Courtship and Curses (35 page)

And this wasn’t just anyone she had to rescue. It was the Duke of Wellington, whom all of Europe was counting on to save them from Napoléon. She thought about the way he’d looked at her so sternly just a short while ago. Well, if he was going to save Europe, she was going to have to save him. She slid her hand into the sleeve of the duke’s coat so that it, and not her fingertips, would be first to touch the edge of the spell.

As soon as she touched the spell again with her cloth-covered hand, she felt it stir, as if it were a curtain moved by a breeze. She grasped at that image and held it in her mind; all she had to do was draw aside the curtain and the door would be opened. Slowly, her eyes half closed, she pushed her hand to the side, and the air seemed to waver before her as a cold breeze struck her face.

“Good God,” Peregrine whispered behind her, squeezing her wrist, but she didn’t have time to acknowledge him. A stronger blast of cold wind washed over her, and there it was: the gray stone room with its shadowy doorways, bathed in that cold gray light and, huddled on the floor in front of her, head bowed on his knees—

“Duke,” she called. Would he be able to hear her? If only he’d look up—surely he would be able to see that the door had been opened…?

“The duke!” Dimly she heard her cry taken up by others in the room, but she couldn’t attend to it now … only trust that Captain Hill could keep the crowd under control so they didn’t surge into her.

“Duke!” she shouted, more loudly. But the figure on the floor never lifted his dark head. He was probably wondering what had happened to her and if he’d ever see her—or the rest of the world—again.

“He can’t hear me. I have to get his attention,” she muttered to Peregrine.

“How?”

“If I just put my head in—”

“It might pull you all the way through,” he said, voicing her worry.

“I can get out again. I did it once.”

“Will it last that long?”

She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

He nodded at the door, his face pale. The edges of the opening were wavering slightly—no, fading, like a wash of pigment in a watercolor blending into nothing. Evidently the magic that had built the portal was not stable. Why hadn’t she thought about that before? Building a permanent, or even long-lasting, spell took time and effort, and the comte had set this spell while purportedly admiring the flower arrangements that morning. Furthermore, why would he have cared to make the portal a permanent one? He had no intention of using it again, once the duke had been caught.

“Then I have to try,” she said. “Hold on tight.”

“Sophie, I can’t think the duke would want a young girl to endanger herself—”

“But I’m not just any young girl. I’m—”

Before she could say anything further, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “I know you aren’t. That’s why I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he whispered. “Very well, go. I’ve got you.” He squeezed her hand.

Sophie tried not to think about the feeling of his lips on her hand and turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she thrust her face toward the portal.

A peculiar sensation, like angry bees crawling on her skin, nearly took her breath away. It was quickly replaced by a tugging sensation, as if the door was pulling at her. “Duke!” she shouted.

He looked up. “Good Lord! Lady Sophie! What are you doing here? How—”

“Got to—get you—” she managed to force out. It was almost as though the spell were trying to pull her face off.

He’d scrambled to his feet and took a step toward her. There was a strange expression on his face. “How? All I see is—well, your face, hanging in midair.”

No wonder he looked so shocked, poor man. She was about to hold her hand out to him, then realized she didn’t have one to give him. Her right hand, growing numb with cold, held the door spell open … and Peregrine held her other. Why hadn’t she realized that she’d probably need two hands? Impatiently, she tried to tug it out of his grasp, but he only clutched it harder. Drat it, how could she make him understand she needed it, without telling him? She didn’t dare turn back into the ballroom and tell him, lest the spell disintegrate so much that she couldn’t reach through it again.

Very well. It was stupid and awkward and improper and thoroughly absurd, but she had no choice. She balanced on her good left leg and thrust her lame right leg, in its new built-up slipper, through the door and wiggled it. “Grab—it,” she managed to say. “I—pull—you. Hold—tight.”

He didn’t hesitate but bent immediately and grasped her ankle with both hands. Sophie balanced a moment more in the doorway, gathering her muscles, then threw herself backward as hard as she could, back into Brussels.

And into Peregrine.

“Uhhf!” he grunted as she fell on him, knocking them both to the floor. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

So were the other grunt and thud that followed as another body hit the floor quite nearby. She looked down and saw the Duke of Wellington, looking as dazed as he probably ever had, still clutching her ankle. Above him the portal into the comte’s gray hell had vanished, only a wisp of cold breeze marking that it had even existed. In a second, it had blown itself out.

“Sophie, we have to stop falling on each other in ballrooms,” Peregrine murmured, his voice cracking with suppressed emotion, into her ear. “People will begin to talk.”

Chapter

21

Behind
Sophie someone shouted, “The duke!” The cry was taken up around the room, and the crowd surged around them. Shouts of “He’s back! He’s safe!” filled the air. A few of the ladies burst into tears.

By the time Papa had helped her to her feet, the duke had risen as well. He ignored the shouted cries and questions and attempts by Captain Hill and his other aides to get his attention. Instead, he took both of Sophie’s hands and held them tightly, looking down at her. “I must beg your pardon for being such a martinet in there, Lady Sophie.”

