I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  “Shall I bring you some lemonade or champagne?” Beth glanced at the refreshment table and happened to notice Lord Newton and his wife, dressed as a monk and nun, slipping out of the ballroom and into the tea room, which the footmen were using as a staging area for the drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  Odd, that. There was no reason for guests to wander in there … unless they wanted access to the food and drink before it was served. Good heavens.

  “No, my dear,” the duchess said. “I’m perfectly content watching your older sister dance with her earl.” She sighed in a manner that suggested she’d be more content if Beth were dancing with a gentleman. Raising her chin, the dowager looked down her nose at Beth. “What on earth has become of your costume?”

  Drat. She’d discarded her cape in the hallway. Fanning herself dramatically, she said, “You are correct—it’s far too warm. I left the cloak in my bedchamber.”

  “You look rather pale, Elizabeth. Are you feeling quite well?”

  “Yes, of course.” Beth kept an eye on the doorway to the tea room, waiting for Lord and Lady Newton to realize they’d wandered into an area meant for the staff and emerge red-faced.

  But they did not.

  “If you’re certain you don’t require anything,” Beth said, “I believe I’ll help myself to a glass of champagne.”

  “Yes, please do. It will fortify you. And it would please me greatly if the next time I see you, a dashing gentleman is twirling you around the dance floor.”

  “Thank you. Excuse me.” Beth dashed off as quickly as she could without appearing impolite. She needed to instruct the staff to watch over the food and make sure that no one was permitted to add anything to the glasses or food trays.

  Halfway to her destination, a hand circled her upper arm, pinching her skin. She gasped and turned to see a peasant woman dressed in a low-cut blouse and short skirt. “Lady Haversham?”

  “Indeed, Miss Lacey,” she said smoothly, dropping her hand. “Forgive me for detaining you.”

  Rubbing her arm, Beth said, “It’s quite all right. How may I help you?”

  The woman adjusted her blouse, displaying her impressive cleavage to its greatest advantage. “I happened to notice that you and the Duke of Blackshire shared a rather … meaningful look earlier tonight.”

  Blast, had they been so obvious? Mr. Coulsen certainly seemed to have noticed. Heat crept up her neck, but she tossed her head defiantly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lady Haversham chuckled, but her eyes were cold and hard. “You needn’t be embarrassed. A look is hardly clear and damning evidence of impropriety.”

  The hairs on Beth’s arms stood on end. “Is there a specific reason that you stopped me?”

  “Yes, of course.” Lady Haversham pursed her lips, suddenly looking every inch a marchioness, in spite of her hoydenish attire. “I wished to warn you about the duke. You are no doubt aware of his reputation, and I urge you—do not be taken in by his handsome face and charming smile. Many a woman has tried to tame him, and none has succeeded. Don’t allow pride to persuade you that you shall be the first.”

  The woman’s words cut Beth to the quick. Perhaps she was proud. But mostly she was … in love.

  “I am certain your advice is well-intentioned,” she said coolly, “but let me assure you that your concern is unwarranted.”

  Lady Haversham sniffed. “I only wished to spare you unnecessary heartache. The man truly is an insatiable scoundrel. Why, only moments ago, I overheard the duke entreating a shepherdess to meet him in his study at midnight.”

  Beth gulped. Alex wouldn’t do that. He might have neglected to tell her he’d coined the cruel Wilting Wallflower name, but he wouldn’t be so callous as to seduce a woman right under her nose.

  Not when she was leaving London the very next day.

  Beth blinked away the tears that threatened. “I’m afraid I must go now.”

  Lady Haversham pressed her thin lips together, her glassy eyes troubled. “I understand, dear—better than you know. Godspeed.”

  Beth frowned as she left the marchioness. Her husband was one of the men suspected of trying to kill Alex. But why, in heaven’s name, had the woman felt the need to issue a warning and reveal Alex’s plans for an assignation?

