“What proof do you have of that?” Leo asked her.
She frowned. “What proof do I have? I’ve known her for most of my life.”
“It’s not inconceivable that she normally has a very placid nature, but one that can turn deadly given the right circumstances.” He took another deep breath and leaned forward to take her hand. “I regret having to tell you this because I know it will cause you pain, but you deserve to know the truth. I spoke with Julia Deworthy at the gaol and told her I was sending off for her marriage records. She knew what I’d find, and at last admitted that she was Margaret Julia Prothero. She claims that she had no hand in the death of young Hayes, that it was all her cousin’s doing, and she was merely a bystander, but I doubt she is speaking the truth.”
“I don’t know what to say, Leo. It’s all so shocking. Are you sure she was not suddenly deranged and making it up?” Dagmar tried to readjust the mental image of an old friend who was in truth a stranger.
“She wasn’t deranged, not in the sense you mean.” Leo’s fingers stroked hers with a gentleness that touched her. “I know it is hard for you to understand how a trusted friend can have such a dark secret, but it does not tarnish the affection she holds for you.”
He stopped, but Dagmar couldn’t leave the obvious unsaid. “That affection only goes so far, though, doesn’t it? She didn’t let it stand in her way when she felt threatened by you.”
“No, but that has no bearing on all the good years you had together.”
Dagmar curled her fingers around his. “It’s so difficult to believe that someone I grew up with could be such a monster.”
“I don’t think she ever meant you any harm, if that makes you feel better. She clearly was beholden to you not only for her livelihood, but also as a way to hide from her past identity. No one would think twice about the companion of a princess, after all.”
“No.” Dagmar stared at their hands for a moment, marveling at the strength of Leo’s fingers. “Did she say what happened to Louisa’s son?”
“A little. She claims that he forced himself on her cousin and then turned his attentions to her. While he was attempting to assault her, her cousin struck him down, apparently with more force than she realized. She says she had nothing to do with the attack other than to conceal what had been done.”
Dagmar looked into his eyes and saw the truth in them. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“No.” His fingers tightened on hers. “There are several things wrong with her story. For one, her description of the attack doesn’t fit what Dalton and Mrs. Hayes said of the boy. Julia claimed he was drunk and lascivious, and yet he was evidently a gentle, pious young man with a dislike of drink and an abhorrence of violence.”
“Pious young men have been known to force themselves on women before,” Dagmar pointed out.
“Agreed, but in this case, there’s another fact that effectively eliminates the possibility. Young Hayes had suffered an injury when he was a boy. He was incapable of sexual activity.”
“Incapable? He couldn’t…not any of it?”
“No. He was gored by a bull when he was a young lad, and the resulting operation ended up leaving him more or less a eunuch. It’s one reason why the Hayes family went abroad and stayed there.”
“But if he wasn’t attempting to rape them, why kill him?”
Leo scratched his chest, distracting her for a moment. She really did love his chest, even scarred. “She won’t admit that he didn’t attack them because it would damn her beyond all hope of freedom, but I suspect that she and her cousin had hoped to compromise the young man in a blackmail attempt. They’d simply claim he had attempted to rape them both, and his parents would pay to hush up the scandal. They hadn’t counted on the fact that he was physically incapable of assaulting them, and I imagine that while attempting to coerce him into that act, he struggled, and most likely fell back against an object that sufficiently wounded him as to leave him near death.”
“If it was an accident, why didn’t Julia just say that?”
“Because she wanted the blame thrown onto her cousin. To admit that he fell while struggling with them means they are both guilty. Your companion is trying very hard to disassociate herself from any wrongdoing.”
“That’s quite a bit of supposition,” Dagmar said quietly, overwhelmed with sadness for the loss of an innocent young man, as well as her own belief in her friend.
“It is, and I will do everything I can to aid Dalton in uncovering more proof of exactly what happened that night, but given her attacks against Dalton, you, and me, I believe her guilt is established sufficiently to keep her in gaol.”
