The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies)

by Vandagriff, G. G.

  Would she recognize him? Had they, in just the last few days, become as intimate as that? He was more disguised than she in his black domino that covered his evening dress and a concealing loo mask. Deciding to conduct an experiment, he moved toward the bottom of the stairs, where he waited. She descended, looked out over the vast ballroom filled with costumed guests as though seeking someone, and walked right past him. Was it he she was seeking? Even after what Lady William had goaded him into saying that afternoon?

  Casually pursuing her and her aunt, he waited until Elise had found a seat for Lady Clarice with the chaperones. Then coming up behind her, he whispered, “Sunshine.”

  She whirled, and when she recognized him, her face broke into the smile that gladdened his heart. “Your Grace!”

  “Shh! I was not invited! Lady Reardon has strict policies concerning rakes. I came in through the terrace doors.”

  “I didn’t think you liked balls.”

  “How else was I to see you to make my apologies?” He took her gloved hand in his. The orchestra stuck up a waltz. “Will you take a chance and dance with this old cripple?”

  “If you are seeking my consent, I will grant it, purely on charitable grounds.”

  “I can deserve no more.”

  As they swept out onto the floor, Ruisdell found that if he circumscribed his moves carefully, he could manage to waltz in a credible, if not admirable, manner.

  “Sunshine, do forgive me. Your mother was giving you a beastly time, and I fear my unequivocal statement was harsh.”

  “But I also abused you abominably,” she said. “I have been chastising myself all afternoon. You have been nothing but kind to me. You may be counted a rogue, but I certainly have never seen that side of you. You have been all that is good and amiable.”

  “Egads! Don’t let Somerset hear you say that. He’ll go into a decline.”

  “I believe you use your reputation to keep people at a distance. I don’t know why you have extended yourself to help me . . .”

  “For another, you recall. For my adjutant.”

  Even under her mask, he could see her face soften. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Whether it was the tempting patch and the dimples or the husky timber of her voice, he found that, in spite of what he had just said, he very much wanted to kiss those perfect, soft lips. Her allure was unmistakable tonight. He cursed the mask. It made it almost impossible to see the expression in her eyes. He thought her not impartial to him. After tomorrow’s duel, he would have to rusticate at his estate or go abroad until the furor died down. All he wanted was one kiss. Would she grant it?

  Meanwhile he would enjoy the sensation of having her in his arms. He realized that he might never have had this experience but for the masquerade.

  “You sent the notice to the Morning Post?”

  “Yes,” she responded. “So you have nothing more to fear from me. As soon as this dance is over, I will be out of your life.”

  “And what makes you so certain that is what I want?”

  “Well, I won’t be set up as one of your flirts.”

  “You think there can be no middle ground?”

  “Not for a man and a woman in this society.”

  He pulled her closer to him and said softly, “What about friendship?”

  She seemed to consider this. “Do you think that is really possible?”

  “Not if you are worried about marrying. I should scare away all your court with my reputation. Not to mention their mamas.” That was true enough, unfortunately.

  “Would that you could scare away the viscount. He came very close to breaking poor Violet’s heart with his inconstancy.”

  “So you do not wish to marry him?” The duke prayed he did not sound too hopeful.

  “And have him falling in love with other women at the drop of a hat? How he has escaped the reputation of rake, I have no clue.”

  “I think he is honestly attached to you.” The dance was coming to an end, if he knew his music. “What is it you really want, Elise?”

  She surprised him. “To be whisked away by some romantic gentleman to the Continent to see the world!”

  “I’m very much afraid that Waterford is ready to oblige you!”

  Her face fell, and she showed a mocking pout. “I could not convince you to do such a thing?”

  “It sounds like the perfect idyll. However, you would require marriage as a prerequisite, would you not?”

  She laughed at him. “Yes, Your Grace. I am afraid so. It is my unfortunate upbringing. I would not want my mother to hire an assassin.”

  “Well, there is one great bar to marriage that I can see.”

  The waltz had ended, and they were strolling through the crush. Though he knew there were undoubtedly some clever costumes to be seen among the milling ton, he had eyes only for Elise. Even as a Georgian Miss, she was stunning to his senses.

  “Your inclination to remain single?” she asked.

  “Rather whether are not we would suit,” he said carefully.

  “And how would you determine that?”

  “By simple means. Let us make an experiment, if we can ever make our way out to the terrace.”

  “Your Grace . . .”

  “Peter,” he reminded her.

  “Now that we are no longer engaged, it must be ‘Your Grace,’” she told him. “What do you have in mind? I’m warning you, I’m not to be trifled with!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trifling with you. Beynon’s ghost would find a way of seeing that I met a sticky end, I am convinced.”

  Ah! They were within sight of the French doors. In moments, he had forged their way through, holding Elise about the waist. The doors stood open to the night, and he swept her onto the terrace. “I regret that I cannot carry you off to the Continent tonight, but let us be contented with going as far as the garden. I believe the Lady Reardon’s hydrangeas to be quite a rare shade of blue.”

  She chuckled. “As though we could see them in the dark!”

