by Anna Bennett
Haversham’s face turned mottled red. “My wife covered me with it,” he sputtered. “Before she left.”
Good God. Lady Haversham? “Where was she going?”
The marquess shrugged. “The devil if I know. She’s been rather … unhinged as of late.”
A chill slithered down Alex’s spine. “Unhinged … how?”
“Spouting nonsense. She’s fine one moment and promising all manner of vengeance the next.”
“Vengeance against whom? For what?” Alex demanded.
Haversham sighed and closed his eyes, weary. “I don’t know. You know what flighty, unpredictable creatures women can be. I rarely listen to her babble, much less give any credence to it.”
“Think.” Alex slammed him into the tree again. “Try to remember.”
The marquess groaned. “She’s intent on making me jealous. She claimed she’d take London’s greatest lover to her bed—and if she couldn’t have him, no one else would either. But it’s all gibberish, Blackshire. She’s easily confused—hasn’t been herself for the last year or so.”
Shit. Alex released Haversham, and the marquess landed on the ground in a heap before retching all over the grass beside him.
Unsympathetic, Alex said, “Your coach. Is it here?”
“Aye.” The marquess spit and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I presume that’s my invitation to leave.”
Alex snorted. “Do whatever the hell you want. I’m going after your wife.”
He charged toward the queue of coaches at the end of the block, praying that he found his grandmother—before she suffered harm at the hands of a madwoman.
Chapter FORTY
Huffing and short of breath, Alex stopped in front of the line of carriages. Only five remained, as many of the ball guests had no doubt headed for their beds. “Where’s Haversham’s coach?” he called to a driver slumped on his seat.
The startled man spat out his pipe and sat up straight. “It was right in front of me, my lord, but left.”
Damn it. “When?”
The driver shrugged. “No more than a quarter of an hour ago.”
Alex walked closer. “It’s crucial that I know who was in that coach.”
“Lady Haversham, for certain,” he replied, rubbing his chin. “But not the marquess. There was an older lady with her.”
Alex’s stomach dropped. “Did she wear glasses?”
“I don’t recall, my lord, but she was dressed in a silver robe and cap.”
“That’s what I feared,” Alex murmured. Louder, he said, “Which direction did they head?”
The driver frowned. “You know, I thought it rather odd, but Lady Haversham instructed her driver to take them to the Westminster Bridge.”
Dear Jesus. Alex climbed onto the coach and planted himself on the seat beside the driver. “Take me there. Now.”
“I can’t,” the driver protested. “Lord Newton and his wife expect me to wait for them here.”
“Then wait for them. But I need your coach now.” He reached for the reins, and the driver balked.
“Who are you? Er … if you don’t mind me asking.”
“The Duke of Blackshire. Look, Newton won’t mind. My grandmother is in danger.”
“You should have said so, your grace.” The wiry man fumbled over himself as he snapped up the reins. “Who would want to harm a grandmother?”
“Lady Haversham,” Alex said grimly. “Let’s go—we may already be too late.”
Newton’s driver whistled to the horses and slapped the reins, urging them into a trot, then a gallop. The coach wasn’t built for speed, but the driver navigated the dark streets and twisting turns as fast as he dared—just short of flipping the carriage on its side.
But it wasn’t fast enough for Alex. With each minute that passed, his panic rose.
He’d managed to save Beth, but if he couldn’t save his grandmother … he’d never forgive himself. She’d been by his side during the darkest days of his life … and now, the one time she truly needed him, he wasn’t there for her.
The streets were largely deserted at that early morning hour, and moonlight bathed the city in an eerie, blue glow that made Alex’s hair stand on end. “Hurry,” he urged.
“The bridge is just ahead,” the driver shouted. “And that must be Haversham’s carriage.”
“Stop there,” Alex ordered, and before the coach had stopped moving, he jumped off. “Lady Haversham!” he called into the night.
No response.
