by Anna Bennett
Heaven help her. The wicked looks he sent her way, the silent signals solely between them were heady things—more potent than wine. Suddenly warm, she fanned herself with her napkin. Vigorously.
“What are your plans for the day, Grandmother?” he inquired, before chomping on a slice of toast.
The dowager adjusted her spectacles and glanced at a list beside her plate. “Oh, I’m afraid we shan’t be able to attend the opera.”
Beth could see the relief plain on Alex’s face—probably because he worried every time they left the house. Or because he detested the opera. Most likely, both.
“Elizabeth and I have countless things to do in preparation for the masquerade,” his grandmother was saying, “not the least of which is procuring your costume.”
Grunting, he said, “If finding costumes is a bother, we could always host a normal ball, where guests dress in a civilized manner rather than pretending to be shepherdesses and fortune tellers.”
His grandmother tsked. “Costumes are not a bother—they’re festive. When did you become so stodgy? You sound as though you’re eighty-eight instead of twenty-eight.”
Beth hid a smile behind her napkin.
“I am only trying to maintain a shred of dignity. I’ll trust you and Miss Lacey to select something appropriate. Not too eccentric. Nothing outlandish.”
The dowager pressed a hand to her chest as though affronted. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She waited until Alex had picked up his newspaper, then turned to Beth—and winked.
Chapter TWENTY-NINE
Alex’s study was under siege. Sometime that morning, an army of workers had invaded and left a pile of ladders, tools, and jars of paint. The carpets had been rolled up and propped against the wall. Old sheets covered most of the furniture—including his desk.
Cursing, he yanked the cloth off his desk and, in the process, knocked over a lamp, toppled an ink jar, and scattered a pile of papers.
Normally, this sort of chaos would have put him in the foulest of moods.
But not today.
Last night with Beth had left him feeling oddly … hopeful. Which made no sense at all.
Less than ten hours ago, two scoundrels had flashed knives in the vicinity of his neck. He’d slammed one of them against a wall and demanded that he reveal who’d sent them. But the moment Alex had released his throat so he could talk, the thug squirmed free and ran, leaving him none the wiser.
He still didn’t know who was trying to kill him or why, but he thought that if he could solve that mystery and effectively deal with the villain, his life would return to normal. And then, he could begin to envision a future with Beth. If he was honest with himself, he already was.
Of course, it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that she’d have him, but she seemed to care for him in spite of his scars and his ornery disposition and the undeniable part he’d played in his parents’ deaths. And she definitely seemed to like kissing and lying with him.
She trusted him … and that’s why he had to protect her. At all costs.
As he righted the objects on his desk and retrieved the scattered papers, the object of his thoughts peeked her head through the doorway.
“May we come in?” she asked.
Dismayed that she wasn’t alone, Alex peered over her shoulder and saw a footman carrying two large trunks. “If you must.” If he was polite, the staff would be suspicious.
“Place them beside the bookshelves, please,” she said to the footman.
“Shall I pack the books in the trunks for you, Miss Lacey?” he offered.
“No, thank you. I’ll see to it.”
The moment the footman left, Alex went to her. In deference to the open door, he refrained from hauling her into his arms. Instead, he whispered, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I feel wonderful,” she said, blushing. “How do you feel?”
He chuckled. “Do you really need to ask?”
“I was referring to the attack. I thought there might be some lingering effects. How is the wound?”
“Forgotten,” he said truthfully. “You must have healed me.”
“All I did was wash the cut.”
“I was referring to what you did after that.”
Inclining her head toward the door meaningfully, she swatted at his arm. In a voice loud enough to be heard by passersby, she said, “It won’t take long for me to remove the books from your shelves, and I shall endeavor not to disturb you, your grace.”
“Is that a fact, Miss Lacey?” He dared to caress her shoulder and brush his lips against her temple, eliciting a soft sigh.
“I know how particular you are about your study,” she said, as though she were still speaking for the benefit of others. “And would not wish to interrupt the important business you’re conducting.”
Pretending to consider this, he walked behind her, bent his head, and kissed her nape. Keeping one eye on the door, he whispered, “Understand this: I have no business that’s more important than you. And if we had sufficient privacy, I would ravish you—at this very moment, right here on my desk, contracts, deals, and ledgers be damned.”
She leaned back against his chest, and he skimmed his hands over her silky gown, around her hips, and up her flat belly, till he was cupping her full breasts in his hands. His fingertips circled the tight peaks, and she arched her back so her soft bottom pressed against him.
Good God. Heart hammering in his chest, he barely resisted the urge to hike up her skirt and—
“Alex,” she whispered urgently. “We shouldn’t. Not now.”
“You’re right.” Reluctantly, he let his hands fall away. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I love … the way you make me feel.”
His breath hitched in his throat. For a moment, he’d thought she was going to say that she … but that was ridiculous.
“Why don’t I help you pack the books? If my hands are busy, they’ll be less likely to stray.”
“Excellent idea,” she said, smiling. “But before we begin, I thought you might want to take a look at this.”