  There was a crunch of gravel as they descended the steps and several couples followed them into the cool night air. Ruisdell found a deserted bench and making a great show of seating her with a bow, he then seated himself next to her. Putting a finger on her generous lower lip, he asked, “Are you ready to find out if we can thrill each other to the tips of our toes?”

  Seemingly enthralled, she nodded.

  “Then, let us dispose of the masks. I wish to see your eyes better. And your pert little nose. How glad I am that you did not inherit your mother’s beak!”

  “I have always held that to be among my greatest blessings.”

  He had to make this special for her. Running his finger gently over her jawline, he outlined her ear and then her mouth. The lace which lay over her breasts tantalized him, but remembering who she was, he took her in his arms, and then slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

  Before he even touched her with his lips, he felt a tearing great pain in his back. In a flash, he realized he had been knifed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  OUR HEROINE SHOWS GREAT PRESENCE OF MIND

  Elise had her eyes closed for what she suspected would be the kiss of a lifetime. All during the waltz she shared with the duke she had been aware of his scent—sandlewood soap and musky sweat—his arm pulling her ever closer to his embrace and, despite his teasing words, the tenderness she could see in his eyes. Her guard was down completely, and she ached to press herself to him and feel his full embrace and his lips on hers. Worse, she was ready for any experiment that he suggested.

  Instead of the kiss she was primed for, however, she heard a groan. Her eyes flew open to see a tall figure in a green domino reaching for her and the duke hunched over with a silver-handled stiletto sticking out of his back. Robert!

  She screamed as loudly as she could. “Help! Someone help me!” Two couples came running from the direction of the terrace. Robert ran the opposite way.

  “Go after the man in the green domin
o! He is dangerous. He stabbed the duke and tried to kidnap me!”

  A man dressed as Pierrot went running after Robert. Elise drew the duke into her arms, supporting his head on her shoulder. “Your Grace? Peter?”

  “Get Somerset!” he said hoarsely.

  “I will not leave you.” She turned to the other gentleman who was wearing a black domino, like the duke’s. “Sir,” she pleaded, “this gentleman is the Duke of Ruisdell. Could you please find the Marquis of Somerset? I am certain he is in the card room. I have no idea how he is dressed. And please bring some other strong men. We must get the duke into a carriage.”

  The gentleman made a cursory reply and hastened off at a run, back to the ballroom. The two women stood by. One, dressed as an opera dancer, asked, “Are you going to take that nasty thing out?”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Elise confessed.

  The other woman, a medieval princess, said, “I’m not sure, but I think it will bleed more if you take it out. I only hope it has not punctured a lung. It is too high for the heart, I think.”

  Elise was frantic. She could not lose him. Not now. He was far too dear to her. Sending up a prayer, she tried to ask him what to do. “My love, my darling, hold on. Can you tell me how I should proceed?”

  “Keep the damned thing in. Richards. A soldier. Will know what to do.”

  Remembering that Richards was the duke’s valet, she began praying that the duke would live long enough to see him again. Then she felt his body go limp.

  Oh, God in heaven! Don’t let him be dead! She felt his neck for a pulse.

  “He is unconscious,” she said to the princess, who was bending over to look at the wound. “But alive.”

  “I think he must be bleeding internally. In spite of what he said, I think his chest cavity may be filling with blood. I think we should take the knife out,” the dancer said and gestured to the tulle of her skirt. “My skirts are only netting. Have you got linen petticoats under your dress?”

  “Of course.” Elise’s mind started working again. “I cannot reach them with his head on my shoulder. Can you tear off the flounce?”

  Pulling up the red brocade, the dancer and the princess grabbed separate flounces and began to tear them off. Quickly they folded them into squares.

  Elise felt prompted to pull the stiletto out, believing the ballerina to be right. She wanted the blood to flow out of his body, so she could stop it with the makeshift bandage.

  “One, two, three,” she said softly. Pulling out the stilletto, she quickly placed one of the makeshift pads over the wound and pressed down as hard as she could. It was instantly soaked with blood.

  “Could I have the other one?” she asked her accidental assistants.

  Just as she was applying it, the gravel announced more reinforcements. In a moment, the marquis was at her side, followed by four other men in costume.

  “He asked for you before he fainted,” she told George. “It was Waterford.”

  Somerset assumed command, sending one of his small army for a hackney. “We need another bandage. Here!” He had shed his domino and was pulling off his cravat. One of Elise’s female assistants formed another bandage.

  “Westover,” Somerset commanded, “go for the sawbones. Have him meet us at Shearings.”

  The man who had been chasing Robert returned. “Damn and blast! The man shed his domino. Streets are crowded with men in evening dress. I have no idea where he went.”

  A shout came from the gate. “Hackney’s here.”

  Another man offered his cravat, and Somerset used it to tie the pad to the duke’s shoulder. As the four men carefully raised Ruisdell and carried him off, Elise started to follow, but then remembered her aunt. Disheveled as she was, she had no desire to reenter the ballroom. “Would you mind going for my aunt?” she asked the opera dancer. “She’s sitting with the chaperones. Lady Clarice Manton, dressed as a shepherdess. Quite plump. I’ll go out the garden gate and try to summon our carriage.”

