by Jade Lee
“Then there is no time!” His mother grabbed his arm and all but shoved him upstairs. “We are already behind schedule. You must see the tailor then the dance master. I’d thought to add in a cobbler, but—”
“That is a necessity,” he snapped. He’d be damned if he spent the night doing the pretty in shoes that didn’t fit.
“Then we had best get started!”
He stood for a moment at the base of the stairs. His gaze took in the expectant glances of the three females, and then he chanced to turn to Seelye. He didn’t know why he looked at the man, except that he was the only other male in the hallway. Perhaps there was some sanity to be had from that direction.
“I find, your grace, than in matters of fashion, it is best to allow the ladies to have their heads, while the gentleman follows a pace behind.”
He didn’t fully understand the analogy, since it regarded horses and not sails, but he supposed the meaning was clear. In this, the ladies were the wind and the sails. He was simply the boatman with a broken rudder.
“Radley!” his mother said, snapping him out of his reverie. “Your valet has your attire ready. Pray tell him to make haste.”
He nodded and allowed her impatience to blow him into his day. Then three steps up the stairs, he paused and turned back.
“We are attending a ball tonight?” he asked.
His cousin smiled. “Yes, at the home of Lord and Lady Tindelar. Their youngest daughter’s debut. Her older sister is a dear friend of mine from school.”
Radley ignored the details to focus on Seelye. “I should like to send a footman to Miss Drew, asking if she would attend as well.”
The man didn’t respond—for which he was grateful—as the three women made their opinion known in nearly identical choking gasps. Clearly, he’d stepped in it again.
“Is there a problem?”
“Er, no, your grace,” Seelye answered in a tight voice. “It is merely that it is unlikely that Miss Drew will have an invitation.”
He thought about that. Of course, that was true. Wendy was a seamstress, after all. She wouldn’t be invited to a coming out ball.
Then he nodded, his expression shifting to Eleanor. “They are excited to have me attend this function, yes? It will provide a boost to this girl’s debut?”
Eleanor’s face remained rigidly composed as she dipped her chin. “Every hostess in London would be honored by your presence.”
He took that as a yes. “Then perhaps they could see to Miss Drew’s invitation.” He tilted his head. “Do you know how to arrange such a thing smoothly?”
His mother sputtered. “Y-you can’t possibly—”
“See to it, would you Eleanor? Seelye? While I apply myself to making a suitable appearance tonight.”
He held their gazes. Seelye’s dropped immediately into a respectful bow. Eleanor’s took a moment longer, but in the end she, too, gave him a serene smile. “It should be my pleasure, cousin.”
Hours later, he realized that he had sold his day too cheaply. Just the visit to the tailor had been a nightmare. Never had he thought to be a living doll, dressed, poked, and pulled like a rag figure caught between two little girls. Except, instead of two girls, it was more like six obsequious men with a strange desire to touch him in places that would result in keel hauling if it were done on a ship.
When he’d finally escaped, it was to the dance master’s, where he wasn’t touched in those intimate ways. He was flicked. A heel not turned out? The man snapped his middle finger against his calf. Turned in the wrong direction? A backhanded slap to the arm. And once, he’d cursed in irritation, and the bugger had flicked him on the lips.
In truth, he spent the dance session one touch from flattening the curly-wigged fop and storming out. But Eleanor was with him, acting as his partner as she serenely guided him left or right, up or down. Damnation, how did one remember all these blasted turns? His sister and his mother were at a dress shop—not Wendy’s, he’d noted with irritation—ordering their gowns. So that left Eleanor to keep him from slugging the prancing dance master.
Once that was done, he went directly to a cobbler, then back to the tailor for a second fitting. By the time he escaped, he was elated to realize they could at last head home. He looked at the mound of packages in the carriage and winced at the amount of coin they’d just spent. Adding in his new wardrobe, the funds the steward needed him to spend at the ducal seat, and the proposal Mr. Knopp had laid at his door—he wasn’t sure he could cover it all. But he shoved that thought aside as he dreamed of heading into his library.
Within a moment of arriving at home, he realized his doom. Waiting in the hallway were three tradesmen, all smiling warmly, before dropping into deep bows. They were introduced as (1) the man to cut his hair, (2) the man to instruct him and his valet on appropriate cravat styles, and (3) the man who would explain how to act when in the company of men.
He didn’t bother arguing that he had spent most of his adult life in the company of men. Obviously, sailors behaved differently than the elite of the ton. Perhaps ballroom conversation was more refined. He wasn’t sure, and so he resigned himself to instructions and no reading.
He stopped long enough to address his question to Seelye. “Was the invitation delivered to Miss Drew?”
“Yes, your grace, though I don’t believe she was at home.”
Radley frowned. “Do we know her address?” She was gone from her last home, and she hadn’t told him of her new location.
“I don’t believe so, your grace. I sent a footman to her place of business. That was also the address we passed on to Lord and Lady Tindelar. However, she did stop here. I took the liberty of expressing your desire for her company then.”
“Wendy was here? When? What did she want?”
