Ballrooms and Blackmail

by Regina Scott

  “You asked me how I feel, and I told you,” she replied. “I can do no more than that.”

  “Indeed.” He finished his apple and tossed the core to a jarvey who stood nearby waiting for a commission for his horse. “I have been remiss in sending you an invitation to the masquerade. It will be at your door today.”

  Her heart jumped. She’d done it. She’d finally won over Nathan Kent.

  “Thank you,” she said, offering her hand. “It means the world to me.”

  He took her hand and cradled it close, eyes soft as he gazed at her face. He leaned closer, and for a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her.

  She knew all the ways to avoid a kiss on the lips: turn her head at the last minute, take a step back, raise her hand, give a giggle. She couldn’t muster a single tactic. Indeed, her body was leaning toward his, lips tingling as they pursed.

  He stiffened and dropped her hand. “We are only a few blocks from your home, I believe. I have business elsewhere, but I could escort you if you wish.”

  He was so distant she felt as if she’d been exiled to the snowy wastes of Russia. “No need, Mr. Kent,” she said, clutching her apple tight. “I would never want to interfere with the duke’s business.”

  “Very well, then.” He tipped his hat and strode off.

  Now her eyes were warm as well, and she was surprised to blink back tears. What was wrong with her? She should be celebrating. Nathan’s acceptance of her cleared the way for the duke to propose. When he did, she’d agree, and her parents would be saved! The Duke of Rottenford supported so many family members, by birth and by marriage. What were two more? She’d be a duchess, with wealth, privilege, and position. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

  Her stomach growled again, but she’d lost her appetite. She tossed the half-eaten apple to the jarvey and trudged toward home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  True to her word, Emily arranged an outing to visit the ruined abbey and its graveyard, a half hour’s ride from Mayfair to the east of London. After a quick meeting on strategy with Ariadne and Daphne, it was determined that they would need to invite at least five gentlemen to balance the number of ladies, including the omnipresent Glynnis Fairtree. The duke and Nathan were obvious choices, as was Mr. Cropper, though it took a little persuading to convince Emily to include him.

  “I think we should invite Mr. Cunningham,” Daphne said with an elbow in her sister’s side. “And I rather like David Galloway. I’ve only beaten him in a race once.”

  Ariadne appeared to be ignoring her. “And none of our suspects. That should ensure an outing free from melodramatics.”

  As it turned out, she had never been more wrong.

  All those invited agreed to attend, even the time-pressed Mr. Cropper and even on short notice, and they all met at the Emerson town house at seven in the evening. Emily had her carriage, Daphne and Ariadne came in their family’s carriage, and the duke had his elegant coach, allowing for any number of seating arrangements.

  But Priscilla had seldom seen such maneuvering. Mr. Galloway seemed more interested in Miss Fairtree than Daphne and took some convincing to ride in the Courdebas coach. The three girls were determined that Emily and Jamie Cropper should sit together, but Lady Minerva, who was serving as chaperone, insisted on joining them. Apparently, Emily was running low on jewelry with which to bribe her. Priscilla could have joined them, but she knew where she wanted to ride.

  She was surprised when Nathan offered. “I believe we can make room for you, Miss Tate,” he said, holding open the door of the duke’s carriage.

  With a smile of humble appreciation, she allowed the footman to hand her in.

  “Lovely evening for our adventure,” she said as she took her seat beside Glynnis Fairtree. Like the other ladies, Miss Fairtree had chosen a sturdy day dress covered with a pelisse for their outing. Her gray coat was trimmed in swansdown; the soft white tufts would have tickled her chin if not for the satin ribbon on her bonnet.

  Priscilla had pulled the chevrons from her blue pelisse and replaced them with black frogging that hugged the coat over her chest. With a black chip bonnet trimmed with peacock feathers, she hoped she looked appropriately eager for the evening.

  The duke rubbed his large hands together before his black evening coat, his somber dress unusual for him, but perhaps he was heading directly to a ball afterward. Nathan was similarly dressed, his white cravat spotless.

  “Lovely, lovely,” the duke proclaimed. “I cannot wait to see this graveyard. Mysterious. Gothic.” He wiggled his fingers at Glynnis. “Ghastly!”

