“I…it will?” She gulped. Anything that her father thought would help him was not good for her.
“I’d thought to wed you to Lord Farnsworth,” her father went on, bitterness lacing his voice. “But when I approached him about the match, he put me off. Said his intentions lay elsewhere.”
A strange and paradoxical feeling of relief washed through Alice, but only for a moment. Her father looked too pleased for that to be all there was.
“Fortunately, I have been working on another means of securing a fortune,” he said. “And as soon as you are free from your obligations toward Count Camoni, I can look for a higher bidder to marry you off to.”
“But Fabian and I are to marry tomorrow,” Alice said, her voice and her heart failing her.
“I plan to take care of that,” her father growled.
Fabian turned to check on her at just that moment. He stepped away from his mother and the duke and marched toward her with the look of an avenging angel.
A spring of hope welled up within Alice, but it was squashed when her father said, “I have your thief right here.” He gripped her wrist hard and dragged her toward the duke and duchess.
Dread swirled in Alice’s stomach, and she thought she might be sick. “I didn’t steal anything,” she tried to defend herself in a small, pitiful voice.
“The thief is my wicked daughter,” her father charged on. “She is a thief and a whore.”
“I’ll thank you not to insult my fiancée,” Fabian growled, moving until he stood toe-to-toe with Alice’s father, towering over him with his full, intimidating height.
“I doubt you’ll want her after what I can tell you,” her father went on, a sly grin stretching across his wicked face. “Even though you’ve already had her.”
A few of the guests who sat around the breakfast table but hadn’t, until then, been a part of the conversation gasped and stared at Alice with wide eyes. The duke scowled and the duchess looked thoroughly scandalized. She marched up to Fabian’s side, indignation in her eyes, and asked, “What is the meaning of this?”
“I can explain, Mother,” Fabian said.
“My daughter is your thief, and she has thrown herself at your son in the basest possible ways,” Alice’s father blurted before Fabian could go on.
“Fabian, is this true?” the duchess asked.
A flush painted Fabian’s face and he appeared to be at a loss for words. “Alice is not a thief,” he said at last.
“She is a deceiving whore who has fooled you all,” her father went on, staring particularly at Fabian. “I only regret that I introduced her into your life. I should have known that she could not be reformed.”
“Alice is a good and sweet woman,” Fabian argued, turning to his mother. “Her father has used and abused her and her sisters for years now. He married, or at least attempted to marry, her sisters for his own financial aim. He targeted me as someone who could enrich him, and the moment he thought I was no longer solvent, he tried to involve Matthew in his schemes.”
“It’s true,” Lord Farnsworth said, stepping forward.
“I would never dream of importuning such a lofty and noble family in such a way,” Alice’s father insisted, looking genuinely offended. “I hold your entire family in highest esteem.”
“You have sought to scheme and cheat us at every turn,” Fabian insisted.
His mother and the duke appeared completely flummoxed, glancing from Fabian to Alice’s father in turn as each one spoke, as if they didn’t know who to believe.
“If you think I am being anything but earnest with you,” Alice’s father went on, “then search my daughter’s room. Turn it upside down and go through all of her things. I think you’ll find exactly the proof you need there.”
The duke glanced to one of the footmen that hovered near the door, eyes wide. The young man turned and dashed from the room.
“And as for my daughter’s low moral character,” her father went on with a sniff, looking Alice up and down with a sneer. “You will notice she is still dressed in the same gown she wore to the ball and her appearance is damning.”
Alice glanced down at herself, her heart sinking lower than it had already gone. She looked a fright. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see she’d spent the night in Fabian’s arms.
“Investigate Count Camoni’s bedchamber if you don’t believe me,” her father went on.
“There is no need to investigate anything,” Fabian cut in with a booming voice before her father could add anything else. He turned to his mother with an apologetic look. “It is true, Mama. Lady Alice and I have anticipated our vows. But seeing as our wedding is to take place tomorrow morning—”
“I would be shocked if you considered going ahead with plans to see your son and my daughter married,” Alice’s father interrupted. “I cannot believe that someone of your rank and visibility would consent to have a thief and a whore in your family.”
Again, the guests whose breakfast had turned into the circus they were witnessing gasped and stared at Alice. She had never felt so humiliated in her life.
“My son and his betrothed would not be the first couple to anticipate their vows,” the duchess began slowly.
“You would connect your family with a thief?” Alice’s father feigned utter horror at the idea. And the emotion was feigned. Alice had known her father too long to doubt his playacting. There was too much of a glimmer of triumph in his eyes, too much glee that he was the center of attention and he was getting his way.
“Alice is not a thief,” Fabian insisted. “And I will not abandon her when she needs me the most, particularly if that means this monster will continue to hold sway over her.”
“Oh, dear,” the duchess said, studying Alice, then Fabian, then looking to her husband for help. “I don’t know what to do. I suppose—”
“We found it, my lady.” The footman who had darted out of the room such a short time ago returned, holding up what appeared to be a priceless brooch. He skittered to a stop just inside the breakfast room, eyes bright, but seeming to remember his place. He quickly stood at attention.