He ran to her coach, parked at the river’s edge, flung open the door, and found the cab empty. The driver had gone too.
Alex raced onto the bridge.
“Hullo!” A man in livery—Haversham’s driver?—ran toward him, waving his arms frantically.
“Where’s Lady Haversham?” Alex demanded. “Is the dowager duchess with her?”
“She’s a duchess?” The man gulped. “The marchioness told me to drive her here. And then she and the older lady—the, ah, duchess—walked onto the bridge. I heard arguing, so I went to check on them, but then there was a scream and a … a splash.”
No.
Alex tore to the edge of the bridge and leaned far over the side, searching the shadowy, dark water. “Grandmother!”
The surface of the Thames was calm. Too calm.
Choking back a sob, he ran to the opposite side. His torso slammed into the stone wall as he scanned the water there. He needed something to go on. A splash, a cry … a sign.
Downstream, a glimmer caught his eye. A piece of fabric floated ominously, an underwater ghost.
His grandmother’s silver cape.
Shaking with rage and fear, he shrugged off his jacket, pulled off his boots, and climbed onto the ledge of the bridge. The distance to the water had to be forty feet. His grandmother could have survived the fall. She had to. Now he just had to pull her out of the Thames.
Before it was too late.
He focused on the spot in the water—the spot where her cape had been. But it was already sinking, being sucked into the cold, murky depths.
Closing his eyes, he drew in a long breath and—
“Alexander Benjamin Savage,” a scolding voice called out.
Good God. “Grandmother?” He spun around to find her strolling toward him, hands propped on her hips.
“Step off that ledge at once, young man,” she ordered. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving you?”
She held out her arms. “Do I look like I require saving?”
Relief turned his legs to jelly, and he collapsed on the ledge, sitting so that he faced her. “You’re not in the river,” he said stupidly.
“No.” He could almost hear her eyes roll behind her spectacles.
“And you’re not harmed.” He slid off the wall, gently clasped her shoulders, and examined her at arm’s length, from the top of her silver cap to the toes of her sensible slippers.
“No, my dear,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “I am fine. But Lady Haversham…”
“She’s in the river?”
“I’m afraid so. She was quite troubled, rambling on about how you’d rejected her and how she must be the only woman in London who you hadn’t bedded and how you refused to forgive her husband’s debt.”
Alex shook his head and leaned against the wall. “I think she’s been trying to kill me.”
“Oh, she’s definitely been trying to kill you,” the dowager said. “She admitted as much. She said she’d tried to kill Elizabeth too, but you spoiled that. So she had no choice but to kill me.”
Alex blinked at his grandmother’s matter-of-fact tone. “So what happened?”
“I told her I’d rather not ruin my pretty silk cape and asked if I could remove it before she threw me into the water. She agreed, and I tossed my cloak over her head and pushed her to the ground.”
He stared at his sweet, delicate grandmother, stunned. “You didn’t.”
&nbs
p; “I did. And I ran, calling for help. But I hadn’t made it very far before I heard the splash. She must have decided that throwing herself into the Thames was preferable to spending the rest of her days in Newgate.”
Aghast, Alex turned toward the water again. “There’s a rowboat on the shore. Maybe I can pull her out of the river.”
“It’s too late for her,” his grandmother said firmly. “I don’t believe she survived the fall, but even if she had … she’s been in the water for far too long. Leave it to the authorities to recover her body in the morning. Right now, we need to return to the house—assuming it hasn’t burned to the ground—and ensure that Elizabeth is well.”
Alex scooped up his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “It’s been a horrid night, but now that I know you and Beth are all right, I feel like the luckiest man alive.”
“What a sweet sentiment.” His grandmother patted his cheek as though deeply touched. “You should marry her, you know.”
Alex chuckled. “Trust me. I’m working on it.”
* * *
When Newton’s coach pulled up to Alex’s house, the bucket brigade was still hard at work, but smoke no longer billowed from the ground floor windows. Only wisps and puffs remained.