  Beth wasn’t inclined to believe her, but then, where Alex was concerned, her judgment had proven fallible. Still, she had no time to dissect Lady Haversham’s words.

  For Lord and Lady Newton could be poisoning the guests at that very moment. She headed in the direction of the tea room, praying she was not too late.

  * * *

  Alex reached for the black scarf draped over the back staircase’s railing, stuffed it in his pocket, and raced down the stairs. At the bottom, he peered into the butler’s room and the dining room—and found both eerily dark and empty.

  As he turned to check the kitchen, someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.

  Alex spun around and hauled his fist back, itching to hit someone.

  Darby held up his palms. “Jesus, what are you trying to do?” he said in a loud whisper.

  Unclenching his fist, Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

  “I was trying to avoid alerting our suspect.” He inclined his head toward the door to the pantry. “Newton’s in there.”

  “By himself?”

  “No. His wife’s with him. And if their moans are any indication, I’d say she’s forgiven him for slighting his mother-in-law.”

  Alex dragged a hand down his face. “Let’s leave them.”

  Darby’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “You’re ready to abandon the plan, then?”

  “They seem far too preoccupied with each other to be plotting anything nefarious.” Alex started walking toward the staircase, with Darby on his heels. “Haversham was similarly engaged on the verandah.”

  Darby snorted. “With Lady Haversham?”

  Shaking his head, Alex said, “The gypsy. When I left them, they were horizontal behind the hedges. And he’s still too drunk to present a danger to anyone but himself.”

  “Either one of our suspects could still be the culprit. Maybe they’ve guessed they’re under surveillance.” As he and Alex emerged from the back stairs into the ballroom, Darby waved an arm at the barely contained mayhem. “Or they’ve calculated that in a crowd this size, the risk of discovery is too great to attempt murder.”

  “That’s true.” But Alex’s gut told him neither Newton nor Haversham presented a genuine threat. He and Darby were on the wrong track. “I’ve been considering what you said about Coulsen—about him having the most to gain from my death.”

  “I had no idea that you actually listened to a word I said.”

  “Occasionally. I’ve been watching him tonight too.” It was hard to ignore the lovesick expression on the knight’s face when he looked at Beth.

  And Alex hadn’t seen her in some time. His stomach clenched. It would be just like her to ignore his request for her to stay in the ballroom and, instead, try to take matters into her own hands.

  Cursing under his breath, he said to Darby. “Stay alert, but try to enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m going to return to the mezzanine where I can watch Coulsen’s movements.” And look for Beth.

  “Suit yourself,” Darby said with a shrug. As though another thought suddenly occurred to him, he frowned. “Speaking of Coulsen, he asked me an odd question earlier.”

  Alex tensed. “What question?”

  “He wanted to know if it was true that you’d originally labeled the Lacey sisters the Wilting Wallflowers.”

  Shit. “And I presume that you told him to mind his own goddamn business?”

  “Er … in hindsight, I guess I should have.” Darby scratched his head guiltily. “But you seemed to hold him in high regard, so I told him the truth. That you had, and that you weren’t proud of it.”

  Alex dropped his forehead into his hand. “Christ.”

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry. If you’d like, I can hunt him down and threaten him within an inch of his life, should he tell anyone.”

  Sighing, Alex shook his head. “No. This isn’t your fault or Coulsen’s. I only have myself to blame, and it will be up to me to undo the damage. If it even can be undone.”

  “Good luck. For what it’s worth, I think your wallfl—that is, Miss Lacey—is worth it,” Darby said, deviously weaving his way into the crowd before Alex could throttle him.

  More determined than ever to find her, Alex headed for the mezzanine stairs, located on the opposite side of the room.

  But he was intercepted halfway there by a trident-wielding Poseidon. “Pardon, your grace,” he said. “I was asked to deliver a message to you.” He reached behind his beard into his shirt and withdrew a small folded note.

