Morton’s gaze remained trained on the floor, though he shifted away from her touch.
She pulled his ear lobe until he glanced up, tears in his eyes. “No, not you, little boy. You would not have the courage to defy me.” She released him with contempt and turned to Faith. “Do you agree to announce your betrothal to Morton? Answer quickly. Your mother’s life depends on it.”
Faith shuddered. What choice did she have? She nodded.
The duchess laughed in triumph and pulled Faith close.
Faith’s heart thundered.
“If you renege on your word,” her tormentor said, “I will not treat either of your parents kindly. The punishment will be fatal. Count on that.”
MOMENTS LATER, she, Morton and the duchess had returned to the west wing where the ballrooms were. As they entered the crowded rooms, Faith searched for Daniel, but in the sea of faces, she could not find him. They reached the grand ballroom where, on a dais, the orchestra was playing. At the duchess’s signal, the music died down and a player struck a cymbal, the note echoing in Faith’s ears.
People turned in their direction. There! She spotted Daniel at the far end of the room, huddled with Sir Phillip and Lady Roselyn, as well as Lord and Lady Terrance. He saw her and made to come toward but Sir Phillip held him back. The prince approached them and spoke in the knight’s ear.
Where was Mr. Granger? How frightened her mother must be in his custody.
The Duchess of Morton stepped up onto the dais, towing both her son and Faith with her. “Lords and ladies, may I have a moment of your attention?”
A hush fell over the chamber.
“My son, the Duke of Morton, and Lady Faith, have some delightful news to share.”
She pinched Faith’s upper arm.
Faith stumbled forward until she stood beside Morton.
“I would like to announce—” Faith said.
“Louder!” the duchess growled.
A clock from the hallway struck a series of loud gongs. Faith waited for the bells to finish their midnight toll.
“I wish to announce,” she said in a louder voice, her eyes trained on Daniel, “that I have accepted His Grace, the Duke of Morton’s, proposal of marriage.”
Chapter Twenty One
CLAPPING BEGAN tentatively, and then more rapidly until the applause resounded, matching the rhythmic hammering in Faith’s head. She silently pleaded for Daniel’s understanding.
He looked devastated as he stumbled back. Sir Phillip steadied him and spoke urgently. Lady Roselyn, too, spoke to him but Daniel pushed them away and ran out the balcony doors.
The regent seemed puzzled, but Lord Terrance led him away while his wife looked at Faith and then turned her frowning glance toward where Daniel had sped.
If you have any special abilities, my lady, Faith sent her wish spearing toward Lady Terrance, help my mother and Daniel.
The Duchess of Morton hurried Faith and Morton down to the dance floor. People crowded them, shook their hands, patted their backs and voiced encouragement. Voices chattered, glasses clinked, and the orchestra played, but all the sounds jumbled together until they became one disharmonious buzz in Faith’s ears, swirling about the memory of Daniel’s devastated face.
Only the duchess’s fierce grip on her forearm felt real.
Morton returned Faith’s look of dismay. He, too, must have seen Daniel’s hurt look.
Someone tugged at Faith’s dress. Lady Roselyn was at her side. The duchess pulled Faith away before the lady could speak but Faith looked over her shoulder and mouthed the word mother. Had she understood? Would she begin the search?
Ahead, the Prince Regent approached with Lord Terrance and Sir Phillip flanking him. The duchess curtsied grandly and Faith did likewise. Morton bowed low.
“It seems felicitations are in order.” The regent’s glance rested casually on the duchess. “Sir Phillip tells me this match is entirely due to your engineering, your grace.”
The duchess shot Sir Phillip a quick glance and gushed denials. “The couple is in love, Your Royal Highness.” She shrugged. “As a mother, how could I fault such an agreeable match?”
“What say you, Morton?” the regent said. “Are you in love?”
“Careful how you answer, your grace,” Sir Phillip said. “His highness is a stickler for truth. Not an hour ago, he assured me of the consequences of lying to royalty.”