“But she’s in there for killing Louisa, not Louisa’s son.”
Leo shrugged one shoulder. “Does it matter whose death she is imprisoned for, so long as she pays the price of her actions?”
“I suppose not, although I am not easy in my mind about it. Leo, are all your missions going to be as sad as this? Because I feel as if I’ve lost a dear friend, and I don’t know if I could go through this on a regular basis.”
He pulled her forward onto his naked lap, his penis (now in repose), nestled warmly against her hip. “I’m sorry that this had to happen, darling. I know you feel nothing but affection for your companion, but the truth is that she has taken part in the murder of an innocent young man and attempted to attack three other people. Think of her as she was, if it helps. Think of all the years you had together in happiness, and not the sad creature she’s become.”
“Is there any way we could get her released? Can we tell the police what you have deduced?”
“We can try, but without Louisa Hayes, they may not believe us.”
“Mr. Dalton—”
“Is convinced that his actions are just, and will do nothing to aid the release of Julia Deworthy.”
“I don’t like her being in prison for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“She did have a hand in the death of the young Dalton boy.”
“But she didn’t kill Louisa.” Dagmar thought for a moment. “Although she would have killed you if we weren’t there to save you. Oh, I don’t know what to think. My emotions are so confused.”
“I understand your dilemma, and I assure you that I will tell the authorities what I know about Louisa.”
Dagmar kissed him on the very corner of his mouth and leaned against him, drawing strength from the warm solidness of him. “Thank you. I suppose there is nothing more we can do for her than stand by her. Which means I may now seduce you.”
“I believe it’s my turn to seduce you.”
“Perhaps, but I am a princess.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, the noise rumbling around in his chest in a way that made Dagmar feel warm and tingly. “That doesn’t mean you are always going to get your way.”
“Of course it does. What is the good in being a princess otherwise? Besides, I wish very much to try out this connubial calisthenic that Plum describes on page seventy-three of her book.”
“The princess and the jouster?”
“That’s the one. I believe that desk over there would be suitable as a balcony.”
He glanced down at his lap. “I’m afraid that my lance is no longer couched.”
She gave him a dazzling smile, one that had every ounce of love she felt for him. “There are instructions on how to equip the lance. I believe it begins like this…”
Epilogue
Vienna
12 August 1801
Dearest Thom,
I pen these words in a great hurry, as Leo and I have to make a quick escape from Vienna. It appears that the grand duke who we were quite covertly investigating has discovered our identities via a very stupid distant Prussian cousin who wandered into the ball where we were expertly grilling the grand duke about something I can’t possibly mention here beca
use Leo says that the mails aren’t safe and someone might read it. But you can assume it was on a subject of Great Importance and Much Delicacy, and possibly involving a certain Frenchman who I think really should be taken down a peg or two. But I will say no more on that subject lest prying eyes were to fall upon this letter.
Fritz, the stupid cousin, recognized me as soon as he saw me at the ball, and the grand duke made a huge fuss about us being spies who were determined to engineer his downfall, as well as that of the emperor, and indeed, the Austro-Hungarian empire itself, which is simply ridiculous, but that’s how these people think. The grand duke demanded that we be imprisoned, which of course meant that Leo had to fight him off as well as the guards that came running when the grand duke created such a big scene, but luckily, Leo had reconnoitered the palace beforehand, and we were able to escape by climbing down some ivy, which isn’t nearly as easy as you might think it is. Regardless of that, we made it back to our lodgings, where even now Leo is hastily thrusting our belongings into a carriage for our hurried leave.
