Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  Private rooms to be alone in.

  Private rooms perfect for a liaison.

  Ari’s stomach lurched with a sickening twist. Blessedly, the interminable waltz ended.

  “How about that turn on the terrace, Lady Ariana?” Dalton eased back into her personal space.

  “No, my lord. I am feeling a bit faint. Please take me back to my aunt.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, then glanced around as though searching for someone. Jared, perhaps? Or Lady Wilder? There had been rumors in Dolan about Lucilla and Dalton for months. The baron finally acquiesced to her wishes.

  “Lord Dalton, how delightful to see you again,” Aunt Felicity said when they reached her side.

  The baron bowed over her hand, and Felicity winced at her first view of his yellow-toothed grin. That silenced any further pleasantries from the viscountess, and Dalton disappeared into the crowd, his steps aimed in the direction of the buffet.

  Jared and Lucilla had not reappeared, and Ari’s temper simmered with each passing moment. She had two choices as she saw the situation. She could go find the pair and discover for herself what Jared was up to—interrogation or flirtation. Or she could forever wonder. The second choice was not really a choice.

  “Aunt Felicity, I need to go to the retiring room.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am fine.”

  “Lord Dalton said you told him you were feeling faint.”

  “Yes, well, it was that or a stroll on the terrace with him.” Ari didn’t want to lie to her aunt any more than she had to.

  “And you didn’t want a stroll.”

  A statement, not a question.

  Felicity frowned. “Albert wrote me that Lord Dalton is one of your suitors.”

  “He is one of Papa’s chosen suitors, not mine.”

  Her aunt let go a long, resigned sigh. “Albert is pressing you, is he?”

  Ari nodded.

  “I had hoped he would not, like our father did to me.”

  “Grandfather pushed you into marriage?” Ari asked, incredulous. “I thought…I mean…You loved Uncle Andrew.”

  “Eventually. Andrew was a good man. He and my father decided one day that I should wed Andrew, and so I did.” She took Ari’s hand in hers. “But I wanted you to have a choice, and I told Albert so. I thought he had agreed.”

  Ari shrugged.

  “But if Lord Dalton is one of his choices, Albert and I will have words over this again.”

  Ari grinned. “Thank you, Aunt Felicity.”

  “It is Reston, is it not? The one who has stolen your heart?”

  “He has changed, Aunt Felicity. He is not the same man he was before he left for the continent.”

  At least, I hope he has. And I need to find out. Right now.

  “Aunt, I need to go to the retiring room. I will be back directly.”

  Felicity’s gaze locked on Ari’s for a long moment. “Do be careful, my dear.”

  Once Ari had eased far enough into the crowd to be out of her aunt’s sight, she changed course and slipped along the outer wall to the door behind which Jared and Lucilla had disappeared.

  Once at the door, she waited until nearby guests and footmen were distracted before entering the corridor beyond. It would not do for an unchaperoned young lady to be caught walking the private areas of the manse while the ball was in full sway.

  The first three doors were locked. At the fourth door, Ari reached for the knob and heard voices beyond. One masculine, one feminine, both raised slightly. In argument.

  She held her breath. What if she walked in on strangers or party guests in a tryst? That would almost be as bad as being caught unchaperoned.

  The male voice sounded again. Muffled, though now familiar…Jared.

  Ari eased the door open and heard Lucilla’s voice, “Jared, my darling…”

  The remaining words were lost to Ari. Of no moment against the sight that met her eyes—Lucilla and Jared in each other’s arms, Lucilla murmuring love words against his chest.

  The room swayed around Ari, and her heart banged erratically in her chest. Stumbling backward, she raced into the darkened corridor in the opposite direction of the ballroom. She could not allow anyone to witness the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  At the far end of the long hallway, a door stood ajar. She pulled it wide. A linen closet and all the privacy she was likely to find. Closing the door behind her, she sank to the floor and covered her mouth as the sobs erupted unbidden and unavoidable.