Morton flushed, while his mother paled. “I care for Lady Faith,” he said, “as much as I do for my brother.”
“Brother?” the prince said. “You could not mean that fellow who claimed to be a Killian this evening, since your mother has disavowed him. So that leaves the whelp Granger. Never thought such a shifty-eyed gent would engender deep feelings in anyone.” He laughed while the duchess’s cheeks burned and her gaze cooled. The prince moved on, his courtiers trailing him. “Keep me company, Jones,” the prince called over his shoulder. “We have a matter of a pair of missing items to settle.”
Beside Faith, Morton stiffened.
“I tire of this party.” His mother sent a scathing look to the back of the regent’s head.
“Good,” Faith whispered. “Take me to my mother this instant or I will gather my supporters and search for her myself.”
“Do not threaten me, girl. I am in no mood for your trickery. Your mother is safe and will remain so as long as you do my bidding. Morton, dance with the tiresome chit.”
Morton was no longer beside them.
“Where has that infernal boy gone?” the duchess asked.
“If you release my arm, I could—” Faith offered.
“There he is!” The duchess pointed to the other side of the ballroom. “He will not defy me this way. Come.”
In pursuit of her errant son, the woman bludgeoned her way through the crowd, dragging Faith with her. A glance back showed both Sir Phillip and the regent observing their precipitous departure with varying degrees of interest.
Lady Roselyn whispered to her husband. But Faith had no way of knowing what she said as the duchess dragged her through the crowd.
DANIEL STOOD ON the balcony, breathing deep, trying to think clearly. What had just happened?
I have accepted His Grace, the Duke of Morton’s, gracious proposal of marriage.
You will always be my duke.
I have accepted His Grace, the Duke of Morton’s, gracious proposal of marriage.
You will always be my duke.
In an instant, understanding shut out the lilting music, excited chatter and laughter filtering outside. He was the Duke of Morton. Faith had just agreed to marry him. In public. He swung back to find her, and ran into Lady Terrance.
“Pardon me, my lady.” He went to go around her but she blocked his path. “She is in trouble. My Faith. I have to go to her.” He stepped to the left and she blocked him again.
“You cannot help her that way,” Lady Terrance said. “Leave her in my husband and his cousin’s care.”
“No!” Ready to lift this tiny beauty bodily out of his way, if necessary, he said, “Please stand aside this instant.”
“Listen to me, Mr. Killian. The way to help Lady Faith is to help her mother. The Duchess of Burley needs you most desperately. She is in grave danger.”
Daniel hesitated. This lady had warned him when Faith was in trouble and he had been able to save her. “What has happened to Faith’s mother?”
“Mr. Granger has her. And he is unstable, sir.”
“Where? Sir Phillip has servants everywhere. He should not have been able to get near the duchess.”
“Mr. Granger has her and he will harm her, if she is not rescued soon.”
Terror burrowed into Daniel. “Where are they?”
“Not inside the house. Mr. Granger has taken her somew
here in the woods, in that direction.” She pointed vaguely to the west. “Near a pond or a lake.”
Daniel was familiar with the grounds around the Burley mansion. He had circled it enough times while pondering how to reach Faith. The only large body of water close by was the lake where Faith had taught him to swim. “I know where he is.”
She snagged his sleeve. “Be careful, sir. This night could well see your death, as it almost did when you were a child.”
Daniel pulled free and ran.
“Look for a willow tree,” her voice echoed behind him.
He scaled the mansion’s back wall and sped over the open field, heading toward the lake. The few minutes it took to run to the lake might as well have spanned hours, for he arrived at the clearing, breathless, a burning stitch in his side and terrified he was too late. A quick search showed the area was empty. Could Lady Terrance have been mistaken? Or had he jumped to the wrong conclusion? He snagged a handful of willow branches and moved them aside as he stepped closer to the bank. The woods remained ominously quiet. Granger could be anywhere.