  By the time she and Aunt Clarice finally arrived at Shearings, the doctor was just ahead of them. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Elise and her aunt followed him into the house and then into the downstairs’ library. The duke lay on a leather sofa on his chest with his unconscious head turned to the side. Someone had removed his shirt, exposing his torso with its beautifully defined muscles. She remembered that he was a boxer.

  For some reason, this memory tore at her, and now that his survival no longer demanded that she be stoic, tears began coursing down her cheeks as the doctor made his examination.

  “It’s going to be a case of wait and see, after I stitch him up. It’s a good sign that there is no blood in his mouth or nose. That means the lung wasn’t nicked. What we’re dealing with is loss of blood. I have no way of knowing the extent of the internal bleeding. And, of course, there is the possibility of infection.” For a few moments no one said anything as he stitched the small wound shut.

  Elise realized she was still clutching the stiletto.

  “Here,” she said, dropping the knife on the coffee table. “This is what he was stabbed with.”

  The doctor stood and took the knife into his hands. “Hmm, a wicked dagger. Antique. Italian, I think.”

  “He was stabbed by the Earl of Waterford,” she told him. “He just returned from Italy.”

  Walking behind the doctor, she knelt so her face was next to Peter’s. With everyone watching, she kissed him on the lips. “Darling, you’re going to make it. I’m going to see that you do.”

  Apparently, her aunt heard her whispered words, for she said, “Come, Elise. I know you want to stay, but it is not proper. This is a gentleman’s house, and he is ill and not even dressed. We must go.”

  She knew her aunt was right, but she refused to move. Finally, Lady Clarice enlisted the help of the marquis, who offered Elise his hand. “Come, Miss Edwards. I will see to him. Don’t you worry. He’s hardy.”

  She allowed him to raise her, but numb resistance kept her standing there staring down at the man who was recently such a vital presence in her life. Moaning, she knelt again and threw her arm over his naked back. “Peter, you have got to pull through. You are a soldier. You know how to do this.” Elise kissed the furrows of muscle on his back, until her aunt said with an unwonted touch of severity, “Elise! We must go.”

  Feeling as though she had no life away from the duke’s side, she left Shearings with great regret.

  The following morning, Elise lay in bed, awakened by an urgency she did not at first understand. Then the events of the night before returned, and throwing her bedclothes aside, she fairly leapt from her bed and summoned Kitty.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” Kitty apologized. “Lady Clarice asked that I let you sleep. She said how you had a bad time last night.”

  “Yes.” Elise had few secrets from her maid. “The duke was stabbed by the Earl of Waterford right in front of my eyes. He was unconscious when I left him. I am most anxious to find how he fares this morning. Could you ask one of the footmen to go around to Shearings and see how he does? He has been so kind to me.”

  But Kitty placed the Morning Post on the bed. “Lady Clarice says as how I was to give you this, miss, as soon as you woke up. She says to tell you that she has kept it away from Lady William. I will go find your aunt now and tell her you are awake. She is in a rare state, miss. I have never seen her so bothered.”

  Elise had never known Kitty to be so loquacious. Not having a clue what to expect, she took up the newspaper and climbed back under the bedclothes.

  Directly under her announcement concerning her engagement to the duke appeared, in the boldest of type: “Duke of Ruisdell Fatally Stabbed in Love Triangle.” Her heart lurched, and tears stung her eyes. Then blackness came crashing down.

  When she came to herself, her aunt was holding sal vitale under her nose. Jerking away from it, Elise could not credit that she had actually fainted.

  Her aunt’s voice was soothing. “Yes,
dear one. I knew you would take it hard. It is a horrible tragedy. How much did you read?”

  “Only the headline. That was enough.”

  “Unfortunately, there is more. I’ll just tell you, shall I?”

  “Yes, please. Is it very bad?”

  “I’m sorry to say, I don’t think it could be worse. There is the whole tale of your three engagements to Waterford, Chessingden, and Ruisdell. You are portrayed as the veriest siren. The duke is said to have met his death at the hand of Waterford.”

  “But it’s all true, Aunt.” She began to emit helpless sobs.

  Her aunt held her close while she cried. Elise remembered the still warm back that she had embraced, the feel of the muscles she had kissed. Then she recalled his teasing. “Are you ready to find out if we can thrill each other to the tips of our toes?”

  Knowing now she would never have that kiss, her sobs increased, and she buried herself in her pillows to muffle them. She was shattering into countless pieces. This time, she would never put herself together again.

  “We must get you away, darling. This morning. You must pull yourself together.”

  Elise tried to do as her aunt bade, but her sobs only lessened into helpless weeping.

  “Perhaps I killed him by taking the knife out. I should have left it in like he said. I was afraid he would drown in his blood.”

  “Do not think of it, Elise,” her aunt’s voice was more stern than she had ever heard it. “Now, listen to me. Stephen had a small estate in Yorkshire that was not included in the entail, so it came to me, along with this house. You and I are going to go there as soon as Kitty can get you packed. We will take the post chaise. No one but Sukey will know where we have gone. We will stay the remainder of the summer. Then, in the fall, I think we might venture to Bath in order to test the waters socially. We will know then what it is you are facing.”