt waited.

  Dunstan’s large stature provided an easy target for slanderous tongues, but he shielded her from them as he escorted her through the throng. Leila had no doubt that he would defend her with his last breath, should it come to that.

  She patted his arm. “You are a very admirable man, Dunstan Ives. I do not have your courage and fortitude, but I shall attempt to learn them. I’m certain those qualities would benefit our daughter.”

  Unwilling to admit any more than that, Leila sailed forward to greet her aunt, leaving Dunstan stunned. He couldn’t dismiss the pride she’d instilled in him with her words. He’d always had some inkling of his own worth, but Celia had ca
lled him cold, and his mother had recommended humility.

  Lady Leila apparently wished to imitate him.

  He didn’t think that a wise resolve. Rather than ponder her meaning, he concentrated on the ladies’ argument.

  “You endanger yourself and all around you with this investigation, Leila,” Stella admonished her niece. “Take your Ives and his ways back to the country where they belong, and let us find the villain on our own.”

  “Lord John has some hold over Staines. I could smell it on him,” Leila argued. “I can’t leave now. They’re all part of the crowd Celia frequented. One of them could have killed her, and they could harm Staines as well.”

  “Nonsense. Your nephew is busy preening and playing the gallant. He’s perfectly safe. Go back to your gardens.”

  “Until we clear Dunstan’s name, I will go nowhere.”

  While admiring Leila’s willingness to stand up to her powerful aunt, Dunstan preferred she didn’t go so far in his defense. Gently catching her elbow, he steered her out of the path of her aunt’s ire. He did not fully understand the duchess’s Malcolm power, but he did not trust any Malcolm in a temper. Sometimes they did not know the full extent of their own abilities and came to grief for it. He’d not have anyone harmed because of him.

  “You owe me a dance, my lady, but nothing more,” he said. “My brothers and I will conduct our own search without endangering others.”

  “Your brothers!” Leila whirled around, not heeding his warning. “Find them at once. I need them to watch Wickham and Lord John.”

  Dunstan groaned as the duchess ruffled her regal feathers and looked prepared to bite. She would turn them all into peacocks in a moment.

  “Your grace, I’ll take care of this,” he assured the older woman. “I believe the lady is my responsibility now.”

  He thought the duchess looked approving as he directed Leila out of the room. Unfortunately, the termagant on his arm wasn’t quite so understanding.

  “I am not your responsibility,” she insisted, even as she followed him. “If anything, we are equals in this. I can certainly deal with my aunt far better than you.”

  “No, you can’t. The two of you will soon be fighting like cocks over who’s in charge of the henhouse. Take a lesson from Ninian and let the duchess believe she is.”

  She eyed him with disfavor. “An astute observation from a man who talks to plants.”

  “At least the plants have the sense not to talk back. There’s Joseph. Where are Wickham and Lord John now?”

  She halted, forcing him to do the same. Patiently, Dunstan waited while she glanced around, although he suspected she wasn’t looking so much as smelling what the air carried. The back of his neck prickled at that realization. He was involved with a woman who could smell a thief at a hundred yards. Maybe farther. He would have to test the theory.

  “Wickham and Lord John have not left. I daresay they’re in one of the anterooms, fomenting trouble. I do not at all understand what they’re about—”

  “I’ve talked to Lady Mary,” Dunstan interrupted. “She and her brother will hold their gossiping tongues from here on out.” Looking elegant and unconcerned, Dunstan shoved his hand in his pocket and scanned the crowd in search of his brothers.

  “You’ve talked to Lady Mary?” Leila could almost summon a vision of the scene from his scent of satisfaction. “What did you do, threaten to tar and feather her?”

  “I simply reminded her that I have not called in her gaming debts to Celia.”

  “What gaming debts?” Leila asked in astonishment, then understanding the depth of his scent of satisfaction, she cried, “You didn’t know she had gaming debts! You bluffed.”

  “That crowd gambles,” he said with a shrug, focusing on the approach of an unpowdered dark head. “Celia always cheated. It was a reasonable assumption.”

  Before Leila could respond, Joseph arrived, dragging a terrified Viscount Staines with him. “Tell him what you told me,” Joseph demanded, shaking the lordling’s arm.

  “I . . . It’s W-Wickham,” the young viscount stuttered. “And Lord John. They have a witness.”

  Dunstan fought a surge of panic by crossing his arms and waiting, staring the boy down with what he hoped was a formidable glare.

  Staines shot a pleading gaze at Leila. “I only wanted you to marry so I could have my estate back,” he muttered. “And Henry Wickham is a good sort. He would make you a far better husband than this murderer.” He shot Dunstan a bitter look.

  “Wickham is a nasty toad, and you’ll get warts just breathing the air around him,” Leila retorted. “And if you marry Lord John’s witch of a sister, she’ll bake you in her oven and turn you into a gingerbread boy.”