Daniel listened for sounds, ever conscious of the dark water no more than a few steps away. On the far side of the lake, the waterfall trickled, disturbing the calm.
Everywhere along the bank, there were willows. Swearing, he swung around . . . only to come face-to-face with a smirking Granger.
HUFFING AND PUFFING, the Duchess of Morton rushed after her son while still gripping Faith’s forearm. They followed him from ballroom to ballroom, shuffling past gaily-dressed ladies, men in uniform, and harried servants until they arrived at a door to the corridor. Past that doorway, they spotted Morton running toward the east wing.
He was going to retrieve the buckles. A glance backward showed Faith that Sir Phillip was hot on their trail. Though he made no move to intercept the duchess, his presence bolstered Faith’s confidence. Catching her eye, he placed a finger to his lips.
She nodded her understanding, and hope warmed her cold heart. He wanted her to keep the duchess distracted. Since Faith also wanted to discover if her mother had been poisoned, she had no choice but to stick close to her tormentor.
The duchess yanked Faith’s arm. “Do not dawdle. We must not lose the boy.”
Dragging Faith along, she hurried after her son. When they arrived back at the study, the duchess inched the door open and peered in. Faith looked into the room over the woman’s shoulder. The candles they had left behind had burnt low, painting the room in a shadowy glow. The duke’s silhouette was bent over the bust of Nelson on the desk.
“Morton.” His mother barged in. “What do you have there?”
He swung around, the picture of guilt, clutching his right fist to his chest.
The duchess dragged Faith inside, then shut the door before she marched up to Morton. “Show me.”
Morton hesitated and then opened his fist. Candlelight sparkled on two large rubies in nests of diamonds.
His mother gasped.
Faith observed the prize with little surprise.
“How did you come by those?” his mother said. “Answer me, boy.”
With his free hand, Morton pulled out something from inside his waistcoat. Blue material fluttered.
“That is my shawl,” Faith said, shocked. “I thought I misplaced it the night you came for dinner.”
He looked contrite. “I apologize for taking it.”
Faith retrieved her silk shawl. “Why did you take it?”
“I liked it. And I liked you.”
“My son is a thief!” Contempt laced his mother’s voice.
Faith glanced at her with loathing. “Your other son is a kidnapper, yet that does not bother you.” Of course, the duchess had also tried to murder her father and Daniel, and by her own admission, had poisoned scores of sick patients, so who knew what her morals were?
“Charles’s conduct and this half-wit’s do not compare.”
“There, I agree,” Faith said. “One is a vile criminal, while the other is merely seeking his mother’s love.”
The duchess cast a scornful glance on her son. “Give me those buckles.”
“No, Mother. I must return these items. It was wrong to keep them from their rightful owners. I see that now.”
“What do I care about a shawl? But you will not give those buckles back. We shall dismantle the stones and sell them. Then we will forget that you or Granger ever touched them.” She made to snatch the jewels.
Morton moved them out of reach. “You cannot destroy them. They do not belong to us.”
“You will do as I say, Morton.”
He backed away, shaking his head. “No more, Mother. No more destroying things. No more taking things that do not belong to us. I promised Edward I would return these.”
At mention of that name, Faith’s heart thudded. She glanced with wariness at the duchess. It was like standing at the precipice of a volcano, waiting for it to erupt.
“Edward?” his mother said. “You knew about him. Why did you not warn me he was still alive, that he was coming here?”
“Because he is my brother,” Morton said, “and you would have tried to kill him. Again.”
The duchess released Faith and approached her son.
It was all out in the open now. Trembling, Faith absently rubbed at the crescent-shaped indentations the duchess’s fingernails had dug into her skin. What the duchess might do to Morton did not bear thinking. The woman was past reason. It was time to fetch Sir Phillip. She gauged the distance to the door.
