by Anna Bennett
She blinked prettily, the picture of innocence. “I beg your pardon?”
“I haven’t time for games. Name your sum.”
A pink flush stole up her cheeks. “Are you talking about … money?”
“I presume that’s why you’re here.”
“No,” she said, frowning. “I have no expectation of payment for my services.”
No wonder his grandmother had been taken in. Miss Lacey played the part of the generous, charitable ingénue to perfection. But such selflessness was always an act, as Alex knew all too well.
“You agreed to be my grandmother’s companion out of the goodness of your heart?” he asked skeptically.
“Is that so difficult to believe?”
“I believe a pretty young woman has better things to do with her time than fetching fans and listening to complaints about aching joints.” His offhand compliment seemed to fluster her. God help her if he ever attempted to be truly charming.
She swept an errant curl behind her ear and composed herself once more. “You do not give me very much credit, your grace. And you give your grandmother even less. Perhaps if you took the time to converse with her on occasion, you would know that she is a delightful conversationalist.”
He shrugged off her barb. “She does like to talk about me,” he boasted unapologetically. “Has she told you the story of how I fell off my horse at the age of five, broke my arm, and insisted that my father place me back in the saddle so that I could attempt the jump again?”
Miss Lacey rolled her eyes. “She might have. I don’t recall the particulars.”
He shot a smug smile at her. “It’s one of her favorites. But entertaining tales of my childhood escapades are not sufficient incentive for someone like you to voluntarily agree to shop for gout remedies and read tedious poetry to a seventy-year-old woman who isn’t even related to you.”
Gazing directly into his eyes, she said, “My reasons for agreeing to help your grandmother are personal, but they are not sinister. Perhaps you assign evil intent to my actions because that is what is in your heart—but I can assure you, it’s not in mine.”
The barbs kept coming. She must have a quiver full of them.
“Very well,” he said. “Let’s set aside the issue of your motivation, for now. The fact of the matter is you simply cannot stay here.” The truth was he held no grudge against Miss Lacey. She was beautiful and bold—a swath of wildflowers brightening an otherwise drab field. But he couldn’t be responsible for her well-being—not in light of recent events.
“I don’t understand.” She blinked rapidly, as though fending off tears.
He swallowed and reminded himself this was for her own good. And that the less she knew, the better. “My grandmother’s circumstances will soon be changing, and she’ll have no need for a companion. I would rather she not form a deep attachment to you in the meantime, as it will only make the inevitable separation more difficult for her. You see, Miss Lacey, I’m not the ogre you believe me to be.”
She sniffed indelicately. “If you say so.”
“You have some place to go, I presume?”
“After you turn me out on the street?” Her blue eyes seemed to look through him. “Never fear, your grace. I shan’t be reduced to serving pints to drunken sailors, if that’s what’s troubling you. I can return to my uncle’s house. My sister would no doubt take me in as well. Having a place to live—that’s not the problem.”
But her answer, sarcastic as it may have been, suggested there was a problem. He exhaled slowly. Whatever her underlying issue might be, it was not his concern. The sooner Miss Lacey was out from under his roof, the better off she’d be. “I’m glad to hear you have options.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “And I’m glad I could help to ease your conscience. I’ll pack my things while your grandmother is napping. I’m not sure what I’ll say to her, but I do want to say good-bye in person.”
“You can stay until tomorrow.” The words had tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden.
“Tomorrow?” she repeated.
A short reprieve couldn’t hurt. It was one night, and he’d be extra vigilant. “We’ll inform my grandmother at dinner this evening that you’ll be leaving. You can send word to your uncle or sister to expect you in the morning.”
“Excellent. That will give me a few more hours to formulate a plausible explanation as to why I was tossed out on my ear.”
“You could always tell them that my untoward behavior made it impossible for you to stay.”
She seemed to consider this, then blinked. “Are you suggesting that I allow my family to believe that you made improper advances toward me?”