Seelye’s eyes flickered with emotion Radley didn’t understand. “She was most interested in speaking with you,” he said in his very even, very annoying butler tone. “I informed her of your absence, and she was most distraught.”
“Good lord,” he said, grabbing his hat again. “Why didn’t you ask her to stay?” And where the hell could he find her?
“I did, your grace,” the man said with only the slightest note of reproof in his tone. “She refused, saying that she would find you at the tailor’s.”
Bloody hell. “I haven’t seen her all day.” Had she truly been wandering all over London in search of him? What could have caused—“She did leave you a note.”
And the man hadn’t seen fit to mention it the moment he’d entered the house? Apparently not. He waited impatiently as the butler walked to a nearby table and lifted a silver tray. There were nearly two-dozen cards resting there, and Radley snatched them up, rifling quickly through, until he found her message.
It was a simple note: a piece of his own paper, apparently, as he noted the ducal crest on the top, folded in half. Inside, her hand was neat and clear.
Your life is in danger. I’m so sorry. Please take precautions. I will explain as soon as I see you.
Wendy Drew
He stared at it, reading it a dozen times. Whatever did she mean? It made no sense whatsoever. He looked to Seelye.
“She said nothing else? Left no other explanation?”
“No, your grace. Only that I was to see you received it immediately.”
Well, he supposed within two minutes of entering the house constituted immediate. Still, the woman was clearly distraught. Though his mother might be prone to dramatic statements like, “your life is in danger,” he didn’t think Wendy was such a woman.
“She said nothing more?”
“No, your grace.”
“Only that she intended to find me at the tailor’s.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“I should go to the dress shop and make sure she’s all right.” He spoke more to himself than to Seelye, but the butler responded nevertheless.
“My apologies, your grace, but the footman just returned from the dress shop. She is not t
here.”
Not there, but where? He grimaced. Probably at the tailor’s waiting for him. But he’d already moved on. Bloody hell, what a mess. How did he find her?
“If it please you, your grace, I can have the footman return to the dress shop. She’s sure to return eventually.”
He nodded. “Send two. Have them find out where her home is, and make the other go there.”
“Of course, your grace. And what should the footmen say when they locate her?”
“They are to escort her to me with all speed.”
Seelye didn’t respond, except to bow. Radley took a moment to stare out the door. He still had his hat in hand and was poised to rush out. But where would he go? Her shop, of course, but Seelye had just said she wasn’t there. Much as he hated it, he knew it was more likely that she would come back here once she discovered she’d missed him at the tailor’s. Rushing out now would only mean that he’d miss her again.
With a muttered curse of disgust, he handed his hat back to Seelye. The footmen would bring her back here. The wise thing was to sit and wait.
“Bring her straight to me, Seelye. No delay.”
“Of course not, your grace.”
Radley turned to head for the sideboard. He wanted a drink after a day of fashion and dancing. Bloody, ridiculous nonsense. He’d gone no more than a step when Seelye’s level tone stopped him.
“It if please your grace, Mr. Milton could join you now in your room. He could cut your hair while Thomas prepares your bath.”
He stopped, his mind split between Wendy and wondering what he’d do until he found her again. There was little room in his brain for Mr. Milton, his valet, or hairstyles, but he supposed that would pass the time as well as anything. Not as well as a stiff brandy, but it would suffice.
He grimaced. “The moment she arrives, Seelye.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Then very well. Come on, Mr. Milton. I believe my room is this way.”
The man jumped up, managing somehow to bow and walk at the same time. “Excellent, your grace! I’m sure that’s a wonderful idea! I have been thinking, you know, you have a delightful head of hair! What do you say to a Brutus cut? It’s all the rage!”
Good God, the man was a rabbit who spoke only in exclamation points. “Shave it bald, Mr. Milton.”
“What?” he squeaked.
“All off. Not a hair left. Naked as—” He swallowed his next words as not very ducal.
“But! But! But—”
Radley grinned, though he made sure his back was turned. It wasn’t nice to take out his temper on the hapless rabbit that cut hair. “Never mind, Mr. Milton. Pick a style, use your scissors, but remember this—” He turned and glared at the man. “If you ask me one question about what you’re about to do, I shall grab a razor and shave myself bald.”
The rabbit blinked. “Your grace is joking?” he whispered.
“No.”
The man dipped into another bow, temporarily hiding his horrified gaze. “Yes, your grace.”
“Glad we understand each other.” Then he tromped past his library and headed up the stairs.
What the bloody hell did she mean by “your life is in danger”?
***
Wendy sat and stared at the walls of her old home. No one had rented the rooms. She understood that now. Damon had arranged for her to be tossed out, so that she would be forced to turn to him for lodging.
She knew that without experiencing any niggling of doubt. She could process that as she sat inside her empty home and stared at the pocked and dirty walls.
He had instigated the theft of Penny’s home, he had incited a madman to attack Irene, and he had done it all as a way to isolate Wendy. The thought was depraved, and yet it made perfect sense. Damon had systematically tried to destroy everything that allowed Wendy to function outside of his circle. Destroy the dress shop, and Wendy would have no choice but to deal vingt-et-un to survive. Isolate her from her friends, and she would have no one to help her but Damon. Threaten her brother, and Wendy would kiss him in public, even allow Damon to bend her backward over a railing, so that he would not break Bernard’s legs as an example to others.
