As he raised the weapon toward the door, Alice called out to her. Arabella nearly cried out her surprise and relief. “Put the pistol away,” she hissed as the door to the study crashed open and Alice, silver hair akimbo and face pinched, bolted into the room. Her eyes widened to two enormous dark globes as she stared at Arabella and Justin.
“Alice, this is—”
“It doesn’t matter,” the woman interrupted, waving her hands frantically in the air. “Your father has had another brain attack.”
“What?” Arabella tried to take in a deep breath, but she couldn’t.
Not again. Not again.
The room spun a little, and she reached out blindly for something to steady her. Her hand brushed hard flesh, and she faltered for a moment but then grasped the arm Justin offered her. It was solid and comforting. “Is he—” She stopped but forced herself to swallow and ask the question. “Is he dead?”
Alice shook her head violently. “No. He’s very weak, and his speech…” She patted her glistening eyes with a handkerchief. “I cannot understand what he’s trying to say. No one can. His words are slurred. I came straight here to fetch you.” She sniffed. “One of the servants told me he got in an argument with someone, and then he had the attack.”
Arabella sagged in relief against Justin. Slurred speech didn’t matter a bit when compared to death.
“I can take you to him,” Justin supplied. “My carriage is fast, and I can collect my personal physician along the way. He’s the best in his profession.”
A surge of gratefulness took her breath for a moment. “Thank you,” she finally managed.
Justin nodded, and within moments, he’d maneuvered all three of them out the door and into his carriage with the efficiency of one who’d faced peril before.
As the carriage flew through the dark night, no one talked, for which she was thankful. Her throat ached too much to form words. She had insisted on sitting on the driver’s bench with Justin, and Alice had sat with them, as well. Even though Arabella was pressed snug between Alice and Justin, she started to shiver and could not stop. Without slowing the carriage, Justin maneuvered out of his coat and handed it to her.
She silently took it, and as his hand touched hers, he grasped her fingers and squeezed them. “It will be all right.”
She nodded, grateful for his comfort and, she realized with a start, thankful he was here to help her.
After stopping to collect his physician, Arabella told Justin the final turns to get to Lord Howick’s home, he tensed beside her. Or perhaps it was her imagination? Why in the world would he be uncomfortable in Mayfair? She would be surprised if he did not live here, as well.
“Lord Howick’s house is the third on the left.”
“Yes,” Justin replied, his voice cold and exact.
She turned to look at him. She was not imagining things. His face was set in angry lines. “What is it? Do you know Lord Howick?”
Justin nodded. “I do. We’re in Parliament together. He’s a Whig.”
By the hard edge in his voice, she knew what he was going to say next. “I presume you are a Tory,” Arabella said.
“You presume correctly.” He was staring at her oddly as he maneuvered the carriage in front of the house. A servant met them outside. Justin helped Arabella down and the physician handed Alice out of the carriage, where they’d sat for the remainder of the ride. Justin then gave quick instructions regarding his horses before they all ascended the steps to Lord Howick’s home.
Justin caught her arm at the top step. “How long have you known Howick?”
His eyes could have been emeralds for how hard they’d become, and his voice held a baffling accusatory tone.
She twisted her arm out of his hold, mindful that she’d only retrieved it because he’d let her. “I don’t truly know him. I’ve met him once or twice, but my father always comes here for their monthly card games and suppers.”
Justin frowned. “Monthly card games?”
She nodded, looking toward the door. “Please, Justin, can we discuss this later?”
“Certainly,” he said in a perfectly cordial, precise tone.
They followed the silently waiting butler inside, and within moments, Lord Howick himself rushed into the room. He came to a shuddering halt, and his face turned a startling white. His dark eyebrows rose slowly into two disbelieving arches. He stared at Justin without speaking.
Arabella watched almost in a trance as Justin strolled forward, stopped a mere inches from Lord Howick, and motioned behind him to his physician. “As my presence here seems to have rendered you speechless, I suggest you simply show us to Mr. Carthright.”
“Tensley,” Howick barked. A tall, thin man in full livery scrambled forward. “Show Miss Carthright and the physician to her father.”
Arabella glanced between Justin and Lord Howick. She was almost afraid to leave them alone when they looked as if they could gladly pummel each other to death. She nervously licked her lips. “Please, Your Grace,” she addressed Justin. “I’d feel so much better if you would accompany me.” She didn’t have much hope that he’d agree, but at least she had tried.
“So sorry, Howick,” Justin said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. “I’d love to stay and chat about your motion, the one that we both know will fail, but Miss Carthright’s needs come before anything else at the moment.”
Justin proffered his arm to her, and she took it, her mind almost dizzy with worry and confusion. She knew he’d likely only agreed to come with her because he clearly had a dislike for Lord Howick, yet there had been one second when his eyes had met hers that he’d looked almost thankful. For what? That she got him away from Lord Howick? She couldn’t think on it now, though, as worried as she was.
As they started up the stairs, Lord Howick called to their backs. “You’re on the wrong side, Dinnisfree, and you know it. Don’t support the king in Parliament just because your father raised you to be blindly allegiant to the Tory party. You are a smart man. Use your brain.”