“Earlier this evening,” the duchess said, “I thought it was your father’s specter I saw striding into this house with such pride and arrogance. As if he had never left this world. Then, to hear that man be announced as Edward Michael Killian. . . .” The duchess shook with fury. “Boy, what have you done to us?”
“He is no ghost, Mother. Edward is flesh and blood and very much alive. He is my brother and I have welcomed him back to the family. He cares for me, as you never could.”
The stinging slap she dealt him echoed through the room.
Faith, who had reached the door, swung back.
Morton’s white cheek was marked with a red handprint.
Faith rushed back and pushed herself between mother and son. “Leave him alone!”
The duchess shoved Faith away, and she fell, striking her head on the edge of a chair. Pain shot across her forehead.
Morton ran to crouch beside her. “Are you all right?”
“How dare you defy me?” The duchess pulled him up. “Traitor! I will kill you before I let you harm Charles.”
Morton shook off her hold and retreated behind the high-backed chair. “How am I the traitor, Mother, when it is you who would never stand by me? Never love me?”
“Love you?” She laughed. “Love a sniveling coward who gave me nothing but grief since the day you were conceived?”
She raised her hand to strike him again, but Faith scrambled to her feet and pulled Morton aside. Together, they retreated until a wall halted their progress.
The duchess advanced, barring their escape. “You have done nothing but betray and demean your brother at every turn. And now this. Supporting the one man who could destroy Charles. Is it any wonder I am incapable of loving you?”
“Leave him be,” Faith said in a fierce voice. “Morton is twice the man Granger is.” The duchess’s eyes narrowed as her attention shifted.
Fear shimmered through Faith, but she stood firmly between mother and son. Her father was a duke. She would not allow a murdering madwoman to cow her. Chin lifted, she glared back.
“You are quite correct,” the duchess said, suddenly turning conciliatory. “Why should I lose my temper with either of you? You are both about to help me achieve everything I want. So, Morton has bonded with his ha
lf-brother.” She tilted her head as she studied him over Faith’s shoulder. “What of it? Edward is of no importance. By now, Charles should have dealt with him.”
Morton stepped around Faith. “What do you mean?”
“She is lying.” Faith tugged him back. “Granger is holding my mother captive. He does not have time to go after Daniel.”
“Daniel? So Sir Phillip’s butler is Edward Killian?” The duchess shrugged. “It matters not. Once he has secured your mother, Charles will kill the upstart, whatever his name.”
“WELL, WELL, IF it is not Edward ‘Runt’ Killian, my little stepbrother, resurrected from the dead.” Granger hefted a thick branch. “How convenient that we are near water so I can finish the job.” He swung the wood at Daniel.
He ducked and raced around a nearby trunk. Granger lashed out again and the branch, skimming past Daniel’s head, slammed against the trunk. With a wicked grin, Granger circled the tree looking for a clear target.
Daniel searched for a weapon, saw nothing handy, so he rolled on the ground and came up, kicking Granger’s arm. The branch flew through the air and landed several paces away. Daniel got back to his feet, and spotted Faith’s mother tied to a willow not ten feet away, watching them with terrified eyes.
“I see you have spotted my prize.” Granger dived for the fallen branch. Daniel went after the bigger man and they wrestled. Granger’s elbow struck Daniel in the ribs, knocking air out of his lungs. He shifted to the side just as the branch pounded the ground beside his head, spraying dirt. He rolled away and scrambled for cover behind another tree.
Granger, breathing hard, held the weapon firmly in his hands as he circled the tree. “I was about to go find you when I heard you crashing through the bushes.” He grinned. “Thank you for saving me the effort.” He swung again.
Daniel jumped aside, putting more distance between them. Granger was tiring. His breathing was heavy and sweat poured down his face. Even though he was a half head taller than Daniel and twice as hefty, the man was in physically poorer condition. Daniel was certain he could take him. Unfortunately, Granger was now blocking his access to the duchess. A free-for-all scuffle could inadvertently injure her. Daniel had to draw him away.
A Scorching Dilemma Page 25