And now, he would kill Radley.
She touched the earrings. Blood had crusted over them, and she winced at the feel as she tugged them free. But before she pulled them out of her ears, she stopped herself. It was bad enough that Radley was at risk. She would not add to the problem by threatening her brothers as well.
It was a ridiculous thought. No one knew she was here, and Damon certainly couldn’t have spies watching her in a dark and empty room. And yet, she let her hand fall away, her spirits depressed as never before.
She had been a fool to think she could handle Demon Damon alone. She who had built a successful business, who had solved problems since she was able to talk, had arrogantly assumed she could handle anything, including a demon. And now, he was going to kill the man she loved.
She swiped her face, hating the tears that wet her hands. What a useless creature she was. When had she become so stupid as to fall in love? And not just in love—that was disastrous enough—but in love with Radley? He was a duke. She was a seamstress. He was proper, she a thief. He kept telling her how good she was, and now she would have to tell him everything.
Everything.
She felt her earrings again, wincing at the pain. And she cried.
Seventeen
Radley was bringing his cousin lemonade at the ball when Wendy was announced. He’d been insane with worry, building steadily to a towering rage, when hour after hour passed with no word. In the end, he’d managed to keep himself from killing his family and staff. In truth, the entire day had been an exercise in restraint. Stand still and be fitted, sit quietly and have his hair cut, wait patiently for a response from his footmen. Nod when his mother showed him her dress and hold the right fork, when all he wanted was to tear apart the city in search of Wendy. He’d have drunk himself through half his brandy, but he wanted to be clear-headed in case she needed him.
He tried to remember that he was a sailor, and all sailors knew that sometimes, the wind blew ill. All he could do was wait it out, watching for the moment to make his move. That moment came barely into the first set at Miss Diane Beckam’s coming out ball.
Wendy was announced.
He whipped his head up, nearly dropping the delicate teacup all over Eleanor. Only her quick reflexes saved her from disaster, and he didn’t have the courtesy to care. He abandoned his cousin without a word and headed straight to where Wendy stood waiting to greet her host and hostess.
She was dressed simply, the gown made of light blue cotton rather than stunning silk. She looked like the bright blue sky, fair wind after a storm. The thought was fanciful, but then again, it was always that way with her. She was a goddess of the air, and he would always be blown back to her.
So he crossed to her side, or at least, he tried to. He had underestimated how much every soul wished to speak with him, to touch him, to draw his attention to them. He could scarce take two steps before a half-dozen people found an excuse to talk to him. It was maddening. Shoals everywhere, and no way to tack around some of them.
In the end, he resorted to rudeness, roughly pushing away, or simply refusing to stop, no matter what the obstacle. It took no more than ten minutes to get to Wendy, but he’d felt every second like the snap of an untethered rope in a high wind.
And then he caught her. A touch on her elbow, and she settled by his side. He exhaled in relief and saw an echoing release on her face. He also saw that she had been crying, that her earlobes were bleeding beneath emerald bobs, and that her stiffened shoulders meant she was resolved to do a task. Resolved, determined, and terrified.
He saw it all in that one moment when he locked her into his side. He remembered belatedly to greet her properly. He had to remember there were people watching his every move, and now, hers by extension. Who was she to him? they whispered.
&nb
sp; He bowed deeply, kissing her hand in greeting, as if she were a queen. He watched her skin flush a dull pink before fading back to gray. Like the brief fullness of a sail before the wind stalled again.
“Wendy, what is it?”
Four words, and then he saw something he’d never thought to see. She was lost. He saw tears in her eyes, chaos in her emotions, and a complete lack of coordination. Her hand went to her face, her foot stepped to the side, and her gaze remained on him. And he, fool that he was, just stood there and gaped.
Until a woman jostled him from behind. Good lord, did they not have any other tricks? He had never thought that the words “falling all over him” were literal.
The woman gasped a false apology as she managed to press her thigh against him while flashing her bosom. He gave her no more attention than he would a passing shark. She was of no danger so long as he did not swim in her waters. So while she tried to entice him with her charms, he placed Wendy’s hand on his arm and steered her onto the dance floor.
It was a waltz, and he vaguely remembered that such a dance signified something important. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. He had her in his arms, and no one would disturb them as he whirled her about the room.
“I can’t dance,” she whispered. “I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do. Just relax, and let me steer.” Then he smiled. “Three beats—one two three, one two three, one two three.”
They began to dance. She was resistant at first, her steps halting, but in this he was the master. And she needed the support. So he sailed them in and around the couples in the room, and he never dropped his gaze from hers.
“I spent the day looking for you,” he said. “I sent out footmen and messages…”
“I know. I missed you at the tailor’s and the cobbler’s.”
“I was with a rabbit of a dance master. And he was nothing compared to the idiot who instructed me on how to talk to men.”
She frowned. “You don’t know how to talk to men?”