So don’t plan on meeting us in Vienna for your honeymoon trip; we simply won’t be here. I can’t say where we’re going, but I’ll write once we’ve reached safety. Oh, and many congratulations on the wedding. I wish we could have been with you for it, but we’ll celebrate properly when we see you again. Best wishes to Plum, Harry, and Nick’s parents as well, and thank Harry for doing what he could to get Julia free. I’m saddened beyond words that no one will believe Leo’s statements and conjectures, but perhaps, with time, we can convince Mr. Dalton to admit the truth. Or Louisa might return to England. We can hope. Until then, pass along my appreciation for your aunt’s visits to Julia in my stead. I’m sure Julia is deeply grateful for her visits, as am I.
No, I haven’t met any goatherds, but really, I don’t think Nick is being unreasonable by demanding that you leave at least some of the thirty-six dogs at home. They can’t all fit into one carriage, and besides, you won’t be able to indulge yourself in Rocking Horse Derby if the carriage is laden with dogs. Leo and I tried it on a very well-sprung carriage in Paris, and it’s definitely one of your aunt’s better calisthenics. Just make sure the carriage blinds are drawn before you begin the Derby. Also, a riding crop can be used very effectively if you gently apply it to…oh, there’s Leo. Must dash. Much love to you both.
Dagmar
In case you missed them, read on for excerpts from the first three books in the series that launched Katie MacAlister’s career:
Noble Intentions
Noble Destiny
The Trouble with Harry
Now available from Sourcebooks Casablanca
From Noble Intentions
Gillian Leigh’s first social event of the Season began with what many in the ton later labeled as an uncanny warning of Things To Come.
“Well, bloody hell. This isn’t going to endear me to the duchess.”
Gillian watched with dismay as flames licked up the gold velvet curtains despite her attempts to beat them out with a tasseled silk cushion. Shrieks of horror and shrill voices behind her indicated that others had spotted her activities, which she had hoped would escape their notice until she had the fire under control.
Two footmen raced past her with buckets of water and soon had the fire extinguished, but it was too late, the damage was done. The duchess’s acclaimed Gold Drawing Room would never be the same again. Gillian stood clutching the sooty cushion to her chest and watched mournfully as the blackened curtains were hastily bundled past the small clutches of people who stood talking intently, looking everywhere but at her.
“Sealing my fate as a social pariah, no doubt,” she muttered to herself.
“Who is? And what on earth happened in here? Lady Dell said something about you burning down the house, but you know how she exag…oh, my!”
Gillian heaved a deep sigh and turned to smile ruefully as her cousin, and dearest friend, caught sight of the damp, smoke-stained wall.
“I’m afraid it’s true, Charlotte, although I wasn’t trying to burn down the house. It was just another of my Unfortunate Accidents.”
Charlotte gave the formerly gilt-paneled wall a considering look, pursed her lips, then turned her gaze on her cousin. “Mmm. Well, you have certainly made sure everyone will be talking about your debut. Just look at you! You’ve got soot all over—your gloves are a complete loss, but I think you can brush the worst off your bodice.”
Gillian gave in to the urge and snorted while Charlotte effected repairs to the sooty green muslin gown. “My debut—as if I wanted one. The only reason I’m here is because your mother insisted it would look odd if I remained at home while you had your Season. I’m five and twenty, Charlotte, not a young girl like you. And as for setting the ton talking—I’m sure they are, but it will no doubt be to label me a clumsy Colonial who can’t even be a wallflower without wreaking havoc.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she clasped her hand around her cousin’s wrist and dragged her past the excited groups of people and out the door. “You’re only half American and not clumsy. You’re…well, you’re just enthusiastic. And slightly prone to Unfortunate Accidents. But all’s well that ends happily, as Mama always says. The curtains can be replaced, and I’m sure the duchess will realize the fire was simply one of those unavoidable events. Come, you must return to the ballroom. The most exciting thing has happened—the Black Earl is here.”
“The black who?”
“The Black Earl. Lord Weston. It’s rumored he’s going to take a bride again.”
“No, truly? And this is an event we must not fail to witness? Is he going to take her right there in the ballroom?”