  Glynnis smiled at him. “We will have to rely on your courage, Your Grace, to see us through.”

  He blinked as he dropped his hands. “Me? Heavens no! I jump at shadows!”

  “Then we will rely on each other,” Priscilla said smoothly, “as good friends should.”

  Glynnis’s smile slipped, but she nodded.

  The coaches set off, winding through the busy streets of Mayfair. Priscilla caught sight of several ladies already dressed for the balls they would be attending and fought back a sigh that she would be spending the evening clomping through dismal ruins instead. Why hadn’t she remembered Emily’s tendencies to darkness before asking her to plan this event?

  As the silence lengthened, Nathan sat forward. “Perhaps Your Grace would like to tell Miss Tate about your latest discovery,” he encouraged.

  Across from her, the duke frowned. “Discovery?”

  “The Mighty Monitor?” Nathan nudged.

  The duke’s face cleared. “Ah, yes, outstanding fellow. Broad shouldered, strong limbed. You must meet him, Miss Tate. I think he’d like you. Everyone likes you.”

  Priscilla pulled out a blush. “Why thank you, Your Grace. I’m sure I’d be delighted to meet any friend of yours.”

  Glynnis covered her giggle with one gloved hand. “I fear the Mighty Monitor isn’t a friend. He’s a rather large horse.”

  “Huge!” His Grace agreed, throwing his arms about as if to sketch the size. Nathan ducked to avoid a blow.

  “How . . . marvelous,” Priscilla said, smile firmly in place. “Do tell me more.”

  And he did, for the entire time it took to cross London and head out into the countryside. Indeed, she’d never known the duke to talk so much. She’d once thought him merely quiet, perhaps bashful given his sudden elevation to the rank. Now she realized that either Nathan or Glynnis had always guided the conversation when she’d met with him before. Without their input, he simply bubbled like a teakettle until he ran out of steam.

  “He sounds like a paragon of a horse,” she said when she could get a word in edgewise. Glynnis had long ago turned her gaze out the window, and Nathan had gone so far as to nod off.

  “Oh, he is, he is,” the duke assured her, head bobbing on his neck like a flower on a stalk. “Fine fellow. Best in my stable. I mean to breed him.” He glanced at Nathan for the first time. “Can a man in my position say that to a lady?”

  Nathan evidently realized he was being addressed, for he roused himself. “I believe you just did, Your Grace.” He winked at Priscilla, and her face felt warm. Not again!

  “Eh?” the duke asked, then he grinned. “Oh! So I did.”

  “Much as I admire the Mighty Monitor,” Glynnis said, turning from the window at last, “I’m sure there are other things we might discuss, Your Grace. I’d like to hear from Miss Tate. Which horse do you favor in your family’s stables?”

  The question was no doubt meant to be inclusive, but Priscilla knew she must go carefully as all gazes turned to her. Her family had no riding horses at the moment. They certainly couldn’t afford a hunter or a racehorse. By the look on Nathan’s handsome face, he knew it and was looking for a way to change the topic.

  He had no need. She’d been avoiding difficult questions for years now. “My favorite horse was the dapple gray thoroughbred I rode at the Barnsley School,” she answered. “She responded to my every command so quickly that I
was certain she could sense my thoughts.”

  “Was she fast?” the duke wanted to know, leaning toward her.

  Priscilla smiled. “I did not have the opportunity to find out, Your Grace. The school’s mistress of horse was very strict. I fear we did little more than trot about in a circle.”

  “Perhaps she thought the horses might endanger her students,” Nathan suggested. His answering smile said he was pleased with her response.

  “More likely she feared her students might endanger her horses,” Priscilla replied with a lift of her brow.

  “Ha!” The duke leveled a finger at her. “I understand what you did there. Very clever. Isn’t she clever, Glynnis?”

  “Very,” Glynnis drawled, gaze back on the countryside.

  Priscilla was glad to feel the coach slowing. “We must be close.” She peered out the window nearest her.

