by Corwin, Amy
The earl studied his face before turning away. He left hurriedly, his shoulders stooped and head bowed protectively against additional blows. He barely stopped to acknowledge bows and murmured expressions of sympathy from friends.
Nathaniel watched him leave before turning back to Archer. “I’ve got to find that bastard. I am not going to be responsible for killing Telford in a duel, and he’s bound to press the matter if I don’t come up with something soon. I would delope but….” He didn’t want to die.
“What makes you think you’d win?”
Nathaniel eyed his uncle in exasperation. It wasn’t false pride, and they both knew it. Archer raised a glass to him and shook his head.
“And what were you thinking to suggest I propose to that chit of yours?” Nathaniel groused to Archer, changing the subject.
“She didn’t say yes?”
“No.” Nathaniel had to work to keep his voice low. He glanced up with a tight smile as the waiter bent to refill their wine glasses. The rich cabernet wasn’t strong enough to wash away the humiliation he felt over that disaster.
After that kiss, any other woman would have leapt on him and insisted he marry her for compromising her honor with such a low action. The worst of it was, he had enjoyed it, and he wanted to do it again.
“Well, you must have bungled it badly if she refused. What did you say to her?”
“Nothing! That is, I tried to explain the situation. She refused. She wouldn’t even listen to me.”
After I made the mistake of mauling her about in the garden. She must have thought me the worst of rakes. Or insane. Probably both. And he still had not managed to get the list from her.
There had to be a clue somewhere….
Archer laughed, cutting a generous mouthful of rare roast beef. After pushing around a new potato on his plate, Nathaniel laid his fork down. He scowled at his uncle.
“Nevvy, you are obviously not as skilled with the ladies as I assumed.” Archer waved his knife under Nathaniel’s nose. “Now, don’t be ashamed. Not everyone can be charming, more’s the pity. I was depending upon you, however so, we will just have to think of another scheme.”
“No, we shall not! I’ve no intention of humiliating Miss Haywood—or myself—any further! In fact, I am seriously considering quitting London for the rest of the Season. I am making no headway with this investigation, and I cannot get within a yard of another man to question him before some female leaps out at me.”
“You cannot give up. Bow Street has already developed the wrong impression entirely,” Archer argued. “We must convince them they would be in error to believe that tripe in the newspapers.” His face stilled with concern. “And I don’t like this notion she has of helping you with the investigation.”
“Do you think I want her to help?”
“She is recklessly placing herself in danger.” His voice dropped lower, “And that is not all. My lady wife found another letter from one of those Egyptians. Not good. If we are not careful, the bird will fly south and find her feathers plucked. This scheme of hers is not the thing. Not at all the thing.”
“She wants to go. Why not just let her?” The idea annoyed Nathaniel, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. Why couldn’t she find something to dig up in London? Why did she have to go to Egypt to play with moldy bones for God’s sake?
And why did she have to put herself at risk by helping him clear his name? She seemed determined to walk straight into a pit of vipers.
“And be shorn of her inheritance by a lot of charlatans? Or worse? Have you considered the slave trade?” Archer asked.
“I have,” he replied shortly.
“Then you must agree. She will have to be detained here until she sees sense, or is too old for slavers. And she must be kept out of the investigation.”
Archer’s words angered Nathaniel so much he downed his wine in one gulp. Didn’t he have enough responsibilities already without worrying about his uncle’s ward? “What would you have me do? Chain her up in the cellars at Peckham House until she’s sixty?”
He had expected Archer to laugh, but instead, Archer’s thin face looked more worried and thoughtful than usual. “I am afraid—seriously afraid—for her safety.”
A sense of urgency, fueled by anger and fear, held Nathaniel silent for a moment. “She must stop. Send her to the country.”
“She would simply run away or return to London.
She is not without resources, you know. Just give me a minute….” Archer snapped his fingers, narrowly missing the end of Nathaniel’s nose. “I have got a better solution. We’ll kidnap her. It is the only solution and it will solve all our problems.”
