“That is my belief as well,” Solomon went on as though they had not noticed the chaperone’s furious blush. “Might I inquire about your distress when it comes to being within the confines of a group? I find that interesting as well as concerning.”
“I have always had a terrible fear of being hemmed in,” Miss Wolcott replied. “I feel as though I am suffocating. I get dizzy, my heart races, I cannot breathe.”
“And this began when you were a child?”
Miss Wolcott eyed him in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Things I learned in my travels,” he answered easily. “Perhaps a trauma occurred that you do not remember. Say for instance, you were perhaps trapped in a small space and your terror overwhelmed you. Thus, you have a terrible fear of being trapped again, even by a crowd.”
“That is a fascinating theory, Your Grace,” she replied, awed. “But how does that help me to overcome it?”
Solomon steered the horse away from the busy avenues and into the quieter paths of Hyde Park, shaded by tall trees and lines with trimmed hedgerows. Other carriages traveled the paths as well as foot traffic and riders, but with more peace and tranquility than the rush of the London streets.
“Teaching yourself to remain calm,” he replied, slowing the horse to a walk. “Have someone massage the tension from your shoulders and neck, which in turn can relieve the same stress from your mind.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is not.” Solomon glanced at her with sympathy. “What took years to grow in you will take quite some time to repair. It will not be easy, but it can be helped if you are determined.”
“I am.”
“Then I will endeavor to assist in –”
A man burst from behind the tall shrubbery directly in the path of his horse. The animal shied, jumping sideways within the carriage’s shafts and jolting its passengers. Solomon expertly controlled the horse with the reins, stopping a potential bolt before it could begin. A curse rose to his lips as he saw the man raise a pistol and aim it.
Chapter 6
Miss Teresa Wolcott
Teresa had no time to gape in shock as the Duke’s arm swept her off the seat and down into the floor of the carriage. At the same moment, the pistol fired. In the back, Elsa screamed, and Teresa feared she had been shot. The horse jumped again, spooked, lunging backward in the shafts and forcing the carriage backward before breaking into a gallop.
His Grace cursed, rising from the floor to the seat again even as Teresa lifted her face. The would-be assassin dodged the charging horse, yet could not quite escape the wider vehicle. Teresa caught a swift glimpse of the man as he was struck on the shoulder and spun out of her view. Turning her head, her heart pounding, she watched him writhe on the path before a bend took him out of her sight.
“Whoa,” the Duke called, his sure hands on the reins bringing the horse in from its reckless gallop to a trot and finally to a quieter walk. “Easy now, whoa, there’s a good girl.”
Her mouth dry, Teresa spun in the seat toward her chaperone. “Are you all right?” she gasped.
The other woman nodded, her face waxed pale. “I – I think so.”
With the horse now at a standstill, the Duke also turned, his expression tight with anger. “You are not shot?” he demanded. “Either of you?”
“No.” Teresa took the other woman’s shaking hand, her own not steady, either. “I am all right. Just shaken.”
“I will be right back.”
The Duke jumped down from the carriage and ran back along the path. Teresa watched him vanish around the bend, then looked at Elsa. “It will be all right,” she murmured, her voice trembling. She drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and feeling the edges of panic and anxiety reaching for her. “It will be all right.”
“Why would that man try to shoot us?” Elsa asked, now crying in the throes of her fears.
“I do not know.” Teresa squeezed her hand, trying to bring her comfort as well as find it for herself. “The Duke will protect us.”
“Why did he leave us? He should not have left us. What if the horse runs again?”
Teresa shot a glance at the now quiet mare. “His Grace will not be long,” she answered, hoping she spoke the truth. She did not like being there without his strong presence.
Apparently drawn by the sound of the shot, two riders approached them at a swift canter. A man in a top coat and tall hat and a woman riding sidesaddle, wearing a riding habit. Teresa knew them to be of the upper classes, but did not recognize them. They reined in beside the carriage, their expressions revealing confusion and concern.
“What happened?” the man asked. “We heard a pistol. Are you both all right?”
Releasing Elsa’s hand, Teresa drew a long shuddering breath. “Yes, thank you. Neither of us were hit, but the horse bolted. His Grace went back to catch the man.”
“His Grace?” The woman glanced sidelong at the man.
“The Duke of Thornehill. This is his carriage.”
The gentleman stiffened, then said, “Are you needful of anything, Miss?”
“No, thank you, I believe we will be fine, sir.”
“Then we will leave you.”
Turning their horses, they trotted away. Teresa gazed after them in growing anger. “Now that was rude,” she snapped under her breath.
“I expect that His Grace is not very popular?” Elsa asked.
Teresa glanced back to witness her wiping her tears. “No, I fear he is not. But they are wrong about him.”