  Jared had betrayed her again. And with the same woman, the one woman Ariana hated. A sob almost choked her as she remembered telling him the story of his first betrayal at the Barwood ball when Ari had mistakenly believed he had cared for her. Jared had insisted he was not the same man, that he would never, ever willingly hurt her. Apparently, he was exactly the same man.

  Even after she had shared her story of his betrayal with Lucilla at the Barwood ball, he had still gone back to the woman. He had no doubt had another good laugh with the hussy over the stupid little hoyden’s renewed crush on him. Only now it was no crush. She had fallen head over heels in love with him. Even knowing when his memory returned he could go back to his old ways, she still loved him—for too often in recent days, she had seen the good in him. She had risked her heart, known he could tear it to shreds this time, and yet, if given the chance, she would do it all again in the hope of a different outcome.

  Ari huddled in the dark on the linen closet floor until the wracking sobs ebbed and her tears dried. She could not return to the ballroom with a reddened nose and eyes. She would have to find another way out of the manse, then sneak to her aunt’s carriage and ask Felicity’s coachman Ernest to ferry her home and return later for his mistress. When he returned, he could send word inside to her aunt of Ari’s departure.

  She eased the closet door open and searched the outer hall. She could have wept all over again with relief to find the hall deserted, except she had no more tears. Ari crept to the end of the corridor and found a door opening to a stairwell. The hall made a ninety-degree turn and several long narrow windows allowed enough moonlight to light her path since the wall sconces on this hall had been extinguished, probably to discourage wandering guests.

  This hall was far shorter than the corridor to the ballroom. Two more doors, one to a storage room and another to a small sitting room. The last door was the charm. A blast of cool air swept across her cheeks as she opened this door and found herself at the back garden entrance. Beyond lay the mews and her escape.

  She stepped quickly onto the crushed rock path, her dancing slippers making very little sound. Small yew trees separated by expanses of boxwood shrubs lined both sides of the path and provided her much-needed cover. The path turned to the left at a gazebo up ahead, and she prayed no trysting couple had made use of the structure for a midnight liaison.

  The nicker of horses echoed through the darkened garden. The mews had to be close by. Ari hastened toward the gazebo, careful to make no sound. Slowing at the open-walled structure, she crept past and kept her gaze glued to the shadows within, hoping no one would appear.

  All remained quiet. She breathed a huge sigh of relief once she had passed the gazebo and refocused on the path, ready to sprint for the mews if necessary. Without warning, strong arms yanked her off her feet, and two bulky figures, dressed all in black, pulled her into the adjacent Photinia bushes amid the acrid stench of their unwashed bodies. A huge hand, smelling of horse and leather and dirt, covered her mouth to silence her scream.

  The highwaymen?

  Ari could not get her feet under her and stumbled over roots and debris in the garden. Her captors paid no heed and dragged her along between them. The whicker of horses grew louder. Scrambling free of the tangle of shrubs, the men hauled Ariana into a clearing where a carriage waited. One glance about showed she was not in the mews, but in a passage—the cobblestone drive between the public square out front and the mews in the rear—near a side entran
ce to the manse’s garden, probably used by the gardeners.

  One of her captors tied a kerchief over her mouth to gag her. Still pinned between her oversized assailants, she had no escape. A smallish figure moved through the shadows—the outline of a woman in a ball gown.

  Ari screamed at the woman through her gag. “Run!”

  The captor on her right yanked Ari’s arm hard enough to pull it from its socket, and the woman’s soft laugh sounded from the shadows.

  “What do we have here?” the woman chortled and moved into the clearing right as clouds freed the moon overhead and sent a shaft of light to illuminate their position.

  Lucilla Tartley?

  “I can see by your eyes, you are surprised,” she sneered at Ari, then turned to the men. “Where did you find her?”

  “Thees was as easy as plucking a truffle off Roulet’s buffet,” her arm-yanking captor responded in a heavy French accent. “We did not have to wait and follow her. She came to us. Fell right eento our arms.”

  Ari glared at her plus-sized footpads.