Justin paused, and Arabella could feel the muscles in his arms bunch. She stole a sideways glance at him. His clenched jaw and the blue vein pulsing at his temple said more than any words. He was livid. He said something under his breath in a language she’d never heard, and after a minute, the tension seemed to drain out of him. He nodded as if to himself and continued to lead her up the stairs with Dr. Bancroft behind them.
At the guest-chamber door, Justin turned to her and opened his mouth as if to question her, but then he clamped his jaw shut and shook his head. “Later,” he said in a cold voice. “I need answers later.”
Was he talking to her or telling her? Before she could decide, he opened the door and all thoughts of anything but her father fled.
She raced to his side and knelt beside the bed on which he was lying. “Papa?”
He fluttered his eyes open and tried to talk, but the words, slurred and incomprehensible, caused him to cough so terribly that the physician asked her to step aside so he could administer some laudanum to calm him.
Arabella moved out of the way, anxiously shifting from foot to foot as he examined her father, who eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. She could feel the reassuring heat of Justin behind her and hear his even breaths. When Dr. Bancroft was finished, he turned to her, and as he did, Justin moved closer. For a moment, she had the absurd thought he was trying to reassure her that she was not alone.
Dr. Bancroft took her hand and patted it. “I believe, my dear, that he will recover. Time, of course, will only tell for sure, but I recently treated a patient with much the same history who had a second stroke, lost his ability to speak properly for a while, but regained mastery of the language at a remarkable speed. You will need to be patient and loving. Can you do that?”
She nodded as she swiped at the tears that came to her eyes. “May I take him home? I think he’d be much more comfortable in his own bed.”
The physician nodded. “I see no harm i
n that.” His gaze went to Justin. “Will you—”
“Of course I’ll help,” Justin replied before the man had even asked.
Arabella’s pulse quickened. Even with the stress of her father’s condition, Justin was unnerving her with his goodness. Whatever he may be, innocent man or guilty smuggler, she was now indebted to him, and informing on him was certainly not the way to repay the kindness he’d shown her. She’d have to warn him to be careful without giving away Jude’s identity. She wasn’t going to help Jude, but that didn’t mean she was foolish enough to court trouble with the Bow Street Runners because she’d revealed the identity of one of their undercover agents.
With the assistance of one of Howick’s footmen and Dr. Bancroft, Justin and the other two men managed to get Arabella’s father into the carriage without incident. Justin offered his hand to help Arabella into the carriage. As she set her hand in his, a man came outside who Justin immediately recognized as the queen’s lawyer, Lord Brougham. Justin stiffened. Brougham was a dangerous Whig who’d like nothing better than to destroy the king and destabilize the Tory party. Brougham was also a man with no scruples and he’d do whatever it took, no matter how nasty, to accomplish his goals. Why, if Lady Conyngham’s letter were to fall into the hands of a man like Brougham…
Justin’s gaze flew to the carriage where Arabella’s father lay, then to Arabella, to whom Brougham was motioning. Her eyes widened in surprise, but was it an act? How did her father know Brougham and Howick, for that matter? And where did the seemingly innocent woman fit into the political battle for the throne and the more personal battle between the king and queen?
Did Howick and Brougham know of the letters? Were they looking for them, as well? The questions fired through Justin’s mind along with certain inevitable truths. It was likely they had spies in Lady Conyngham’s household and around the king, just as the king had his spies in Queen Caroline’s supposed lover’s home and around her.
A hard knot formed at the center of Justin’s belly as his hands curled into fists by his side. A predictable way to distract a spy from a mission was to send them on a goose chase. And what better person to lead a male spy astray than a seemingly innocent, exquisitely beautiful female?
His mind rejected the notion as Arabella walked toward the king’s enemies, but doubt gnawed at him. Had his identity been compromised? Was Arabella innocent or duplicitous? He needed answers immediately.
He trained his gaze on Brougham’s mouth and began to read the man’s lips, grateful for once that his father had beat this one particular lesson of survival into him until he’d mastered it.
My dear, did your father happen to mention some letters to you?
Justin clenched and unclenched his fist as he watched Arabella’s lips for her answer.
Letters? She shook her head. My father has not received any letters.
An unaccountable sense of relief filled him that she didn’t know about the letters. It appeared her father did, however, and certainly Brougham, which undoubtedly meant Howick did, as well. How the bloody hell had Arabella’s father become involved with two of the most powerful men in the Tory party?
Brougham started to speak, so Justin shifted his gaze.
Miss Carthright, I must ask, how do you know the Duke of Dinnisfree?
Arabella’s face flushed red, but she jutted her chin up. He’s courting me. I’m sorry, I really must be going.
Justin quickly looked away as she strode toward him, but when she neared, he turned to her, silently proffered his hand, and helped her into the carriage.
They rode back to her home in tense silence, punctuated by an occasional moan from her father. Justin rubbed his knuckles back and forth in the palm of his other hand, trying to decide how best to get the answers he needed about her father and search her home without her knowing.
After they arrived and situated Arabella’s father in the makeshift bedchamber that had once been the library, Justin concluded the best way to learn what he needed was to stay right here and try to insert a question or two as the night wore on. Eventually, she would fall asleep and he’d search her home.