“What have you found?” the duke asked, approaching him.
“This brooch, my lord.” The footman handed over the brooch. “It was in a box on the mantel. Mr. Davies has the rest of the staff turning Lady Alice’s room inside out to find more.”
“You see?” Alice’s father asked with a look of triumph. “I told you she was a thief.”
The duchess looked genuinely distressed. The duke turned to glower at Alice. Fabian appeared equally furious, but his glare was for Alice’s father.
Alice sagged in defeat. “You put that there,” she told her father, knowing it wouldn’t do a lick of good. “I saw you put something in that box on my mantel the other day. You’re laying blame at my feet on purpose.” Her words weren’t an accusation. She was too exhausted, too defeated to accuse him of anything. All hope left her. There was no way she would escape his clutches now. The duchess had proof that she was everything her father had accused her of being.
“This is impossible,” Fabian said, coming to her defense all the same. “I believe Alice when she says her father planted the brooch in her room.”
“You think I’m the thief?” Alice’s father demanded, his face going red.
“No one accused you, Lord Stanhope,” Lord Farnsworth said. “But if you are accusing yourself….”
“I am no such thing,” Alice’s father snapped. “Search my rooms. Search all of my things. You will find nothing that does not belong to me.”
“Surely, you have hidden it all somewhere else,” Fabian growled.
“How dare you accost me so?” Her father continued to act out his innocence to a ridiculous degree. “I should take my daughter and leave this house at once.”
“No,” Alice yelped, leaping toward Fabian. He caught her with one arm and held her close.
“Enough of this,” the duke boomed, silencing everyone. He glanced to his wife.
The duchess chewed her lip, studying Alice and her father, Fabian, the footman, and even Lord Farnsworth. “I don’t know what to believe,” she said at last. “Lady Alice has always seemed pleasant and affable to me. But if she has been with my son….” She pressed her lips shut and shook her head. “I cannot make any decision now. More evidence needs to be collected.”
“More?” Alice’s father demanded, as if all his efforts to lay a trap hadn’t been enough.
The duchess glanced to him with a frown, then to Fabian and Alice. “I will give you until the end of the day to disprove the accusations of theft made against Lady Alice, and to find the true thief, if possible. But if you cannot come up with an explanation for stolen items being found in her room—”
“Lord Stanhope planted the brooch there, you heard Alice,” Fabian growled.
“—then I will have no choice but to insist the engagement be called off,” his mother continued, holding up her hands. She sent her son a sympathetic look. “I am thinking of you and you alone, my dear. If this truly is some sort of ploy to embarrass all of us, then I cannot allow it.”
“And if it is merely a concoction of Lord Stanhope’s to take Alice back so that he can sell her in marriage to someone willing to pay a higher price?” Fabian asked.
His mother looked genuinely sympathetic as she said, “Then I pray you find the proof you need before the end of the day.”
Chapter 9
Nothing was going to prevent Fabian from marrying Alice. Not her father and not even his mother.
“I’ll find all the proof you need, Mama,” he said, fixing his mother with the same stubborn look he’d given her as a boy when he wanted to get his way, then glaring at Lord Stanhope. “I will prove to you that Lady Alice is an angel who has been held in the clutches of a devil for too long.”
“How dare you?” Lord Stanhope growled, seemingly indignant. There was a flash of fear in his eyes, though, as if he hadn’t expected to encounter a foe as determined as Fabian. Or—which only enraged Fabian more—as if he didn’t believe his daughter was worthy of having a champion.
Fabian didn’t answer Lord Stanhope’s feigned indignation. He crossed to Alice, taking her hand in his and leading her out of the room before anyone could stop him.
“Would you like to bathe and change into something fresh before we begin this hunt?” he asked her in a soft voice as he whisked her into the hall.
“Oh, yes please,” Alice answered in a tiny voice that was both relieved and distraught.
“We’ll go to your room first, then.”
They had only made it a few yards down the hall when Lord Stanhope burst out of the breakfast room and chased them, shouting, “Just where do you think you’re going with my daughter?”
“She is my fiancée,” Fabian insisted, pivoting to glare at the man as they reached the front hallway.
Lord Stanhope reeled back as if Fabian had struck him. A moment later, he recovered himself enough to say, “Not for long. She’ll be found guilty of theft and cast out by your mother and all good society.” He rubbed his hands together, grinning at his daughter with glee. “I know of a sugar merchant who has been looking for a titled bride. He’s worth a fortune, and with the information I have about the way he cheats his business partners and starves his slaves, I’ll make a fortune off of him in blackmail.”
Disgust turned Fabian’s stomach. He inched closer to Alice, sliding a protective arm around her waist. “The moment I prove that you are the thief, you will never see or have anything to do with Alice again.”
He turned and marched on, drawing Alice with him. Lord Stanhope sputtered and snorted, then caught up with them again on the stairs.
“You won’t be able to prove anything,” he said, a light of cunning in his eyes.
That was all the confession Fabian needed. Lord Stanhope was certainly guilty of theft and more. He just had to prove it.
“You know the way your father’s mind works,” he told Alice when they reached her room.