“We will do what? Have you gone entirely mad?”
Archer eyed him with exasperation. “Calm yourself. What I am suggesting is entirely reasonable.”
“Under what circumstances could kidnapping be considered reasonable?”
“Just consider for a moment. She is kidnapped and held in a perfectly safe place for as long as necessary to keep her out of danger. You will have time to investigate properly, and when the matter is resolved, you rescue her. She is grateful. You are her hero. She agrees to a temporary engagement as a reward for your amazing feat of detection, and we keep her distracted with that. She will stay happy and safe in England until we can arrange for a suitable escort.” Archer leaned forward, his eyes glowing with energy. “Then, voilá, she breaks the engagement and travels to Egypt as she desires. And you can then do whatever it is you dukes do, from that point forward. It is perfect.” He sat back, a satisfied smile on his face. “Well? Don’t you see? It is a brilliant scheme.”
“I see you are seriously deranged. There is nothing that will convince me to kidnap your ward.”
“Indeed?” Archer’s smile became craftier. It sent cold chills down Nathaniel’s spine. “Not even to keep her out of the hands of white slavers? Or to keep her from being murdered like Lady Anne?”
“It is ludicrous!” Nathaniel threw his linen napkin onto the table. The waiters were quick to notice and commenced clearing away the platters. Another brought new glasses, this time containing port. Nathaniel gulped his down and set it back on the table with a snap that nearly shattered the thick glass. It was quickly refilled, but he barely noticed although his hand raised the glass to his lips again.
“Almack’s refused her entry.”
Nathaniel stood abruptly and set the glass down again. “What?”
“Sit down!” Archer hissed. “Do you wish to add to the sordid rumors even now circulating through all the drawing rooms in London? Thanks to your atrocious behavior and this inexplicable attraction gardens seem to hold for you, you are in danger of being quite dissolute.”
Nathaniel sat reluctantly. Anger gnawed at him. He drained the glass of port, barely noticing when it was refilled.
How dare they refuse to let her into Almack’s? She was a damn sight better than any of the other simpering sapskulls of his acquaintance. It was nothing short of an outrage.
He’d be damned if he’d set foot in there, now. He wished she had agreed to his proposal. She’d be his betrothed. No one would dare snub her. Damn it, he relished the idea of walking into stuffy drawing rooms with her on his arm. She’d make a damn fine duchess or betrothed until she left for Egypt. The thought almost made him wince.
He was shattered. He couldn’t even sleep at night without having dreams about Charlotte Haywood’s long, bare legs. Legs that made him wake up uncomfortable and fevered, twisted in the bed sheets….
God, a white slaver would make a fortune on her. Nathaniel could picture her swathed only in the sheerest of silk veils—blue ones like her eyes—standing on an auction block under the hot, desert sun. The scorching light would flame through her long, unbound hair, while one by one the veils were removed until she stood there….
“So,” Archer said after delicately sipping his own glass of port. “We shall intercept her coach on the way back from Dacy House this Friday. A
greed?”
“No!” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, dislodging a thick curl. The annoying lock fell over his brow. He pushed it back impatiently and tried to drink his port. His glass was empty. Had they not just refilled it?
“Waiter!” He couldn’t be alone with her. In his house. Dependent upon him and gazing up at him with those blue eyes filled with fear….
Of course, he’d have to reassure her. And somehow her dress would be torn from the kidnapping and the shoulder seams would give way. She’d fall prostrate in his arms with her breasts in his hands and her fair skin gleaming palely in the moonlight….
“Your glass, Your Grace,” the waiter interrupted, holding a bottle of port in one hand.
After his glass was refilled, Nathaniel leaned forward, staring hard at Archer. “I am not frightening her unnecessarily, and it is just the two of us. I mean, just you and I will be there. With her. No one else needs to know anything.”
“Well, Lady Victoria—I would not want her to worry.”