  Alex snatched it from his hand and read it:

  Meet me in the study at midnight.–B

  Poseidon had already started a conversation with an Egyptian queen, but Alex yanked him aside, waving the note. “Who gave you this?”

  “I don’t know.” He tilted his head and adjusted his crown, thoughtful. “But she wore a red cape,” he said, brightening. “She was dressed in scarlet—like Red Riding Hood.”

  “Thank you.” Alex spun the ocean god toward his Cleopatra, shoved the message in his pocket, and checked his watch.

  In ten minutes, he’d meet Beth.

  And beg forgiveness.

  Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

  Beth stepped into the tea room and pulled the butler aside. “Mr. Sharp, have you noticed any guests wandering in this area?”

  The butler’s wizened face creased. “None to speak of, Miss Lacey. But I haven’t been here the whole time. Are you looking for someone?”

  “No. I only wanted to relay a message from the dowager duchess. She requests that you keep guests from lingering here where the drink and food are being prepared.”

  Mr. Sharp pulled himself up taller. “Certainly, miss.”

  “Thank you.” She started to return to the ballroom, then turned back to face the butler. “Could you tell me the time?”

  He consulted his watch and raised bushy black brows. “Five minutes until midnight.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Almost the witching hour.”

  “Indeed,” she said, smiling in spite of the ache in her chest. When the clock struck, the few guests who’d managed to keep their identities secret would pull off their masks, and the revelry would continue into the wee hours of the morning.

  But Beth felt none of their anticipation, shared none of their exuberance.

  She should make her way back to her sisters and spend the rest of the evening with them, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to do something impulsive, reckless, and utterly self-destructive.

  If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she absolutely should not give credence to Lady Haversham’s ramblings.

  But as she weaved her way through the crowd in the ballroom moments later, she couldn’t help but look for a shepherdess—and wonder if the supposed assignation between her and Alex was related to the attempts on Alex’s life. Maybe Alex needed Beth.

  Before she knew it, her traitorous feet were carrying her to the study.

  Oh, she was no doubt torturing herself, but if she found the room empty, she would know that Lady Haversham had been mistaken. And if she was right, and Beth witnessed Alex’s duplicity with her own eyes, perhaps her heart would realize the futility of loving him.

  Her fingertips tingled as she slipped out of the ballroom. Listening for footsteps, she tiptoed down the corridor. No one was in front of her or behind her as she glided down the grand staircase.

  The ground floor was eerily silent, but then, she wouldn’t expect a couple slipping away for a tryst to mark their arrival with trumpets. And she was still a few minutes early.

  Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she paused outside the closed door of the study.

  No voices came from within, and she stood there for several seconds, unsure what to do. The prudent course of action would be to return to the ballroom. But she couldn’t turn back now. She had to see this through to its potentially awful, gut-wrenching end.

  Swallowing her fear, she took a deep breath, turned the knob, and ventured into the dark room.

  “Alex?”

  No response.

  She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then moved toward his desk, careful to avoid the ladders and jars of paint in her way. She’d hide behind one of the large armchairs and wait for—

  Thud.

  Glass shattered.

  Pain split her head.

  Her chest slammed into the floor.

  A moan—hers—echoed in her ears.

  Liquid soaked her bodice; the smell of brandy filled her nostrils.

  Behind her, someone tore through the room, throwing wood, wallpaper, and God knew what else in her direction.

  A momentary silence was followed by the ominous scratch of flint on metal. Oh, God. Beth forced her eyes open and saw the spark ignite the paper. A small flame leaped to life, revealing a woman wearing a red cape. Her cape.

  The woman dashed to the door and swiftly closed it behind her, leaving Beth sprawled on the floor behind the desk.

  She tried to move, but her limbs refused to obey.

  She tried to call out, but the words came out as a whisper.

  Help me, Alex.

  Don’t let this be the end.

  I love you.

  Across the room, the door lock clicked, and a chill skittered the length of her spine.

  Smoke burned her eyes.

  And blackness descended.

  * * *

  Just before midnight, Alex surveyed the ballroom.