As Alex helped his grandmother disembark, Mr. Sharp ran over, jubilant. “Thank goodness the duchess is safe. The fire is contained, your grace. The study is destroyed, but the rest of the house has only minor damage … we were extremely fortunate.”
Alex should have been celebrating the news, but he could only stare at the spot on the ground where he’d left Beth.
The now empty spot. “Where’s Miss Lacey? Is she all right?”
“She seemed well enough, considering the nasty blow she suffered. Her sisters took her home—to their uncle’s house.”
He couldn’t blame her sisters—she’d be safe and comfortable at her uncle’s. But damn it, she belonged with him. “I’m heading there, right now.”
His grandmother placed a hand on his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Give Elizabeth some time,” she said. “She had a tremendous shock tonight.”
“Yes, but I need to see her. I need to tell—”
“She needs her rest.” She glared at him from behind her spectacles. “You may tell her whatever you need to say tomorrow—when she will be in a better frame of mind to receive it.”
His grandmother’s maid rushed over, beside herself with panic. “There you are, my lady! I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m so relieved to see you are well.”
“You’d never know a madwoman nearly threw me off the Westminster Bridge, would you?” the dowager remarked.
“Oh my stars,” the maid said, clucking her tongue, but clearly not believing the dowager’s tale. “Come. Your neighbor Lady Brandham invited you to spend the night there, and stay as long as necessary. I’m going to send for tea with a spot of milk, just as you like it, then settle you in her guest chamber for a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel more like yourself in the morning.”
His grandmother smirked at Alex as the maid whisked her off, scolding her for losing her elegant cape and for being out of doors without so much as a shawl. “Tomorrow,” the duchess said to him, pointedly.
Sighing, Alex turned back to his butler. “What time is it, Sharp?”
The man consulted his watch. “Half past three, your grace.”
At least Alex didn’t have long to wait.
Chapter FORTY-ONE
Beth’s younger sister, Julie, answered Lord Wiltmore’s front door and addressed Alex through a one-foot opening. “I’m afraid my sister’s not receiving,” she said, her tone chilly.
He’d expected a little resistance and was prepared. “Miss Lacey,” he said to her, earnestly, “I suspect your sister would make an exception if you were to inform her that it is I. And that I’m here, on her doorstep, desperately concerned about her well-being.” He flashed his most charming smile—the one that had never failed him.
The door opened a few inches more, revealing the eldest Lacey sister, Meg. “Beth knows,” the countess said, arching a brow. “And she’s still not receiving.”
Apparently, his charming smile was rendered powerless by sisterly loyalty. Though neither woman was particularly large or menacing, he’d have better odds penetrating a Roman fortress than their front door.
But he wasn’t above pleading. “I only want to see how she’s faring. To apologize for the entire night, and for … well, for…”
Meg raised her chin. “For dubbing us the Wilting Wallflowers?”
Cringing, he nodded. “She told you about that?”
Julie shot him a chillingly evil grin. “We tell each other everything.”
Dear God. He hoped that everything didn’t include their time in the wine cellar. “I regret it more than you know. I wish I could take back that thoughtless, cruel label. Especially now that I know Beth … and both of you, through her.”
Meg frowned. “So, it was fine before you knew us? Did you think we were dolls made of wax? Or stuffed with straw? That we wouldn’t feel the sting of those words?”
Beside her, Julie crossed her arms and pressed her lips into a thin line, awaiting his answer.
He opted for honestly. “Look, I was an idiot. And an ass. I’m trying to make amends. Even if it takes a lifetime of groveling.”
“I cannot argue with any of that,” Meg said with a shrug.
“What did the doctor say about her head?” Alex asked. “Is she in much pain?”
Meg’s face softened, as though she’d decided to take pity on him—at least a modicum. “Her head aches a bit, and she’s tired. The doctor said that’s to be expected. He wants her to remain in bed for at least three days.”