“Someone just tried to kill him.”
“Yes.”
The Duke rounded the bend in the path, running toward them at a jog. “Did you catch him?” Teresa asked as he stepped back up into the seat.
“I tried,” the Duke replied, his tone grim. “Despite his evident injury, he managed to quite elude me in the hedgerows. I will return you to your townhouse now, Miss Wolcott.”
His Grace slapped the reins on the horse’s rump, starting the animal out at a quick trot. “I apologize for this debacle,” he said, guiding the mare toward one of the park’s exits. “I did not intend for anyone to begin shooting.”
“Have you any idea who he was?” Teresa asked. “Who would want to kill you?”
“No, I did not recognize him. And as for who may want me dead, that list is quite long.”
Behind them, Elsa moaned softly. Teresa glanced back at her, observing her wan face and closed eyes, her lips moving as if in prayer. Exchanging a long glance with the Duke, Teresa faced forward again, refraining from commenting that she could not count on Elsa’s chaperone services again. As though reading her thoughts, His Grace smiled grimly and shook his head.
“I hope this incident does not deter you from possibly seeing me again?” he asked.
While unafraid to be with him and risk the social consequences, Teresa hesitated. The Duke, evidently reading her tense expression correctly, hastily spoke again. “I will not risk your safety, Miss Wolcott. Until I discover who is behind this, I will engage with you in more social settings.”
Liking him even more, Teresa nodded with a grin. “I would still like to see you, Your Grace.”
Her answer must have pleased him, for he returned her warm expression. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps my brother might assist you in your quest for this person,” Teresa suggested. “He is very good at what he does.”
“I will ask him,” the Duke answered slowly. “But he carried an old grudge against me from years past, and may not be willing to do so.”
Teresa frowned. “That does not sound like Thomas. Might I inquire as to what this grudge stems from?”
“I fear it is between your brother and I,” His Grace replied. “He may tell you if he wishes, but I will remain silent on the matter.”
Puzzled, Teresa asked no more questions, and shortly after the Duke reined the horse in at her townhouse. He leaped down, and assisted both women from the carriage. Still frigh
tened, Elsa strode quickly into the house, and vanished into the kitchen. Teresa watched her go with a frown, but refrained from commenting. His hand lightly on hers, the Duke walked her up the steps to her door.
Bending, he kissed her fingers. His green eyes smiling more than his lips, he straightened, and his small step closed the already short distance between them. Teresa held her breath, once more feeling that awesome sensation of his inner power, his masculine strength, and a thrill ran through her nerve endings. “May I leave you with a kiss, Miss Wolcott?”
Her breath short, but not with anxiety, Teresa nodded. “I would like that,” she whispered.
The Duke’s face angled toward hers, his lips gently clasping hers with a tender yet erotic kiss. Without ever being kissed before, Teresa had no idea what to expect, but felt amazed when her body responded. Heat and pleasure eclipsed her faint worry that they would be seen like this in public, or that Thomas might open the door at that instant. Hungry for more, she opened her mouth under his, felt his tongue tangle with hers in a dance of love and lovers.
Confused by her own reaction, Teresa pulled away from him. “I – I, er, – ” she began.
The Duke straightened and took a step back, his hand leaving hers. Half fearing she offended him, Teresa gazed anxiously up into his face. His small smile and warm eyes reassured her.
“You have never been kissed before.”
Teresa ducked her head. “Well, no.”
His finger under her chin lifted her face toward his. “Such a beautiful woman should be kissed more often. I look forward to the next one.”
Thinking she should be offended by his audacious comment, Teresa watched him turn and amble down the steps to the horse. Untying the reins, the Duke tossed them up to the seat, then climbed in. With a grin and a wink tossed in her direction, he clucked and slapped the reins. Then he and the carriage vanished into the mix of traffic on the busy street.
***
Thomas frowned. “Someone tried to assassinate the Duke in front of you and your maid?” he asked. “That’s not just bold but incredibly risky.”
“He believes he has a long list of enemies,” Teresa added.
Seated at the table in the dining room, Teresa sipped her wine, gazing at her brother. Under the doctor’s orders, Amelia ate heartily, but Teresa felt little appetite. The incident in Hyde Park still had her shaken, as did the sensuous kiss she shared with the Duke of Thornehill. She had not been able to stop thinking about either through the long afternoon.
Thomas nodded thoughtfully at her comment. “While most men in his position have enemies,” he said slowly. “He has more than most given his proclivities.”
“Will you help him find out who is trying to kill him?” Teresa asked, holding her breath. If Thomas did indeed carry a heavy grudge against the Duke, persuading him to help might be futile.