Arabella sank into a chair beside her father’s bed. “Papa, I love you,” she whispered to him.
Justin shifted in his chair against the wall, feeling like a complete intruder. Her voice shook as she spoke, and her hand trembled as she raised it to her father’s head and brushed it gently over his hair.
“Papa, don’t leave me,” she begged. “There’s so much you’ve yet to teach me.”
“Such as?” Justin interrupted, hating to do so but needing answers.
She looked at him and stared for a long moment before blinking, as if surprised. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”
He nodded.
“You must be tired.”
“I’m used to going without sleep,” he said.
Her brows furrowed, and a wary look settled over her face. “Why is that?”
“Oh,” he hedged, sensing it was she who was probing when it should be him, “many things I do keep me up late.”
“You should quit doing those things and stay home.” Her words were sharp and emphatic.
What the devil?
“Your advice is noted.”
“I hope so,” she said, the word hope punctuated. “I’m sure many people, particular people, are interested in your every move.”
Warning signals went off in his head. He leaned toward her. “What makes you sure of that?”
“Well, you’re a duke. And you’re rather fascinating.”
“Am I? To whom?” He was done playing games, though playing with her these last seven hours most definitely had been enjoyable. Too enjoyable. He didn’t want to think they were on opposing sides.
“To me, of course.” She quirked her mouth. “Perhaps to others. Others who may think, oh, I don’t know, that your comings and goings are so very intriguing.”
His blood surged through his veins. She knew something. She knew something, and she was trying to tell him without saying the words. “Why would my comings and goings be interesting to anyone?”
She scowled. “Because smuggling is illegal!”
“Smuggling?”
She nodded. “You needn’t pretend with me. I’ll die before ever telling your secret.” She eyed him. “It is your secret, yes?”
Bloody hell. Someone had convinced her he was a smuggler. But why? To get her to report on his movements? To keep him off the correct trail?
He crossed his arms over his chest and returned her scowl. “You are gravely misinformed, Arabella. I’m no smuggler.”
She actually sighed with relief, which caused him to have to repress a smile. “Thank goodness!”
“Who told you I was?”
“One of the girls at Madame Sullyard’s.”
He studied her. She did not blink. Did not flinch. Her breathing was normal. Her eyes steady. Her hands still and her face calm. She was either telling the truth or she was a damned impressive and rather dangerous liar. His mind refuted the notion that she was a liar, which gave him pause. He always thought people deceptive, but not her. He wanted to trust her.
Shock ricocheted through his body. He would let this woman in far enough to help him, and then he would cut her loose, despite the fact that he’d much prefer to take her in his arms and take her to his bed. Being involved with a man like him was not for a woman like her.
“Whoever told you that either wove a fanciful tale or they themselves were misinformed.” He’d been the subject of a great many rumors in his life, so why not at a rumor in a brothel, as well?
Her father moaned, and she whipped back around in her seat and spoke to him in soft, soothing words full of obvious love. Justin leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and stretched his legs out in front of him as he listened to her talk to her father, who didn’t respond. She spoke of his favorite dishes, saying that she would make them when he awoke, and as she continued to talk, Justin’s
mind wandered to his own mother. It was hard to believe she’d been gone for twelve years.
He could still hear her sobbing voice in his head after he had located her in Italy. She had told him how much she loved him but that she could never return to Father, and as a result, to Justin. Despite the fact that he had understood why she had fled Father, her ability to leave him, as well, had been surprisingly painful. Of course it didn’t ache anymore. He simply didn’t let it.
Arabella’s animated voice drifted to him and interrupted his musings. He sat up a bit and concentrated. Bloody stupid to sit here thinking on things that could never be changed when he might miss a clue about Arabella’s father. He leaned forward as she spoke.
“And when you are better, Papa, you must tell me more stories of your time at the palace. You know how I love to hear your stories.”
Justin’s ears perked. “Did your father work at Buckingham Palace?”
Arabella turned toward him and yawned as she nodded. “He was a blacksmith there for many years. His work caught the eye of the queen,” she said with obvious pride, “and she made him head blacksmith. He was so happy. Mama was so happy, too, but then everything changed.” She scooted toward him as if she didn’t want her father to overhear her. “Daniel, my brother, went off to fight Napoleon and was killed. In the report that his cavalry leader turned in after Daniel’s death, the man said Daniel was trying to abandon his regiment out of cowardliness.” She curled her hands into fists. “My brother was no coward. Do you know what I think?” Her words were harsh, her eyes narrowed.
She was fiercely beautiful when angry. Justin shook his head. “What do you think?”
“I think Daniel’s commander was jealous of him. They had been courting the same woman before they left, and I swear the man sent Daniel to his death, and then made it look like my brother was trying to desert his post.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Letters!” she said, surging to her feet. “Daniel wrote me letters, and in them he told me stories of things his commander had done to him. The man would lie about things all the time. Rations went missing and he’d blame Daniel, and even if Daniel was not in camp that night, his commander’s word was taken over his. I tried to tell someone—Papa did, as well—but no one would listen to us.”
The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree Page 11
