by Jenna Jaxon
The doctor bent to gather his bag and belongings.
Duncan forced himself to remark casually, “I heard last night that the Earl of Manning died.”
Pritchett’s head shot up, his brows lowered in a fierce scowl. “I would not believe every rumor I heard, my lord. And that one is certainly far from true.”
Duncan sat up abruptly in his chair. “He’s not dead then?” Relief flooded him, the specter of scandal vanishing like scattered fog. An odd sense of loss rose as well; the captivating girl was merely a whore. So much for the prospective bride. Nevertheless, he was relieved.
“The earl got a nasty bump on the head, but he was conscious when I left last night and I don’t foresee any lingering effects if he keeps to his bed for a week.” Pritchett shook his head and smiled. “Especially since his sister is bound and determined to nurse him back to health.”
“Sister?” He swallowed with difficulty, his head pounding as dread returned full force. “I thought Manning only had a younger brother.”
The doctor looked at him oddly, then his eyes widened. “You were speaking about the old earl? Lord William? I beg your pardon, Lord Dalbury, I had forgotten you were out of the country last year. Yes, William, the fifth Earl of Manning died in August of last year. At his club. Heart, I believe it was. The current earl is his nephew, John Fitzwilliam. Had a bit of a run-in with highwaymen last evening. My lord, has your cheek become worse?”
A hiss, like the life being sucked from him, escaped Duncan’s mouth. Oh, God. Her story was all true. He fought to remain calm until Pritchett left, then sank down into his leather chair as though all the bones in his body had come unhinged. The facts fit together perfectly–the rope burns, the kidnapping. So perfectly, that Duncan could hear the gossip in the London streets: Did you hear the Marquess of Dalbury compromised the Earl of Manning’s sister? Have you heard the earl has challenged him? Do you think the marquess will kill him too?
One fact surfaced: he must find Lady Katarina and convince her to marry him. There was no other course open to him if he was to retain his reputation as a gentleman. For if she refused, the one thing he sought most to avoid would ride him again this year: scandal.
Chapter 6
Anson, the valet, had finished making minute adjustments to the shoulders of Duncan’s impeccably cut Italian coat, when Grayson entered his bedchamber.
“Mr. Reginald Matthews of the Bow Street magistrate’s office is in the small reception room, my lord.”
Duncan gave the butler a curt nod and waved Anson away. He’d been expecting some sort of visit for the past three weeks. Someone must have recognized him that night and finally linked him with Lady Katarina. Well, he would just have to dance a fine jig around the situation.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, shifting his position. His golden brown coat and breeches–over the cream satin waistcoat embellished with running vines and leaves–was an elegant, but understated outfit. The overall effect did not sufficiently reflect his authority for this interview.
“Anson!” he called, and the lanky valet came at a run. “I have reconsidered the day. I believe the ice blue is called for.”
“Very good, my lord.” Anson disappeared into the dressing room and emerged with a suit of blue so pale, in some lights, it looked gray. The French silk coat glittered with silver trim at collar and cuffs, the buttons, round-cut diamonds. The completed outfit would in addition boast diamond studded buckles on his shoes and a large, single diamond stud in his ear. He would appear a perfect icicle, sharp and cold, when Anson was through with him. All the better to meet Mr. Matthews.
Duncan stood in the center of his bedroom as Anson stripped him of the brown and commenced turning him out in every bit of splendor the Marquess of Dalbury could muster. As he was divested of coat and waistcoat, he drifted back, as he did so often these days, to Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam. That spirited minx occupied more of his time than he cared to admit. How silky her hair had felt, how soft her skin, how firm and sweet her breasts had tasted.
As Anson stripped the breeches off him, he shivered at the thought of Katarina’s hands doing a similar service. Why could he not find the woman? God knew he was willing to make the situation right, but so far it had proven a task for Hercules.
Once he’d learned Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam did indeed exist, he’d gone immediately to the best source of information available, his Aunt Phoebe. She’d invited the earl and his sister to her masquerade ball, therefore she must have already made their acquaintance. Everyone in the ton knew everyone else and Aunt Phoebe always managed to uncover the freshest news. He didn’t doubt she employed spies in every noble house in London.