* * *
Beth withdrew a paper from a pocket in the folds of her gown and handed it to Alex. “It’s the invitation list for the masquerade.”
“About the ball,” he said slowly. “I thought about it for much of the night. And after the attack yesterday, I think it prudent to cancel.”
Oh dear. “It’s too late.”
He shook his head regretfully. “I know my grandmother will be disappointed, and I’ll find a way to make it up to her. I almost told her at breakfast earlier, but I wanted you to know first.”
Once, Beth would have jumped to the conclusion that he wanted to cancel the ball so he could rid himself of her and his grandmother that much sooner. But now … she believed him.
There was only one problem. “The invitations were delivered this morning,” she said. “To everyone on the list you’re holding.”
“Damn.” He pressed his lips into a thin line as he unfolded the list and scanned the names. She searched his face for a sign that the suspects were among the invitees, unsure of whether she hoped they were there … or not.
After a minute, he wordlessly folded the paper and handed it back to her.
“Well?” she asked expectantly.
He made a sour face. “Did you have to invite Coulsen?”
Shrugging, she said, “Your grandmother suggested it. Apparently, he’s staying in town for a couple of weeks, and he was quite cordial at the Clavilles’ ball.”
He grunted. “I’d rather Coulsen not become too cordial with you.”
“You’re avoiding the real issue.” She waved the guest list in frustration. “Are the suspects on the list?”
“I’d rather not say,” he replied.
“Alex!”
“Allow me to finish. I’d rather not say because I want to keep you safe. On the other hand, you’re already involved. So we will have to compromise.” He reac
hed for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
Immediately suspicious, she narrowed her eyes. “What sort of compromise?”
“I will admit to you that both suspects are on the list.”
“They are?” The hairs on her arms stood on end.
“It’s no small wonder,” he said. “You’ve invited half of London.”
“Who are the suspects?”
He shook his head slowly. Firmly. “It’s better if you don’t know. Let Darby and me make arrangements to track them and see that they don’t inflict injury on anyone.”
“You and Darby?” she asked, incredulous. “You seem to have forgotten that it was my plan. You may not exclude me now.”
Alex rested his large hands on her shoulders and kneaded them softly, trying to appease her. “I don’t wish to exclude you. I wish to protect you. There’s a difference.”
Though his heart may have been in the right place, his masculine attempt to enlighten her sorely grated on her nerves. Crossing her arms, she said, “I’m sure you wish to protect Darby, and yet, you’re not excluding him.”
“Darby can protect himself.”
“As can I,” she retorted.
Chuckling, he said, “I once witnessed you attempt to protect yourself with a parasol. You failed spectacularly.”
“How gallant of you to remind me. But I was caught off guard that night at Vauxhall. I’d be better able to defend myself if I knew my enemy.”
“Don’t worry. I would give my life to defend you.” He looked at her soberly. “If it makes you feel better to be cross with me, then by all means, be cross. But I’m doing what I think is right. And I’m not going to change my mind about this, Beth.”
His declaration touched her, but she also felt hurt. Shut out. Didn’t he understand that they were in this situation together? She would never rest easy, knowing he was in danger.
Shoving the list in her pocket, she resolved to study it later. Perhaps she could determine who the suspects were by process of elimination. But it was going to be difficult, as it was a rather long list.
“I’ve no wish to argue with you,” she said frostily. “Let’s pack your books in these trunks before the workers arrive.”
“If you give me the cold shoulder,” he said smoothly, “I shall consider it a personal challenge.”
She tossed her head, as though she was only mildly interested. “How so?”
“I will make it my mission to thaw you.” He removed an armful of books from a top shelf and handed a few to her.
As she knelt and stacked the volumes neatly in a trunk, she breezily asked, “And how, precisely, do you intend to accomplish that?”
“I’m not yet certain. But make no mistake.” He leaned close to her ear, the low timbre of his voice promising all manner of wicked delights. “I’ll find a way.”
Her traitorous heart beat faster … but two could play his game. While he attempted to thaw her, she would focus on ascertaining the identity of the suspects.
And if he didn’t wish to include her in his plans on the night of the ball, then perhaps she’d devise a few plans of her own.
Chapter THIRTY
“Alexander has been rather churlish of late,” the dowager announced. “It would serve him right if we required him to dress as Pan. You would make a lovely wood nymph, and I should rather like to be Minerva.”
Oh dear. With the masquerade just one day away, Beth and the dowager could no longer delay the decision about costumes. The women had ventured out to a dressmaker’s shop on Bond Street, where a spry gray-haired seamstress with a deft needle had agreed to help them quickly assemble a trio of costumes for the ball.
The challenge was finding a costume acceptable to Alex.
“You would be magnificent as the goddess,” Beth said. The seamstress, who held a swath of silver silk beneath the duchess’s chin, nodded in agreement.
“However,” Beth continued, “I can’t think that the duke would be pleased to host a ball dressed as a half-goat, half-man creature carrying a lute. Never mind the horns on his head.”
No, Pan would never do.
“I could create a Zeus costume for him,” the seamstress offered. “Surely, the duke would not object to being king of the gods.”