“No! Absolutely not!”
“My wife is the soul of discretion. She must know.”
“Agreed, but no one else. We kidnap her and—and hide her—where? She must have a comfortable bed and food. And a maid—what about a maid? I cannot be alone with her under any circumstances. Absolutely not. Is that clear? Because if it is not clear, then we simply cannot do it. This point cannot be emphasized enough. Under no circumstances will you leave me alone with her!”
“My dear boy, if you give her luxurious quarters, she will not wish to be rescued, and we cannot sit about playing whist with her at all hours! She must be frightened if she’s to be properly grateful to you.”
“I will not have her frightened!”
“Well, that rather defeats the purpose—”
“I will not scare her!”
Archer harrumphed and finished his port, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table. His eyes flickered to Nathaniel’s face. “You know, most women, despite their words, appreciate a little danger. It lends a certain excitement….”
“Absolutely not!” Nathaniel felt overheated. He continued bitterly, “And I would think the rumors about me being a murderer would be dangerous enough for any female. Not that they have stopped any of those damned women from chasing me….”
He was drunk.
No he wasn’t. He was just worried. Worried sick about leaving White’s and facing what might be out there, waiting in his carriage or in his wardrobe.
He almost wished Bow Street would take him into custody. A nice lonely gaol cell with a strong lock on the door.
“We shall do our best to reassure her,” Archer said at last. “Put this on the duke’s account,” he added, speaking to a passing waiter. The waiter nodded and scuttled away.
Nathaniel watched him go, leaning back in his chair. “You are not leaving, are you?”
“My wife—”
“This is a terrible idea, Archer. What you describe would be a devilishly fine adventure, but I cannot.” He was a duke, albeit slightly under the weather. Kidnapping women was not a ducal thing to do.
But damn it, why did he always have to be responsible? No adventures, no fun. Just listening to his tenants’ problems and trying to resolve them like some sort of Solomon. Only he was not as wise as that biblical gentleman and would probably have cut the child in half or given it to the wrong mother.
Archer drew himself up and frowned. “It is a brilliant idea. I cannot guarantee that you have the skill and nerve to carry it off, but it is a brilliant idea.”
“I have skill and nerve.”
“Really? You appear to have lost your nerves over the last few months.”
“Then I will prove it.” Nathaniel placed his hat over his disheveled curls. “But we need a better plan.” He held up his hand when Archer snorted. “Or perhaps just work out the details. Surely you can spare another hour.
Accompany me home. We will go over precisely how this should be handled to avoid causing Charlotte—that is, Miss Haywood—any unnecessary worry or discomfort.”
Nathaniel wavered as he stood, but he gripped the back of his chair until the floor stopped heaving.
Archer eyed him and sighed. “You are a very fortunate young man.”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, walking very carefully toward the door. Outside, the fresh air cleared his head enough to be very glad of his uncle’s company. Nathaniel wasn’t precisely drunk, but he was under the weather enough to make him careless. “I am a very fortunate man.”
“If you can keep your wits about you.”
Nathaniel laughed. “Never fear. We will kidnap the fair maiden, rescue her, and I will solve this murder. And we will convince Miss Haywood to remain in your care.”
“I only hope you can do so. You have quite wasted almost three weeks already, nevvy, and Telford is growing impatient.”
“Never fear!” he replied, opening the door to his coach. A soft scent tickled his nose. “Come, Archer, I will drive you home.”
He stood aside for his uncle to enter the coach first. A minute later, Archer shooed a giggling chit of seventeen out the door. He climbed down after her, waving her away down the walk. “Do you know her?”
“I am not sure. They all look alike: short, silly girls with nothing but soft wool between the ears.”
Archer’s sharp gray eyes scanned his face. “And you believe you are best without these pesky females about?”
“That is precisely what I want. Peace. And a few adventures.” Nathaniel climbed into the coach. “Nice, quiet adventures without any women, anywhere. Right after I solve my murder.”