“Gillian!” Charlotte stopped dead in the hallway, blocking people from either direction. Her china-blue eyes were round and sparkling with faux horror. “You really cannot say such things in polite company! It’s shocking, simply shocking, and I cannot allow you to sully my delicate, maidenly ears in such a manner!”
Gillian grinned at her cousin and gave her a little push to get her moving again. “Honestly, Charlotte, I don’t see how you can tell such awful whoppers without being struck down with shame.”
“Practice, Gilly, it’s because I pay the proper attention to perfecting a shy, demure look for an hour each morning. If you would do the same, it would do wonders for your personality. You might even catch a husband, which you certainly won’t do if you continue to be so…so…”
“Honest?”
“No.”
“Forthright?”
“No.”
Gillian chewed on her lip for a moment. “Unassuming? Unpretentious? Veracious?”
“No, no, no. Green, that’s what you are. Utterly green and without any sense of ton whatsoever. You simply cannot continue to say what you think. It’s just not done in polite circles.”
“Some people like honesty.”
“Not in society, they don’t. Now stop dawdling and fix a pleasant expression on your face.”
Gillian heaved a little sigh and tried to adopt the demure look that spinsters of her age were expected to wear.
“Now you’re looking mulish,” Charlotte pointed out with a frown, then gave in to a sudden impish grin. She linked her arm through her cousin’s and tugged her along the hall. “Never mind, your face doesn’t matter in the least. Come, we don’t want to miss Lord Weston. Mama says he is a terrible rake and isn’t welcomed into polite circles anymore. I can’t wait to see how depraved he looks.”
“What has he done to make him unacceptable to the jades, rakes, and rogues who populate the ton?”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Lady Dell says he murdered his first wife after he found her in the arms of her true love. He is said to have shot her in the head, but missed when he tried to murder her lover.”
“Truly? How fascinating! He must be a terribly emotional and uncontrolled m
an if he didn’t tolerate his wife having an inamorato. I thought that sort of behavior was de rigueur in the ton.”
Gillian and Charlotte slipped past small groups of elegantly clad people and paused before the double doors leading to the ballroom. The heat generated by so many people inhabiting the confined space left the room stifling and airless.
Charlotte fanned herself vigorously as she continued to tell Gillian what she knew of the infamous earl. “He doesn’t wear anything but black—’tis said to be a sign of his guilt that he’s never been out of mourning even though he killed his wife more than five years ago. She cursed him, you know, and that’s another reason he wears black. And then there are rumors of a child…”
Charlotte’s voice dropped to an intimate whisper that Gillian had a hard time hearing above the noise of several chattering matrons standing nearby. “…and was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Someone is a bastard?” Gillian asked, confused.
“Gillian!” Charlotte shrieked and, with an appalled look toward the matrons, pulled her cousin closer to the ballroom doors. “God’s teeth, you’re as uncivilized as a Red Indian. It must be living among them as you did that makes you so unconventional. Do try to curb your tongue!”
Gillian muttered an insincere apology and prodded her cousin. “Who is illegitimate? The earl?”
“Gilly, really! Don’t be such an idiot. How can he be illegitimate and an earl? Make an effort to pay attention, do—I was just telling you how Lord Weston murdered his first wife because she refused to bear him a son and turned to her lover for comfort. Isn’t that thrilling? It’s said she pleaded with him to give her a divorce so she could marry her lover, but he told her that if he could not have her, no man would. Then he shot her while her lover looked on.” She sighed. “It’s so romantic.”
“Your idea of romantic and mine are most definitely not the same,” Gillian said, looking around at the dandies, macaronis, fops, elderly gentlemen in silk breeches, and other assorted members of that small, elite group who possessed the combination of fortune, rank, and reputation to admit them as members of the ton. “And this man is here tonight? Which one is he? Does he look evil? Does he have a hump on his back and a squint and walk with a limp? Will he ogle the ladies?”
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