  Emily’s coach at the head of the procession had reached a set of tall gates, the wrought iron like lace against the darkening sky. Priscilla could see an elderly caretaker limping from an old stone cottage to allow the carriages entrance. A moment later, and they were moving onto the grounds. As they passed the caretaker, he made the sign of the cross over his grizzled face. A shiver ran through her.

  The carriages drew up in a circle of gravel, and grooms jumped down to open doors. In the smoky twilight, the lichened stones of St. Mortimer’s abbey glowed a pale green, the windows on the two remaining walls staring sightlessly at the sky.

  As they gathered, Emily stepped forward. “The ruins of the abbey lay before us,” she intoned with a wave of her hand. “It fell to waste nearly two hundred years ago. To the east is the graveyard, and I understand a set of stairs has been excavated that allow entrance to the crypt itself. I caution you to remember you are on hallowed ground, and that the structure is unsound in places. Go carefully, and enjoy yourselves. We will meet back at the carriages at the sound of the horn.”

  She nodded to her coachman, who gave a mighty blast on his trumpet. Ariadne cringed.

  “Why it’s enough to wake the dead!” Daphne exclaimed with a grin.

  “Let’s hope not,” Glynnis murmured.

  They set off in various directions, and once more, the maneuvering began. Mr. Cunningham had taken Ariadne’s arm, Priscilla noted, but Daphne was already clambering among the gravestones while Mr. Galloway puffed in her wake. Jamie Cropper led Emily into the abbey itself, tugging her through the gaping doorway while Lady Minerva struggled to keep pace. Priscilla had hoped for a moment alone with His Grace, but Glynnis and Nathan remained glued to his side as he strolled into the graveyard, and Priscilla resigned herself to another hour of nonsensical conversation.

  “I say, I’m parched,” the duke announced, stopping near a row of tilting gravestones, their stone crosses dipping to touch each other. He looked to Nathan. “Be a good lady, Natty, and find us all something to drink.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Priscilla as if suspecting her of coming up with the gambit. She smiled pleasantly, then bent to examine a low marble stone. Was that the name Tate on it? She nearly choked as she straightened.

  “I’m uncertain about the provisions, Your Grace,” Nathan said. “Allow me to enquire of her ladyship.” He strode off toward the looming abbey.

  Mr. Galloway came up to take his place. “Marvelous sight,” he proclaimed, drawing in a deep breath. “I even saw a gentleman swathed in a cloak astride a massive horse. Most picturesque.”

  Although she hadn’t spotted that particular monument, Priscilla couldn’t argue with his assessment. The graveyard was surprisingly lovely. The sun was setting, liming the stones with gold. The gravestones, some fanciful, some plain, made long shadows across the grass. The wings of an angel brushed her gown, and she glanced up to locate the piece a short distance away.

  “Has anyone seen Miss Courdebas?” her beau asked.

  The duke pushed on Glynnis’s shoulders. “I’m sure Miss Fairtree can find her. There’s a good fellow.”

  With a frown to her cousin, Miss Fairtree accepted Mr. Galloway’s arm and wandered off among the gravestones. Priscilla could hear her calling to Daphne.

  The duke grabbed Priscilla’s hand and dragged her closer to the angel, then tugged her behind it.

  “Your Grace?” she asked, but he put a long finger to his lips before peering around the massive monument. When he straightened again, he let out a sigh.

  “I think we lost them. Forgive the secrecy, Miss Tate. They don’t think I know it, but they watch me all the time.”

  Priscilla felt as if someone had slipped ice down the back of her lace-edged corset. “Who watches you, Your Grace?”

  “Natty and Glynny!” He sighed again. “It’s their job, you know. The family expects it of them. I am responsible for many people. It’s a burden.”

  “I imagine it is, Your Grace,” Priscilla said, feeling for him. “That’s why you have trusted advisors to help you.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. Only now I’m supposed to choose a bride. It’s a personal decision as well as a political one. I just wanted you to know you’re at the top of my list.”

  Was he saying what she hoped? Why couldn’t she muster more delight? “Your list?” she hedged.

  Again he nodded. “The list of who should be my duchess.” He counted them off on his fingers. “You first, then Miss Bigglethorpe, then Miss Dalrymple.”