Thomas shook his head. “Thornehill is on his own. He can do it himself, or find another investigator. I do not wish to be involved with him.”
“I will pay your fees,” Teresa offered, trying not to plead. “From my own purse. Please, Thomas. Whatever you have against him is in the past. Can you not let it lie?”
Thomas’s expression closed down. “What did he say?” he demanded.
“Only that you carry a grudge and refused to tell me what caused it.”
Teresa caught Thomas sending Amelia a lightning glance before returning his scowl back to her. Amelia did not appear to have noticed it. “That is correct,” he snapped. “It is between him and me and will remain so. No, I will not take your coin, little sister, nor will I lift a hand to help him.”
Knowing that to push him further would only bring on a family argument, Teresa nodded with a half shrug. “Then perhaps Ambrose Foley will accept my money and look into it.”
Thomas’s scowl deepened. “That will not work, Teresa. Foley can no more find out who is trying to kill Thornehill than he can find his boots in the dark. The matter is closed.”
Not where I am concerned it is not. Teresa almost spoke that thought aloud, but kept it within her with an effort. It did no good to goad Thomas further nor let him know she had no intention of dropping the matter. As though reading her thoughts, Amelia caught her eye and shook her head a fraction. The Duke is not worth it she seemed to say.
Teresa smiled to herself, thinking of his kiss. Oh, yes, he is.
Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill
Shirtless and sweating, Solomon danced the steps of death, crossing swords with Percy. With a thrust of his blade, he forced Percy back, only to find his riposte a feint and was forced to twist and duck to avoid being skewered. He laughed as he fought, their swords clashing with rings of steel against steel. Percy grinned, catching Solomon’s blade against his hilt, and throwing it back. Solomon, prepared for the move, sliced sideways and rested his edge against Percy’s throat. Percy lowered his weapon in surrender.
Chuckling, Percy bowed. “Once again, you prove yourself the master.”
Panting lightly, Solomon saluted him with the hilt of his sword in front of his face, then strode to the side of his practice room to the damp towel held by a footman. “You almost had me there for a moment,” he admitted, wiping the sweat from his face and neck. “You have improved markedly since the last time we fenced.”
“Yes, I have been practicing a bit on my own.”
“It shows.”
A second footman with a silver tray in his hands poured them both ale from a pitcher into pewter cups, and handed each of them one. Solomon drank thirstily, then indicated the servant was to pour more into his goblet. With Percy at his side, he ambled to the large window and sat down on the cushion on its seat. Still drinking from his cup, Percy gazed out and down into the broad courtyard below.
“We should consider who is desperate enough to kill you in broad daylight in front of witnesses,” he said, wiping his own sweat from his brow with a cloth.
“Any suggestions?”
“Baron Beaulieu is at the top of my list.”
Solomon snorted, also gazing out the window. “I was but one of many. Why me?”
“You were the only one the Baroness was in love with.”
Solomon whipped his head around to stare at his steward. “How can you possibly know that? She never gave me any indication of it.”
Percy smirked. “The letters she wrote you that you threw away unopened? I read them.”
“You are not supposed to snoop, Percy,” Solomon growled.
“You might be my liege lord,” Percy replied without remorse. “But you are also my friend. In reading them, I had hoped to gain some insight that might be beneficial to you. And I did. The Baroness made no secret of her love for you, not bothering to conceal it from her husband.”
Flipping the towel across his neck, Solomon rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands. “I had feared that was the truth,” he muttered. “I did not want it confirmed, so I tossed her letters away.”
“Is that another reason you broke it off?”
Nodding, Solomon went on. “I did not love her in return, could not deal with her smothering me, her demands. She had begun suggesting I kill the Baron so she will be free to marry me.”
“Yes,” Percy agreed slowly. “She did mention that in one of her letters.”
Solomon raised his head to stare. “Please tell me you burned it. That could implicate me in her death when I had nothing to do with it.”
“I burned them all, Your Grace. But it also raises another question.”
“What would that be?”
“That she killed herself when you spurned her.”
Solomon dipped his head with a groan. “Thank you. Yet another load on my conscience. I nearly got Miss Wolcott and her chaperone killed today, now this.”
“We have no proof she did, and most likely it was the Baron who tossed her headlong down the steps. I am sorry, I did not mean to burden you, but it was a thought you should consider.”
“I will c
onsider it. However, Percy, I cannot see her committing suicide. She was far too vain and self centered. Kill her husband, yes, kill herself, no.”
“Then perhaps she tried and he killed her out of self defense?”
Solomon shook his head. “Then he would have said so. No reason to keep it a secret.”
“So once again, we are looking at Beaulieu as the one who most likely wants you dead.” Percy drunk his ale, staring down into the courtyard.
Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies Page 34