“Without any visitors,” Julie added pointedly.
“Three days?” He had barely managed to refrain from scaling the trellis beneath her window last night. How would he last for three days without knowing if she was truly all right? Without knowing if she’d ever be able to forgive him?
Without telling her how he felt?
“Julie and I are taking turns staying at her bedside,” Meg assured him. “You needn’t worry. We shall take good care of her.”
“I know,” he said, deflated. “But selfishly, I wanted to be the one to take care of her.”
“You had your opportunity,” Julie said, narrowing her eyes. “That little experiment ended with our sister bedridden and heartbroken.”
Ouch. He supposed he deserved that. “How am I supposed to fix things if I can’t see her?”
“You’ll have to employ some creativity,” Meg said. “Put forth some effort.”
Julie snorted. “Or you may follow your normal course of action and seek solace in the arms of an actress, widow, or courtesan.”
Meg gasped. “Julie!”
“It’s all right.” Alex smiled wryly. “But I hope you’ll both believe me when I tell you this—your sister is the only woman for me. If I have to wait three days, three weeks, or three years … she’s worth it.”
“Very touching,” Julie smiled—too sweetly. “Now believe me when I tell you this. I still have Artemis’s bow and arrows handy, and if you harm my sister again, I will use them.”
Alex flashed his charming smile once more, confident it wouldn’t fail him twice. “If you’re going to use arrows, maybe you could borrow some from Cupid?”
Both women rolled their eyes. “Good-bye, your grace.”
“Call me Alex,” he said—just as the door slammed in his face.
* * *
From the settee in her uncle’s parlor, Beth had listened to the entire exchange between Alex and her sisters. His deep voice set her pulse racing, and his words left her breathless.
She longed to see him, but her sisters were adamant. If she made a peep while Alex was there, they’d confine her to her bedchamber for the next two days.
At least she knew he was safe. She’d already heard the rumors regarding Lady Haversham. According t
o the gossip, she’d started the fire and kidnapped the dowager duchess … then thrown herself off a bridge. A tragic ending, but perhaps the marchioness thought it preferable to spending the remainder of her life in an asylum or Newgate Prison. Beth suppressed a shudder.
When she heard the door close, she quickly laid her head on the pillow and returned the compress to her head, lest Meg scold her for flouting the doctor’s orders.
Julie stalked into the parlor wearing an uncharacteristic scowl. “Your duke is gone.”
“For now,” Meg added. “He seemed duly apologetic.”
“How did he look?” Beth asked anxiously. “Was he injured or tired?”
“He looked handsome,” Meg admitted. Julie snorted. “And rather desperate to see you.”
“I know you’re both cross with him,” Beth said. “But I do wish you’d allow him to visit—even briefly.”
“He claims to be devoted to you,” Julie said with a shrug. “Now he shall have the chance to prove it.”
Beth’s chest warmed at her younger sister’s show of loyalty. “I feel obliged to point out that he walked through fire for me.”
Julie sniffed, unimpressed. “It’s a start.”
Smiling, Meg sat on the edge of the settee next to Beth and patted her leg. “It’s a very good start,” she amended. “But you must follow the doctor’s instructions.”
“He ordered rest, not a quarantine.” Beth closed her eyes and sighed.
“I know,” Meg said soothingly. “But you have been through much in the last few weeks, and you’re still reeling from the events of last night. Take a bit of advice from your older sister, and use the next three days to determine what’s truly in your heart … and give him the chance to show you what’s in his.”
Three days. Surely their relationship could endure the test—if it was real.
“Very well. I must admit that you’re fairly wise,” Beth teased. “One would have thought you’d have proven to be a better governess.”
“I was horrid, wasn’t I?” Meg laughed.
“You were the best. And you should return home to your doting husband and daughters. Julie will see that I remain abed, a prisoner in my own home.”