  Priscilla nearly laughed aloud. How Acantha would hate to know she was third!

  “I am honored, Your Grace,” she murmured, trying to remain composed. “But how will you choose among so many?”

  He sagged against the stone, and a pebble pattered down on his evening shoe. “That’s the problem. You’re by far the prettiest, you’re always nice to me, and you’re very clever. I like that. Miss Bigglethorpe isn’t nearly so pretty or clever, but her family has known mine forever. I very likely won’t get much argument if I choose her. And Miss Dalrymple says mean things at times, but her impressive dowry would be rather useful.” He blinked at her. “You haven’t an impressive dowry, have you, Miss Tate?”

  She could not lie about that. The facts were too easy to confirm, and she was fairly certain Nathan had already confirmed them, at least to himself. “Alas, no, Your Grace. I must rely on my face, figure, and fine conversation to commend me.”

  This time his sigh was wistful. “And they do. Oh, they do!”

  Voices called, coming closer, and Priscilla was tempted to find another location to continue this fascinating conversation. But before she could move, Daphne appeared around the side of the monument. She beamed at the duke and Priscilla. “Oh, are you looking for the entrance to the crypt too?”

  “The crypt?” His Grace glanced about eagerly, and Priscilla nearly uttered a shriek of vexation. Just when she had him ready to offer!

  “Yes,” Daphne said, poking at the base of the angel. “Lady Emily said an entrance was recently excavated, but I cannot find it in this light.” She shoved her shoulder against the monument. “I thought perhaps there was a secret passage, opened by some mechanism among the stones.”

  “Ingenious,” the duke said, patting at the angel’s skirts. “But I see nothing here.”

  Daphne made a face as she stepped back, then glanced around. “Perhaps closer to the abbey. Excuse me.” She bounded off into the growing darkness.

  His Grace made to follow, but Priscilla seized his arm. The way Glynnis and Nathan watched over him, she might never have a chance like this again!

  “You do not know how your words give me hope, Your Grace,” she murmured, fluttering her lashes. “So you would truly place me at the top of your list?”

  He patted her hand. “Absolutely!”

  “Oh, how marvelous, to know I have found favor with a gentleman of your standing.” She gazed up at him. He gazed down at her with a pleasant smile. No, no. This would never do. She angled her face so the setting sun glided her cheek, then licked her lips, ensuring his gaze fastened on them.
>
  That’s right, a little closer. One kiss, and she had him. She put the slightest of pressure on his arm, making him bend toward her.

  Behind her, something shifted. She could hear the grating of stone on stone. If Daphne was coming back again, she would cheerfully boil her friend in oil.

  The duke glanced up, then his face twisted. Despite her plans, Priscilla’s gaze darted up as well. But instead of Daphne’s grinning face, she saw the face of the stone angel, hurtling toward her as the monument pitched from its base.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Returning from the abbey with news on provisions, Nathan felt the ground shake, and his stomach knotted. Dread lent power to his legs as he tore into the graveyard.

  Only to jerk to a stop at the massive stone angel blocking his way. It lay on its back, staring up at the sky, one hand reaching out as if determined to touch Heaven. Beyond it, Priscilla was helping the duke climb to his feet.

  “You pushed me!” he accused, shrugging off her touch.

  Her response testified to the state of her nerves. “Well, I beg your pardon! Next time, I’ll just step aside and let you be crushed.”

  “Everything all right?” Nathan called as she began dusting off her pelisse.

  His Grace pointed a wavering finger at her. “She pushed me!”

  Nathan looked for a way around the barricade, but the angel was securely lodged between the plinth and the next set of headstones. He had no choice but to climb over the glaring face.

  “Actually, Your Grace,” he said as he landed on the grass beyond. “I believe she saved your life.” He put a hand to Priscilla’s elbow to find her trembling. “Bravo, Miss Tate.”

  She inclined her head, golden curls slipping from her bonnet. “Even a lady must do her duty, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have repairs to make.”

  She twitched her skirt, and he realized the lacy flounce below the hem of her pelisse had come free. He could see a portion of it trailing out from under the angel’s feet, as if it had tried to tread upon her.

  That’s how close they had come.