“The new Earl of Manning, Duncan?” Aunt Phoebe had whined in her pinched voice only two days after Pritchett’s revelation. “Yes, we were introduced just after he arrived. Lovely young man, though a bit green to the social niceties. Colonial, you know. I suspect he’ll do well enough.” The countess of Beaufort had sipped her tea and fixed him with a sour eye. “You haven’t been gaming with him, have you, Duncan? The one rumor about him I do believe is that he has the absolute best eye for horses this side of the grave. If you have wagered against him in some race, you will probably come to grief. They tell me he simply knows which horse is the fastest. Raised in Virginia, you know. Wouldn’t be surprised if there was some Irish blood there too.” Her tone implied neither connection was desirable.
As his aunt had sipped her tea, he’d steered the conversation into the channel he’d wanted to navigate. “I understand he has a sister, Aunt Phoebe. Have you met her as well?”
“Alas, no.” His aunt’s narrow frown had bespoken her displeasure. “She was still in mourning for her father, so the dowager Viscountess Bromley, her aunt, or great-aunt I believe, keeps a strict eye on her. I heard both the gel and the brother were to attend my masquerade ball but were waylaid by highwaymen.” She peered at him, vexed. “You weren’t waylaid by them as well, were you, Duncan? You did not turn up that night either.”
“I was unfortunately detained by some pressing business. You know I would have been here otherwise.” He’d shuddered at the mayhem his aunt would inflict on him if she knew exactly what business he had been up to that night. “So you have not met the earl’s sister?”
“And why are you so interested in the gel?” Her suspicious tone had informed him of his doom. “You’re not thinking of offering for her, are you?”
“I haven’t even met her yet, Aunt.”
“But you could make such a brilliant match, Duncan, if only you would be guided by me.” He’d hoped his face hadn’t completely drained of color at that suggestion. “The Forsythe gel, for example. I understand she has that Titian hair you are so wild about. And she’s the daughter of the second wealthiest peer in Ireland. She’s with her cousin, Lady Braeton, this season. You must meet her.” Aunt Phoebe then settled into a listing of all the most eligible matches, which he’d completely ignored. But he’d resolved to attend every possible assembly of the ton in order to scrape an acquaintance with Lady Katarina. Or at least with her brother.
Anson handed him the diamond stud earring and Duncan scowled, recalling his lack of progress. In the past three weeks he had thrown himself into the whirl of the social season, reasoning Manning and his sister would have to attend some ton functions. But he might as well have stayed home and nursed his wounds. No one reported sighting either of them at any event thus far. Neither had Manning been seen at his club, and all callers at the earl’s townhouse were politely turned away.
Anyway, he must meet them in a social setting. Even though he knew the identity of the woman in that room, he did not want to give her brother cause to call him out and risk another duel. If he simply went to the brother and asked for his sister’s hand, he would have to explain where they had met.
He knew what his reaction would have been in such a situation.
Duncan sighed. He perused himself in the mirror, hardened his jaw and stiffened his back. He was ready for
the lion.
* * * *
“My lord.” Reginald Matthews bowed deeply as Duncan entered the reception room. The man was dressed better than he expected, in a well cut suit of amber brocade. So why hadn’t Grayson taken his cloak? The garment hung carelessly from the Runner’s arm.
“Mr. Matthews, is it? What may I do for you, sir?” He affected just the right tone, a scant measure above dismissive.
“It is what I may do for you, Lord Dalbury. I hope I am able to return some property to your lordship.”
“What property?” Had he gone to all this trouble for nothing? Was the man not here about Lady Katarina after all?
“Does this cloak belong to you, your lordship?” Matthews snapped the black folds out dramatically, letting them flutter slowly toward the floor.
His breath caught. God, how had he forgotten that cloak? “Where did you get this?” He hoped his tone was as cold as he felt.