“Why not? They would believe it. I’ve scared off sturdier maidens than you, Miss Lacey.”
She stood, slowly, and from beneath thick, sooty lashes, cast a haughty look at him. “First of all, you should know that I’m far sturdier than I look. Furthermore, neither my uncle nor my sister would believe that I was intimidated by the likes of you—ogre or no.”
He stood as well, forcing her to raise her chin if she wished to continue glaring at him. “A complete lack of fear may make you courageous, but it does not make you wise. A young, attractive woman living within the same walls as a notorious bachelor has good cause to worry.”
“Is that a threat, your grace?”
“No,” he answered quickly. For God’s sake, he wasn’t that depraved. “You have no reason to fear me. I only meant that people will talk, rumors will spread. You might as well make the gossip work in your favor.”
She pressed slender fingers to her temple. “I am trying to figure out how rumors of impropriety could possibly work to my advantage.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation.”
“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows in question even as a telltale blush stole up her cheeks.
“I’m afraid there’s no delicate way to say it, but I’m rather known for—”
She raised a hand and closed her eyes. “No need to state it,” she blurted. “I can imagine.”
“Can you?” He was enjoying her discomfort far more than he should have. Maybe he was that depraved.
“Now that you mention it, I believe I may have heard a rumor.” She fanned herself with her hand. “Not that I put much stock in gossip.”
Touché. “And you are obviously aware of your own reputation.”
“As a wallflower? Yes, your grace, we’ve covered this ground—remember?”
“Consider this. If the ton believed that a confirmed rake was interested in a wallflower…”
She shook her head, incredulous. “You think that your interest in me will cause other gentleman to hold me in esteem?”
“A dog always wants another dog’s bone.”
Miss Lacey gasped, clearly horrified by his attempt to explain. “How dare you compare me to a dog?” she snapped.
For the love of—“I’m the dog. You’re the bone.”
“Your charming little metaphor was not entirely beyond me, your grace.”
He shrugged. “Apparently, it was.”
Narrowing her eyes to slits, she stepped toward him. Close enough for him to see the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
“I followed your meaning. Now allow me to explain something to you.” She spoke slowly, anger dripping from each word. “I am not the bone. But if I were, I wouldn’t be caught dead in your mouth.”
He arched a brow but didn’t respond immediately. Better to let her embarrassment stew in the awkward silence that ensued.
Miss Lacey closed her eyes as though chiding herself for her indelicate choice of words. “Blast,” she muttered, then clamped her lips into a tight line.
But she needn’t restrain herself on his account. He found her candor refreshing. Borderline arousing.
“I’m glad we’ve cleared up the matter,” he said smoothly.
She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I should go.” She hurried toward the drawing-room door as if the hound
s of hell snapped at her heels.
“Dinner is at eight sharp,” he called after her.
Her muffled reply sounded suspiciously like a curse.
But he, for one, already looked forward to their next meeting. He would enjoy her company—and perhaps sparring with her again—for this one evening.
Tomorrow morning, he could turn his attention to more pressing matters.
Like figuring out who the hell was trying to kill him.
Chapter THREE
Tonight she, Elizabeth Lacey, would dine with the Duke of Blackshire.
Perhaps tomorrow she could poke a sleeping bear or swim across the Thames naked. Just for sport.
Beth couldn’t imagine why she’d agreed to stay another night under the duke’s roof. Her two small bags were already packed and waiting by her bedroom door. She should have requested a private audience with the duchess after her nap and simply informed her that her insufferable grandson had decreed that she leave. She could have left it to the duke to explain why he deemed it necessary.
But she supposed she wanted to hear his explanation with her own ears. She could hardly wait to discover the colorful falsehood he would fabricate to justify sending her away. She was fairly certain he would spare his dear grandmamma talk of dogs and bones. One hoped.