  Beth’s sisters chatted with each other animatedly. His grandmother conversed with an innocent-looking fortuneteller. Lord Haversham and the gypsy had returned from the verandah and taken to the dance floor—each with a different partner. Alex shrugged—to each his own, he supposed.

  Newton stood by himself near the potted ferns, brooding.

  But all seemed to be well, and Alex could count on Darby to watch over the ballroom while he met with Beth.

  Eager to see her and loath to keep her waiting, he walked to the door leading to the back staircase. Though less direct, the route would help him avoid most of the guests and slip out, sight unseen.

  Or so he thought.

  Just a few paces away from the exit, Newton suddenly stepped in front of Alex, effectively blocking his path. Their chests bumped, and Alex instinctively raised his fists.

  Newton held his ground. “We need to talk,” he said menacingly, the effect somewhat spoiled by his pious monk’s robe.

  “It will have to wait.” If, as Alex suspected, Beth had discovered he’d labeled her and her sisters the Wilting Wallflowers, he needed to beg her forgiveness and reassure her. And being late to their meeting wouldn’t help his cause. He started to walk away, but Newton shot out a hand and grabbed his shoulder.

  “This won’t take long,” he said evenly. “Please.”

  “Fine. What do you wish to talk about? Shall we compare injuries from our boxing match? Or perhaps review the rules?”

  “Not here,” Newton snapped. “We’ll talk on the verandah.”

  Alex suppressed a sigh. He’d spent more time on the verandah this evening than he had during the entire last year. But Newton’s sense of urgency told him that the conversation would be enlightening. Suspect or no, Alex would risk being alone with him for information that might help him solve the mystery.

  So he wouldn’t have to hold the people he loved at arm’s length.

  So he and Beth could begin a life together, free from worry.

  Following Newton outside, Alex kept an eye on his hands. Any number of weapons could be concealed beneath the folds of the monk’s robe. If Newton carried a pistol, the knife in Alex’s boot would be useless.

  They walked through the doors, and the sounds of th
e ball faded behind them. Alex flexed his fists as he faced the sullen viscount, ready to fight if necessary. “Speak your mind, Newton.”

  The monk planted his hands on his hips and stared at the slate stones beneath his boots. “You let me believe that you’d bedded my wife. Why?”

  Good God. Whatever confrontation Alex had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Shrugging, he said, “You were going to believe what you wanted to, regardless.”

  “Perhaps.” The viscount began to pace, his brown robe fluttering behind him. “But if there was any doubt in my mind as to your guilt, I might have spared your knee during our boxing match.” He paused and looked over the hedges at the garden. “My wife told me the truth tonight. That you’d never seduced her. That she told the falsehood to make me jealous.”

  Alex snorted. “It worked.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Blackshire. This isn’t easy for me.”

  “What isn’t easy? Admitting that you’ve been trying to murder me?”

  The viscount blinked and stared at Alex, dumbfounded. “What in God’s name are you talking about? I’m trying to apologize for falsely accusing you. But Jesus, a kick to the knee never killed anyone.”

  Damn it. Newton was far too perplexed to be lying. Which meant that a would-be murderer could be in his ballroom right now.

  Or in his study—with Beth. Holy hell.

  “I have to go,” Alex said.

  “Wait.” Newton scratched his head. “Someone’s been trying to murder you?”

  Alex shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  The viscount crossed his arms. “If there’s something I can do to assist, please let me know. I would like to make amends for my behavior at the boxing match.”

  “Not necessary,” Alex said. “If I thought someone had seduced my wife, I’d have done the same.”

  Newton arched a sardonic brow. “Never say you plan to take a wife. Surely that would signal the end of days.”

  Alex inclined his head. “Then you may want to prepare for—”

  He stopped and sniffed the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Do you smell that?”

  Newton raised his chin, inhaled, and narrowed his eyes. “Smoke?”

  No. It couldn’t be. No, no, no.