“Then it is yours, Lord Dalbury?” The Runner sounded relieved, though it was likely a ruse.
He paused, schooling his face. “It could be one I misplaced several weeks ago. I attended a private function and neglected to retrieve it when I left. I hoped to return to collect it but I have been...detained by work. I am only recently returned from Italy.”
“You were abroad long, my lord?”
“I was away over ten months.” Convinced the man sought to goad him, Duncan could not keep annoyance out of his voice.
“Ah, since May last?”
Duncan furrowed his brows into a scowl. “I left in May, yes. You obviously know the reason. My family was disgraced by my relative’s scandalous behavior, even though the connection was only through marriage. But that connection managed to start totally unfounded rumors about my sister. I chose to settle them honorably.”
“You killed two of your opponents, I believe. And two of the other four were quite badly wounded.” Matthews’s voice was a wisp of sound.
“I acted with honor, sir,” he said, the words clipped, icy. “There was nothing else to do. I then chose to leave rather than be forced to hear the tittle-tattle during the whole of the London season. I just pray God it has died down by now.”
“There are fresher scandals to be had this year, my lord. Hopefully none touching your family.” Matthews’s comment sounded offhand, but a threat seemed to lie just below the surface. The man knew something. Or believed he did.
“But back to our business. You assert that this is your cloak?”
“I assert nothing of the sort, sir. I merely said it was like one I had misplaced.”
“And is this it, my lord?” Matthews thrust the black cloth into his hands. “I would think you recognized it now.”
“Take care, sir!” The warning flashed like quicksilver. In reality, he was a peer–not above the law, perhaps, but on very good terms with it.
“Your pardon, Lord Dalbury.” The man appeared to realize he did have boundaries.
Duncan fingered the fine material, stalling for time. “You have yet to tell me where you came by this garment, Matthews. I admit it is very like mine, but there must be many black cloaks of quality in London.”
“I believe it originated in Madame Vestry’s House of Pleasure on March fifteenth, my lord.”
A hiss escaped Duncan before he could catch himself, though he knew full well where that cloak had been found.
“You were there, were you not, my lord? I questioned Madame Vestry this morning. The cloak only came to light last night.”
Duncan forced his jaw to relax, and gave Matthews the rueful smile he had practiced this morning, for such a moment. “Madame Vestry told you, then, of our assignation?”
“Your assignation? Yours and who else’s?”
“Amorina Vestry’s, of course.” He stifled a look of triumph at Matthews’s crestfallen expression.
“You went to the House of Pleasure to see Madame Vestry?”
Duncan nodded, completely unabashed. “She was my mistress for several years before I left for Italy. Even though our relationship came to light rather publicly last year, when I returned in March I sought to renew our acquaintance. Not very prudent, perhaps, but then some appetites cannot be sated. But she told you this, of course?”
Matthews shook his head. “Madame Vestry informed me that you had successfully bid at the tableau auction. She mentioned nothing of an arrangement between you and her.” His tone changed as he now spoke frankly. “I do not yet know the truth of the matter, but if Madame Vestry spoke falsely to me, I have reason to believe she is trying to embroil you in yet another scandal, my lord.”
Duncan swallowed hard. “What scandal?”
“A young gentlewoman was kidnapped on March fifteenth and held against her will at Vestry’s establishment. I fear the madam, for whatever reason, may be trying to link your name to this woman.”
“Christ!” Amorina, whom he had treated as a cherished companion for two years, had betrayed him. Had perhaps even engineered the whole scandal to bring about his utter ruin.
Duncan walked unsteadily to the sideboard, poured half a tumbler of brandy and took a healthy draught. He stared at his glass, contemplating his options. There seemed to be only one.
“I assume you are investigating the young woman’s disappearance?” he asked wearily.
“Oh, she is recovered, my lord. Safe at home with her family. That is how the cloak came to me. She wore it that night when she left the House of Pleasure, but it was misplaced in the furor of the lady’s recovery.” Matthews’s lips thinned. “As she is my kinswoman, I have vowed the villain or villains who abducted her will pay dearly for their actions.” His fervency was touching and horrifying at the same time.