  “More fool you,” Lucilla told her, then ordered the henchmen, “Bind her hands and toss her into the carriage. Do not forget a blindfold. Better she doesn’t see where we are taking her.”

  Lucilla’s smug smile was the last thing Ari glimpsed before the filthy kerchief covered her eyes.

  ****

  Jared made two circuits of the ballroom, then hustled to the balcony for an overhead view, yet caught no sign of Ariana. He had to find her. He could not let her think he had betrayed her again.

  Dexter caught up to him on the terrace as Jared surveyed the near reaches of the back garden. “You’re looking a bit wild-eyed,” the earl said. “Serves you right if you were playing dear Lucilla like a harp in a back room.”

  “Sod off,” Jared growled, without ceasing his visual search.

  “Then what were you doing with the widow of little means?”

  “Interrogating her.”

  Dexter sobered in a heartbeat. “And what did you uncover? Is she part of this plot? What did she know of Roulet?”

  “Her lips said she knew nothing, but her eyes told a different story altogether. I take it you couldn’t locate her either.”

  “No,” Dexter admitted. “I searched the entire mansion and even the back reaches of the garden.” When Jared spun around, he added, “And I saw no sign of Lady Ariana anywhere in the garden either.”

  “Bollocks!” Jared ran both hands through his no longer coiffed hair.

  “What about her aunt? Ariana came here tonight with Lady Morton.”

  Jared made a beeline for the ballroom doors before Dexter had finished. He found Lady Morton ensconced with her dusty dowagers on the palm-lined wall with a good view of the dance floor.

  “Good evening, Lady Morton,” Jared said and sketched a quick bow, then air-kissed her extended hand with equal speed.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said stiffly. “You seem a bit nonplussed tonight.”

  “I am—” He glanced at the biddies to her right, all of whom were blatantly leaning forward to hear whatever he was about to say.

  He extended an arm. “May we stroll a bit, madam?”

  She stiffened.

  “Please. I need to speak with you.”

  The dowager viscountess studied his eyes, then rose and took his arm as Dexter reached them.

  “Goodness,” she said, “you two look as though the hounds of hell are after you.”

  “Where is Ari—” Jared cut in. “Er, Lady Ariana?”

  “My niece?”

  “We cannot find her. We have searched everywhere.”

  Dexter nodded.

  “Have you seen her?” Jared pressed.

  “She left to go to the retiring room quite a while ago,” Lady Morton said slowly.

  Dexter shook his head at Jared. “I sent in a friend to look.”

  “And she has not come back?” Jared felt the first vestiges of all-out panic.

  “Actually…” Lady Morton raised an imperious brow. “I had feared she may be with you.”

  “With me?”

  “She saw you leave the ballroom with Lady Wilder, and I suspected when she said she was going to the retiring room that she had gone after you instead.”

  Jared felt like a chastised schoolboy beneath the aunt’s hard stare.

  “I didn’t like the idea, but I trust my niece. So I let her go.”

  “She found me, but she ran off before I could stop her,” Jared said morosely. “She was upset.”

  “Dear Lord, what were the two of you—Oh, never mind. I don’t wish to know.”

  “We were only talking. I swear,” Jared ground out.

  “So, why are the two of you chasing—” She frowned. “Does this have something to do with that wild ride her father mistakenly allowed her to take across country with you two libertines?” she whispered harshly, not caring that she addressed a duke and an earl.

  “Possibly,” Jared allowed. “I ordered Lady Ariana to stay at home—out of sight—and of course, she ignored me.”

  “Why would you order my niece to stay out of sight?”

  Jared had no choice. He had to confide in this woman. “Lady Ariana can identify an assassin who has been sent to kill me.”

  Lady Morton’s hand went to her throat. She visibly paled.

  “And now we cannot find her.”

  “We have searched the entire premises,” Dexter added grimly.

  “If you cannot find her, then I am sure my coachman must have taken Ariana home and intends to come back later for me.” She glared at Jared. “If Ari was upset, she would have done just that.”