Despite his words, when he leaned back against the well-padded seats of his coach, he saw Charlotte’s blue eyes laughing at him.
The image promised him anything but peace.
Chapter Sixteen
Lunatics. A constable, relieving officer or overseer is required to apprehend persons wandering at large who are deemed to be lunatics or dangerous idiots. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
At the Dacy ball, the duke made every effort to dance with Charlotte, and to her surprise, several bland, young men also formally requested a turn around the room with her. However despite the unusual attention, she found the ball rather boring.
After refusing to dance, she watched Nathaniel escort Miss Mooreland out onto the floor. His second dance with that particular debutante this evening.
Since Charlotte had sent Tom Henry to Nathaniel with her list, he apparently had no time to speak to her. Perhaps he was simply occupied trying to prove his innocence.
Sadly, she realized her refusal to accept his proposal for a false engagement might have also diminished his interest in her. Just as well. She never thought the idea particularly sound, and it certainly would not prove Nathaniel’s innocence.
Charlotte turned away abruptly, tapping her toe on the brilliantly waxed floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lady Beatrice frowning at Nathaniel and Miss Mooreland. She didn’t appear happy about the pairing, either, although she finally accepted the escort of Lord Brompton, and the pair glided out onto the floor.
Did Lady Beatrice have a rival for Nathaniel’s affections in Miss Mooreland?
Perhaps Lady Beatrice would finally discover how it felt to lose a sweetheart to another. It was simply too bad that a few of the other long-suffering girls from their boarding school were not here to see the expression on Lady Beatrice’s beautiful face.
Charlotte smiled. Then she nodded at one of the matrons who had taken pains to remind Charlotte that Lady Beatrice and His Grace made a fine couple.
Life was never as expected.
Then, a portion of her good mood evaporated. She remembered her last year at boarding school and the dismal Christmas she had spent there. Charlotte had not been surprised about her guardian’s decision to leave her there, but she had been shocked to discover Lady Beatrice had also been left.
At first, Charlotte had tried to be friendl
y. However, despite their lack of other companions, Lady Beatrice had chosen to ignore Charlotte’s overtures.
Charlotte studied her from across the dance floor.
Perhaps she was also unhappy. Perhaps that was why she was so desperate for the duke to propose. As a duchess, Lady Beatrice would get all the attention she craved.
She’d never be left behind during the holidays again.
Restless and edgy, Charlotte’s mood deteriorated further when an older man with damp hands tried to get her to walk out into the garden with him.
“No, I think not,” she said. “I am quite content here. I don’t require any fresh air.”
Sir Baldwin, or Bolton, or whatever his name was, finally gave up and wandered away.
When he was safely gone, Charlotte’s eyes flickered repeatedly to the French doors leading out into the soft night. Exerting great willpower, she resisted. She didn’t trust the duke not to follow her out and pester her.
Or worse, she feared having to fend off the man with the damp hands. He wore the hot, devious look of someone attracted to her dowry instead of her. Her gaze roved the room. She had not seen the man recently, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, watching for an opportunity.
The insistent, fluttering noise of moth wings battering the French doors caught her attention. The night beckoned. After a single step, she stopped, her fingers drifting to her lips. Where was His Grace?
“Would you care to step outside for some air?” Nathaniel asked. He leaned slightly over her shoulder, not touching her but filling her with warmth.
“No. Not tonight.”
“I am assured there are numerous moths in the gardens. Would you not like another chance to see the Garden Tiger?”
“There will be other opportunities. And ones which are less noisy.”
He studied her, and then pressed a glass of punch into her hand. She glanced back at him for a moment before dropping her gaze and taking a sip. He seemed strangely excited. His eyes gleamed as if fevered.
Had he decided to ask Lady Beatrice to marry him tonight since Charlotte refused him? Mr. Dacy’s wife was His Grace’s sister. What better time or place to make such a declaration?