“Your kinswoman?” Since when did a Runner have noble connections? The situation was spiraling into the realm of nightmare.
“A distant relation, but one who still commands my protection. I am sure you understand that, my lord.” The grim determination etched in Matthews’s face was reminiscent of his own countenance last spring. He might yet meet this man on a field of honor.
“Did the young woman say how she came to be wearing the cloak?” How much had Lady Katarina actually confessed to her relation?
“I have not approached her with that question yet. I hoped you could shed some light on the subject first.”
“I suppose if she was fleeing the house she could have picked the cloak up anywhere along the corridor. Or chanced upon it in an empty room. I am still unsure if the garment is mine, but there is the possibility. I can’t remember where I took it off.” He raised an eyebrow and affected a salacious smile. “I had other things on my mind, as you may imagine. In any case, I wish you godspeed with your endeavor.” An earnest sentiment, though his actual wishes were somewhat less so. “I will address myself to Madame Vestry at the earliest opportunity, for I certainly want no more scandal attached to my family.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will return the garment once I have questioned the lady.”
Duncan waved as though the cloak were a trifle. “As I said, I’m not convinced it is mine, but I hope it will aid you in your search. If that is all, my butler will show you out.”
From his bedroom window he watched Matthews ride away from Grosvenor Square, but he saw nothing except a beautiful young woman with fiery hair, one possessed of more courage than many men he had known. And he now knew he must meet her without delay.
Surely Lady Katarina and the earl would attend the Braeton’s ball tonight. Lord and Lady Braeton were prominent horse enthusiasts, so if Aunt Phoebe was correct and the earl had a keen eye for horseflesh, he would certainly want to put in an appearance at Linden House.
Calling for Anson, Duncan began to divest himself of the ice blue outfit. He recalled Matthew’s words about Amorina’s confession and the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened. His underestimation of his ex-mistress’s desire for revenge might be the worst miscalculation of his life.
Speculation that Amorina had masterminded Lad
y Katarina’s kidnapping in order to complete his ruin reared its ugly head again. Why else would the girl have been brought to the House of Pleasure? And Amorina would have known the sight of the lady’s luscious copper hair would ensure he bid on that tableau.
Anson entered and hurried to remove the diamond studs and satin jacket.
At least the trap had missed its mark and scandal, even if brewing, had not yet reached the ears of the ton. A reprieve, though a slight one.
Duncan forced himself to focus on the hoped-for meeting with Lady Katarina. Instead of lifting his spirits, as thought of her so often did, the images coalesced into one of her brother or now Matthews calling him out.
“Anson.”
“My lord?”
“The fencing outfit, please. I believe a trip to Angelo’s is warranted this afternoon.”
“Very good, my lord.” Anson gathered the scattered pieces of Duncan’s wardrobe and headed into the dressing room.
Now clad only in linen drawers and stockings, he groaned at the memory of Lady Katarina’s seductive hips pressing against him during their struggle. His arousal returned, insistent as always when the vision of that luscious body rose before him. He cursed. If he didn’t find the woman soon, scandal would be the least of his worries.
Chapter 7
“Kat, you cannot possibly cram another thing into that trunk.” Jack was being difficult, but dear.
Katarina considered where her best riding boots might squeeze into the already tightly packed space. When moments of sanity surfaced, she couldn’t see how she could leave him. They had always put up a united front to their father, their governesses, the world. Being alone would be one of the biggest challenges she had ever faced, but she was determined. She’d hounded Jack almost night and day since he’d recovered from the blow to his temple, wheedling him to agree to her return to Virginia to seek out Captain Dawson.
She’d related her tale of adventure on that horrible night almost three weeks ago–the contrived version of course–and managed to instill in Jack the intense fear and shame of those hours. So when she’d begged him to allow her to sail back to the colonies, he’d reluctantly agreed. He even booked the passage for her on the Constanza, the family-owned flyut they had traveled on to England two months before.