  Jared wanted to be relieved at the possibility because that meant Ari was safe, but the back of his neck continued to prickle as it had throughout his search for her. He would not rest until he had laid eyes on Ari himself. He had never experienced quite this level of panic before.

  “With your permission, madam, Lord Dexter or I could go by your house to check and see if she is there. Be sure she is all right.”

  “I believe I will do that myself,” the viscountess announced. “I no longer feel like staying at the ball.”

  “Allow us to accompany you home, my lady,” Jared beseeched her. “Please?”

  “Oh, all right. But if Ariana does not wish to see you when we get there, you cannot stay. You shan’t get near her.”

  “Like this afternoon?”

  Lady Morton had the grace to look chagrined. “Er, no, that was me. I didn’t allow Conrad to let you in or to take a message.”

  “I see.” Jared did. The woman thought him a rakehell, thanks to that blasted Seven.

  Her expression softened a mite. “I can see how worried you both are. I will endeavor to make Ariana see you both when we arrive, so you can be assured of her well-being.”

  “Thank you,” Jared said, his voice hoarse with relief.

  “Just let me leave word for Ariana with our host that I will send my carriage back on the off chance she is still here.”

  The trio extended their goodbyes and a reminder about the coach to the Marsdens, then headed toward the front door. The Marsden butler waylaid them and handed Jared a note with an unmarked wax seal.

  “This was brought to the servants’ entrance by a street urchin,” the butler intoned with obvious disdain, “who said it must be given to the Duke of Reston.”

  Jared snatched the note, and Dexter asked the butler, “Is the urchin still belowstairs?”

  The butler sniffed imperiously, “Of course not, my lord. The little wretch dashed off the minute he delivered the note.”

  Dexter turned back. “You’re white as a ghost, Reston. What the devil is it?”

  “They’ve got Ari.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Stop pacing, Reston. You’re wearing a track in Lady Morton’s Axminster rug.”

  “Sod off, Dexter.” A heartbeat later, Jared froze. “My apologies, Lady Morton, for offending you. I­­—�
��

  She waved him off. “It’s all right, Your Grace. Obviously, you are worried about my niece.”

  “Still, it is no excuse. Forgive me.”

  “Of course.”

  He resumed pacing. If he stopped, he would go mad. Every time he stopped, he thought of those hellions’ hands on Ariana, and he wanted to beat them all to a damned pulp. Once he rescued Ari, Dawson was a dead man. He rather liked a duke’s ability in this century to wale on his fellow man and get away with it.

  Dear God, where was she? Was she outside in the weather or under shelter somewhere?

  He dragged both hands through his rumpled hair and locked them behind his head. Was his beauty bound? Gagged? The sting of fury tore at his gut.

  When they had entered the foyer of Lady Morton’s townhouse, an eerie bloodcurdling howl echoed from an upper story.

  “What the devil was that?” Dexter exclaimed.

  Lady Morton’s unrufflable butler, Conrad, merely rolled his eyes. “That is Lady Ariana’s…mutt, my lord. He has been howling just so since she locked him in her bedchamber before leaving for Lady Marsden’s ball.”

  Another neck-prickling howl resounded.

  “Well, go let him out,” Jared ordered.

  Conrad looked to Lady Morton.

  “That dog has been a nuisance since the moment he arrived. I cannot believe I allowed Ariana to bring that animal in my house.” She sighed and nodded her head. Conrad sent a footman up the stairs.

  Before the group could settle into the old viscount’s library, Harry bounded into the room chased by a frustrated footman. Lady Morton yelped and ducked behind Dexter, but the giant hound had eyes only for Jared. After ensuring his master was fine, he tore off through the house.

  “Where is he off to?” Dexter wanted to know.

  “No doubt searching for Ari,” Jared said.

  All eyes shot to him. “Lady Ariana,” he corrected.

  The three had hunkered down in the library to wait for word from the kidnappers while the wolfhound made his unsuccessful search.

  The ransom note had been short.

  We have Lady Ariana.