  Beneath his powdered wig, the young viscount paled, but tearing his arm from Joseph’s grip, he straightened his spine and glared back. “At least I do not consort with known killers. Wickham has located a witness to Celia’s murder, just as he said he would. He and Lord John are to meet him at the inn in Baden-on-Lyme in the morning. They mean to see Dunstan hang.”

  Dunstan fought to keep his hands to himself rather than wring the truth from the boy. “If this is another of your practical jokes, Staines, I’ll dangle you from the Tower wall.”

  “It’s not a joke.” The viscount looked terrified again, and his gaze darted about, searching for his friends. Then, confident no one could overhear, he continued. “I’m to go with them. Wickham says that your brother is the magistrate there, and he will never arrest you, so I am to act as witness and come back here to have you arrested.”

  Although music flowed and the voices of a hundred people filled the air, Dunstan heard the tolling bells of doom. For Leila’s sake, he blocked them out. “Use your wits, Staines. Until you do, Wickham will use you. If you’ll excuse me, I mean to find out what they’re up to for myself.”

  Nodding at his stunned audience, Dunstan swung around and stalked toward the door.

  Twenty-six

  Leila didn’t know where the damned man thought he was going, but she didn’t intend for him to go alone. She would never believe Wickham’s witness over Dunstan’s innocence.

  But before she could run after him, she had to clean up the mess he’d left behind. “Joseph, notify Drogo at once. Have your brother follow Wickham and Lord John. Staines, unless you wish to be leg-shackled to a witch far worse than me, you’d best hie yourself back to Bath and stay out of this. For once in your life, listen to your elders, will you?”

  Satisfied she’d terrified her nephew enough to make him listen and that Joseph already hastened to do as he’d been told, Leila sailed after the wretched Dunstan.

  “You don’t really believe that any witness Wickham has found is legitimate, do you?” she called down the stairs from the hall outside the ballroom.

  Having already reached the second-floor landing, Dunstan merely glanced over his shoulder. “I intend to find out.” He continued taking the stairs down to the street two at a time.

  “They’re plotting something, Dunstan,” she shouted, lifting her skirts and racing after him. “Don’t fall into it.” When he did not halt, Leila flung her fan at his broad back. “Unless you wish to see me tumble down these stairs, you’d better slow down!”

  That brought him to a halt. He turned and planted his massive arms on either side of the stairs to prevent her passing. “Go back to your family,” he ordered. “I want you to have no part in this.”

  “I am part of it!” Ducking beneath his elbow, she hurried out of hearing of any bystanders. “You’re the father of this child I carry,” she whispered in seething anger. “Don’t tell me I’m not part of you.”

  “I’ll not have you harmed by their trickery. I’ll get to the bottom of it.” He clattered past her, blocking any fall she might take as they raced down the last stairs.

  Halting in the shadows of the foyer, whispering so the waiting footmen couldn’t hear, Leila smacked a fist of frustration against his broad chest. “Don’t do this, Duns
tan. Let us work together and find the truth.”

  The man reeked of self-doubt and anger and a scent that she longed to believe but couldn’t. Every bone in her body ached to take him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him. But if even she was terrified by these newly discovered emotions, what might revealing them do to this man, who seemed so bent on self-destruction?

  “I will do nothing dangerous,” Dunstan promised. “I mean only to find this witness and hear his story. If I killed Celia in a drunken rage, I need to know it.”

  “You would never do such a thing,” she told him. “If you truly believed in my abilities, you would trust me in this.”

  He hesitated, and Leila held her breath, hoping, praying that he would have confidence in her. Despair whipped through her when he shook his head.

  “We may both be sensing only what we want to believe. I cannot take the risk. I need time to figure out what to do if the witness is right.”

  Fury swept through her with the force of a wildfire. Drawing back from him, Leila all but spat in his face. “What if one of them is Celia’s killer? What if they lie in wait to kill you?”

  He froze and regarded her with wariness. “Did you smell something on them that you have not told me? Have you had another vision?”

  He believed in her.

  “The circumstances must be right for me to see anything. I do not know how to make it happen. But I know you didn’t kill her. It only seems reasonable to conclude that one of her friends must have.”

  “Or a common thief who broke in to steal her jewels. Stay with your family where you are safe. I’ll look after myself.” His hands formed fists and his voice was harsh, but his gaze upon her was infinitely sad.

  She wanted his trust, not his regret, and he wasn’t giving it to her. Furious, she backed away from him. “Go, then. But do not expect me to do as you wish, either. If we cannot act together, then I am free to act alone.”

  “Leila, I’m counting on you not to do anything foolish. Your family needs you.”

  “Your family will need me, too, if you insist on playing the part of braying donkey. Don’t concern yourself over your son,” she added scornfully. “Griffith will only be devastated if you insist on sacrificing yourself on the altar of self-pity. I’ll see that my family gives him a little more guidance than yours has.”