What had really tipped the scale in favor of staying for dinner, though, was the knowledge that the duchess might be distraught by the news. She wasn’t precisely the stoic sort, and if the duke’s edict upset her, Beth wanted to be there to console her as best she could.
But at the stroke of eight, as Beth escorted the duchess to the drawing room for a pre-dinner glass of sherry, the older woman nearly bubbled over with excitement. “Alexander is so droll, is he not? All the young ladies are drawn to him.”
Not all the young ladies. And though Beth hated to dwell on the matter, it wasn’t his wit that made women flock to him, but something rather more scandalous. “I’m sure he has his fair share of admirers,” she said diplomatically.
“I trust your conversation with him earlier was agreeable? He can be devilishly charming when he sets his mind to it.” The duchess cast an assessing glance at Beth, as though looking for signs that she’d fallen under the duke’s spell. In truth, it was a wonder she’d refrained from slapping his chiseled cheek.
“Our conversation was … illuminating.” And infuriating at the same time. “He doesn’t mince words, does he?”
“He had a difficult childhood.” The duchess said, as if that were a legitimate excuse for poor manners. Her eyes clouded over for a moment, then turned sunny again. “But he’s made of strong stuff.”
Beth recalled the rumors of the burns on his neck. All she’d noticed was a patch of lighter, puckered skin behind his left ear. His cravat and jacket collar likely covered the worst of the scars—at least the physical ones. Both of his parents had died in that fire, and Beth understood that unspeakable pain all too well.
She’d been a girl of fourteen on the bleak winter day that her parents’ coach had careened off an icy bridge and plunged into the frigid river below. With one freakish accident, Fate had robbed Beth and her sisters of everything: Mama, Papa, happiness … and the only home they’d ever known. Left penniless, they’d had to beg the kindness of relatives. And the only relation who’d offered to take in their heartbroken trio had been dear Uncle Alistair.
Beth understood loss. She knew grief so raw and blinding that one could easily drown in it, never to surface again. But she had. And so, apparently, had the duke.
He’d emerged a darkly attractive, wildly rich, and powerful man. Beth doubted he needed her pity—or wanted it, for that matter.
She and the duchess glided into the drawing room, where the duke sat with one muscled arm draped across the back of the sofa, staring into his glass of brandy.
“Alexander!” the duchess cried, as though she couldn’t quite believe her good fortune at seeing him twice in one day. While they greeted each other, Beth accepted a glass of sherry from the footman and took a healthy swallow before joining them.
The duke’s gaze drifted over her slowly, almost insolently, heating her skin in its wake. If she’d taken a bit more care dressing for dinner this evening, it certainly wasn’t for his benefit. She’d been saving her blue gown—the one she’d worn to her sister Meg’s wedding—for another special occasion.
Being tossed out of the duke’s house seemed to qualify. After all, it never hurt to look one’s best during the most trying of times. When the impending humiliating scene repeated itself over and over in her head, as it no doubt would, she’d be able to muse, at least my hair looked somewhat fetching.
“Good evening, Miss Lacey.” The low timbre of his voice vibrated through her.
She raised her chin and sniffed. “Your grace.”
“Impressive.” He nodded thoughtfully.
Beth blinked. “What’s impressive?”
“Your ability to make a simple greeting sound like an insult. Not everyone can manage it, you know.”
The duchess frowned, confused by the storm cloud that had suddenly drifted into her idyllic evening. “Alexander, is this the way young people are conversing these days? I must say, I don’t care for it a bit.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Forgive me, Grandmother. It was meant to be playful banter. Wasn’t it, Miss Lacey?”
Beth rolled her eyes at his audacity. “If you think that qualifies as—”
“Oh my.” The duchess’s hand fluttered to her throat, and Beth bit her tongue. If this was to be her last evening as the duchess’s companion, keeping peace was the least she could do.
“That is,” Beth choked out, “I’m certain the duke meant to be charming.”
“Meant to be?” he challenged.