“No, no.” The dowager shook her head. “There are sure to be at least three Zeuses in attendance. We need something considerably more original.”
As they sat in the back corner of a bustling shop, all three women pondered the possibilities.
“A Turkish sultan?” the seamstress offered.
Beth tried to picture Alex wearing a turban … and couldn’t.
The dowager held up a finger. “I have it!” Pointing at Beth, she said, “You could be Red Riding Hood.”
There were worse costumes … and it would be bold and daring to wear a brilliant scarlet cape. “What would you be?”
“The grandmother, of course. I suppose I shall have to wear a nightcap and robe.”
“I could fashion both from the silver silk for an elegant effect,” the seamstress mused.
“Perfect!” the dowager declared. “And Alexander shall be…”
“The wolf,” Beth provided. She contemplated the idea for a few seconds. “It could work.”
The seamstress laid a finger alongside her cheek. “Perhaps a fur-trimmed, hooded cloak complete with pointy ears … with matching fur-trimmed gloves.”
“Ooh,” the dowager exclaimed. “How delightfully fearsome.”
Mentally questioning the wisdom of fur in July, Beth piped up. “I suspect the duke would prefer to keep the costume simple. Perhaps just a half-mask that he could wear with a dark evening jacket would suffice?”
The dowager sighed dramatically. “Elizabeth is correct. My grandson will be infinitely happier with a simple mask. But I trust you to give it a few ferocious details, Adelaide.”
“That I can do.” The seamstress smiled. “Allow me to take a few measurements for each of you, and I will ensure that Miss Lacey is a lovely Red Riding Hood and you are an eminently stylish Grandmother.”
An hour later, Beth and the dowager were in the coach, gazing out the windows as the sunny streets of London rushed by. They were on the way back to Blackshire House, where they would soon review all the final ball preparations with the housekeeper, butler, and cook. Before the guests arrived tomorrow night, each member of the staff would know precisely what was expected of them in order to make the masquerade a smashing success.
How different this ball would be from the one Beth and her sisters had thrown less than a year ago at Uncle Alistair’s town house. Then, they’d had to do the bulk of the preparations themselves—including cleaning, cooking, and gardening—and they’d barely had two shillings to rub together. But somehow, it had all worked, and the night had been magical.
In contrast, the preparations for the masquerade had barely required Beth to lift a finger. The duke’s staff had already been instructed to hang swags of silk, fill vases of flowers, and trim scores of candlewicks. Every surface in the expansive, gilded ballroom had been polished. The menu was set; champagne was already chilling. No expense had been spared.
And yet, Beth found herself longing for the old days, when it had been she and her sisters against the world. At least then she’d known where she stood. Lately, her status was rather murky.
She’d only seen Alex a handful of times during the past five days, which had passed in a flurry of list-making, shopping, and arranging. When she did see him, they always seemed to be in the company of others. She searched his handsome face for clues that he missed her as much as she missed him. And while his eyes held a delicious hint of wickedness, they also held worry—for her and his grandmother.
Meanwhile, Beth and the dowager had purchased most of the new furniture and accessories for the duke’s study and ordered footmen to remove the items that were no longer needed. Two of the four walls had been papered, and the workers had been given strict instructions to paper around t
he odd-looking landscape that hung on the wall without removing it—even briefly. A bet was a bet, after all.
Somehow, she and Alex had gone the better part of the week living under the same roof without stealing any time alone together.
And now they had only two days left, for she had promised to leave on the day after the ball. She was no closer to knowing the identities of the men whom Alex suspected might be trying to kill him.
Even more vexingly, she was no closer to knowing what their future held.
As the coach rumbled to a stop in front of Blackshire House, Beth roused the duchess, who had dozed off. “Let us go inside,” Beth said softly, so as not to startle her. “You have time to rest before our meeting with the staff.”
“Yes, I think I will,” the older woman said groggily as she alighted the coach. “Be sure to wake me with time to spare.”
“Of course,” Beth said, offering her arm. Impulsively, she asked, “Will you be glad when this is all over?”
Squinting as though she were still disoriented, the dowager pushed her spectacles onto the bridge of her nose. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”
Beth shrugged. “Soon the study will be finished and the ball will be behind us. Will you be glad when life returns to normal?”
“Both projects are labors of love,” the duchess replied with a yawn. “But I suspect I will feel a sense of relief when they’re accomplished.”
As they shuffled up the sidewalk toward the front steps, Beth considered how best to pose her next question. “I suppose I’m wondering if you’ve ever wished for a change of pace. A more peaceful existence.”
The duchess eyed her curiously. “Why would I wish for my circumstances to change? I live with my dear grandson and have friends nearby. I’m blessed to have a companion who dotes on me. And I could attend a different social event every night if I wished. Soirees, musicales, balls, the opera … all of them are just beyond my front door.”
Drat. Convincing her to move to the country would be difficult indeed—even if Beth initially couched it as an extended visit. But she wasn’t at all comfortable lying to the dowager. Swallowing, she told herself it was for the older woman’s own good.