A harried-looking maid was already at work, taking Alice’s things out of the wardrobe as though she’d been ordered to pack.
“Help Lady Alice to wash and dress, please,” he ordered the maid.
“But her father said they were leaving this morning,” the anxious maid said, sending a look that was almost guilty in Alice’s direction. “He said I was to pack.”
Fabian shook his head. “She’s not going anywhere. Help her to wash and dress.”
The maid chewed her lip and curtsied, then rushed to Alice to help her out of her wrinkled ball gown. She sent a wary look Fabian’s way. He assumed she felt awkward about undressing Alice with him in the room, but he wasn’t about to leave Alice alone. Not for one second. He turned his back to spare the maid’s feelings.
“You believe that I’m not the thief?” Alice asked as she undressed.
“You would never do anything so base,” Fabian said, crossing his arms and staring at a painting of dryads frolicking in the woods. He would have done anything to see the sort of happy, carefree, lustful expression on Alice’s face as those dryads wore.
“I cannot tell you what that means to me,” Alice said with a sad sigh of relief.
Fabian heard her move to the washstand at the far end of the room. The sound of water splashing into the basin followed. He caught sight of the maid moving to the bed to select fresh clothes out of the corner of his eye.
“My father put that brooch in the box on my mantel,” Alice went on. “I saw him do it just before the ball yesterday, though I didn’t know what I was seeing at the time.”
“I believe you,” Fabian said with a nod.
He spotted a curious stack of papers on her bedside table and strode over to pick it up. It turned out to be a section torn from a book. The typeface was frilly and delicate, and the title of the chapter on the top page, The Delicate Flowering of Love, made him grin.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking up the book.
“Oh!” Alice gasped and sped across the room to take the partial book from his hands. “That’s…it’s….”
Fabian twisted to grin at her. Her cheeks were bright pink, as were the tops of her breasts and the curve of her backside. She’d rushed to his side without dressing and without drying. A sheen of rose-scented water covered her luscious body. Fabian forgot what he’d asked her, forgot their mission, forgot everything but the need that slammed through him, making his breeches uncomfortably tight.
It was only the shocked squeak of the maid that kept him from tossing Alice over her bed and fucking her silly. He cleared his throat and settled for kissing her tenderly instead.
“You’ll have to read aloud to me from this book later,” he said in a low voice, suspecting what kind of information it contained. “For now, we must focus on proving your innocence and your father’s guilt.”
“Thank you,” Alice said, glancing up at him with wide eyes filled with affection. “You cannot imagine what it means to me for you to stand by my side this way.”
He couldn’t resist kissing her again, though he didn’t dare risk putting his arms around her. Maid or no maid, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he touched Alice too much.
“Finish dressing,” he said with a smile. “And then we’ll begin our hunt by searching your father’s room.”
Alice handed the partial book back to him then skipped back to the maid, who held her underthings and watched them with a look of sentimentality. As Alice dressed, Fabian flipped through the pages of her book. His brow shot up more than once at vivid illustrations and lurid descriptions of acts of love. A grin spread across his face and he promised himself they would attempt each and every act described on the pages.
There would be time for passion and play later. As soon as Alice was dressed and presentable, he took her hand and led her out into the hall once more.
But as they reached the hall where Lord Stanhope’s room stood, they were blocked.
“I refuse to allo
w you into my private chambers,” the bastard himself said, standing in the doorway.
Fabian pulled himself to his full height, towering over him. “You refuse me entrance into a room in my mother’s house?”
“Yes,” Lord Stanhope said. “And furthermore, I find it insulting that you would even attempt to infiltrate the sacred space of a guest in the duke’s house.”
Fabian clenched his fist and opened his mouth to argue, but a small tug on his sleeve stopped him. He turned to find Alice glancing up at him, urgency and inspiration in her eyes. Without another word for Lord Stanhope, he rested his hand on Alice’s back and walked several paces down the hall with her.
“He’s bluffing,” she whispered when they were far enough away not to be overheard. “He wants you to believe he’s hiding something in his room so you waste time getting past him and checking.”
“Do you think so?” Fabian asked.
Alice nodded, peeking past him to where Lord Stanhope was watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. “It is likely that he has someone else working for him, someone who is busy at this very moment, hiding what he’s stolen.”
Fabian clenched his jaw, frustrated that he had to stoop so low as to deal with someone so cunning. “Where would he hide his loot if not in his own room?” he asked.
Alice bit her lip and glanced at her father once more before walking away, gesturing for Fabian to come with her. “Have you noticed that he has appeared in strange places, places he wasn’t expected to be, these last few days?”
“I have noticed,” Fabian said. He took Alice’s hand and picked up his pace. “We should start by searching the ballroom. He’s devilish enough to have hidden what he stole in plain sight.”
Alice nodded, and the two of them rushed downstairs to the ballroom. The servants were still hard at work, cleaning up after the night’s festivities. It usually took a full day for the ballroom to be set back to normal—or in this case, normal decorated with Christmas greenery, bows, bells, and other festive bits of the season—which would have given Lord Stanhope and any accomplices plenty of time to retrieve hidden loot.
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