Beth shrugged. “I cannot help it if I wasn’t swept off my feet.”
“True,” the duchess chimed in. “But the two of you have only recently been introduced. Once you spend more time together, you’ll each become accustomed to the other’s sense of humor.”
Beth felt guilty about allowing the duchess to think that she and duke might, over time, develop the capacity for civil conversation. Time had already run out—and that was no doubt for the best.
She glanced sideways at the duke, then looked directly into the duchess’s bespectacled eyes. “There’s something we must tell you,” she began.
“Oh?” The older lady beamed as though she anticipated a grand surprise, and Beth’s heart sank.
“Well, I’m afraid—”
“I’m famished,” the duke announced, cutting her off. “I trust this momentous news of yours can wait until after we’ve eaten?”
Beth narrowed her eyes at him. “My news? I rather thought it was your news.”
He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders. “I’m going to require sustenance if I am to properly debate pronouns with you, Miss Lacey.”
“Oh dear. You really are peckish, Alexander.” The duchess clucked her tongue. “Did you stop for luncheon earlier today? Heavens, did you even break your fast this morning?”
He frowned, and a dimple dented his cheek. “I can’t recall.”
Beth planted a hand on her hip. “He’s hardly on the verge of wasting away.” Nay, he was the sort of physical specimen that sculptors surely drooled over. Women too, apparently—though she personally failed to see the appeal of an ornery, self-absorbed aristocrat who was too handsome for his own good.
“Let us go through to the dining room,” the duchess suggested. “Alexander, you may have the singular honor of escorting both me and Miss Lacey.”
“No, no,” Beth balked. “You must have him all to yourself this evening. I insist.”
The duke nestled his grandmother’s wrinkled hand in the crook of one arm and offered the other to Beth—along with a wicked smile. “There’s plenty of me to go around, Miss Lacey. We can’t have you walking unescorted to the dining table.”
“I don’t see why not,” she retorted breezily. �
��I daresay I managed the journey perfectly well last evening. Your grandmother did as well. Somehow, we navigated that great distance without the assistance of a man.”
“And you didn’t end up in the library?” he teased.
“Oh,” the duchess giggled as though his inane quip were the wittiest thing she’d heard in an age. “There’s that droll sense of humor. How I’ve missed you, my dear boy.” She patted his arm affectionately. “Come, Elizabeth. We shall have the entire evening to converse.”
The duke proffered his arm once more and shot Beth a look that dared her to refuse him twice. Fine. For the duchess’s sake, she would play along tonight. Tomorrow morning, she would wipe her hands of him, forever.
Gritting her teeth, she curled her fingers around his sleeve, startled by the hardness of his forearm. Mentally, she scoffed. So, he had a few muscles. She’d wager her favorite parasol he was flexing for her benefit.
The unlikely trio shuffled all the way to the dining room and were seated, with the duke at the head of the table, his grandmother on his right, and Beth on his left. The setting might have felt intimate and cozy if it weren’t so impeccably elegant. The marble fireplace mantel, intricate plaster moldings, sparkling crystal chandelier, and stately framed landscapes bespoke wealth and privilege.
Hardly a wallflower’s natural habitat. However, adapting was often necessary for survival. As the footmen served a variety of dishes, she located what she hoped was the correct fork and ventured a bite of salad.
And though the food was excellent, Beth hardly tasted it. She was too preoccupied with the knowledge that her sudden departure would likely crush the sweet old duchess.
“We received an invitation for Lord and Lady Claville’s ball on Saturday,” the dowager announced. “I replied that we would attend, naturally.”
“Naturally,” the duke mumbled in agreement. Like Beth, he appeared to be preoccupied, but not with his dear grandmother’s well-being. No, rather he was preoccupied with the roast. He gazed at it almost lovingly as he speared a hunk with his fork and shoveled it into his mouth.
“I’d hoped that you might escort Elizabeth and me, Alexander.”