She met his eyes and was glad that she could. “I’m grateful you were, sir. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

“Oh, I expect you would have, given time.”

She shivered, remembering the fraying edges of the spell. “I’m not sure how much time we had, really.”

“Time or not, there’s no way I could have done it myself. I am at your service, madam.” He let go of her hands and made her a deep bow.

“Sir!” Captain Hill looked as though he needed to sit down. “We didn’t know—are you—”

The duke gave Sophie a quick, wry smile and turned to him. “I am quite well, thank you,” he said, very loudly. The uproar lessened as those closest hushed their neighbors behind them.

“But what
happened
?” blurted out poor Captain Hill.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “But as you can see, I am quite well.”

“But—”

“You did it. I knew you would.” Parthenope nudged past the captain. And then, for the first time since Sophie had known her, words seemed to fail Parthenope. She threw her arms around Sophie and burst into tears. Hester, who had been perched on her shoulder, flew into the air with a small squawk, then settled again when Parthenope drew back to find her handkerchief.

“Of course she did it,” Papa said, his voice shaking. “Are you all right?”

“She’s not
just
all right!” Parthenope blew her nose fiercely. “She’s a hero—or a heroine, I suppose.”

“Oh, really, Parthenope!” Sophie felt her cheeks redden. “Do I look like a hero?”

“Heroes are not always the biggest or the strongest,
petite
. They are just the ones who do what is most needed when necessary, without hesitating,” Amélie said softly.

“I must concur,” the duke said, nodding.

Sophie suddenly noticed that he was in his shirtsleeves and remembered why. She started to take off the duke’s coat and felt hands behind her easing it off her shoulders. Then Peregrine handed it to her, still smiling slightly, but with an expression in his eyes that made her feel slightly giddy. She passed the coat to the duke, who accepted it with a bow, then shrugged it on.

And then it was mass confusion again, with Aunt Molly and Amélie wanting to hug her, and the ball guests pressing toward them to exclaim, to ask questions, to touch her dress or the duke’s arm.

Off to Sophie’s left, a young woman’s voice proclaimed, “Wait until my friends hear about this! They’ll be positively green they weren’t here.”

“They will be no such thing, Miss Robbins,” the duke said, frowning darkly at her. “Because you’re not going to tell them.”

She goggled at him. “Why, your grace—I didn’t mean any harm—”

“No, I am sure you did not. But we are living in a war zone, ma’am, in case you had forgotten. I should not like the enemy to hear anything of tonight’s events, even though it seems his ends were defeated and his agent caught. And so you will all do me the favor of not gossiping about what you may have seen or heard here tonight. You may say you had a pleasant evening. That is all. If I hear a breath of talk about this evening at the next ball or breakfast I attend, I will be most displeased.”

A man smirked. “Worried that Bonaparte might go out and try to find himself another witch, eh?”

The duke’s famously frosty gaze fell on him, and the smile vanished from the man’s face. “Would you like it if he did, sir?”

“No—good Lord, no,” the man mumbled, and did his best to melt away from the duke’s notice. The duke paid him no further attention, but consulted his watch.

“My dear Lord Lansell, it is close enough to midnight that I think we all might use with a little refreshment,” he said. “Might I suggest we all retire for supper and then come back for more dancing?”

Papa looked a little surprised, but immediately agreed. “An excellent idea, sir. Please, my friends, let us go down.”

The duke waited with them while the guests began obediently to file toward the stairs. “I trust that will help keep tongues from wagging,” he said in a low voice. “We can’t have this all over Brussels by tomorrow morning. The emperor doesn’t need to know that his plan failed—the less information he has, the better.”

“Thank you. You are the only one who could have done it,” Papa said, shaking his hand, then turned to Amélie and held out his arm. “Shall we, my dear?”

Amélie colored under his smile. “With pleasure.”

To Sophie’s delight, the duke turned to Aunt Molly. “Ma’am?” he said inquiringly. She broke into dimples and took his arm as well.

“Poor Aunt Molly,” Sophie said quietly to Parthenope. “It will be hard for her. To have her lost lover return to her and then to have it all turn out to be a sham.”

Parthenope looked pensive. “I expect we can keep her attention occupied tolerably well till we go home, where she’ll have her garden again. And speaking of lost—”

“Not quite so quickly, if you please,” said a cool voice.

Sophie turned. Norris Underwood stood there, eyes glittering unpleasantly above his customary smile, and she could feel tension rolling off him in a smoky wave.

“It had better be just a moment,” Parthenope said crossly, “or there might not be any of Madame Mabuse’s hazelnut meringues left by the time I get down there.”

“Do not let me detain you, Lady Parthenope. My business is mostly with Lady Sophie. Though you too might find what I have to say of interest.”

“What is this about, Underwood?” Peregrine asked, coming forward.

“Merely a gentlemanly agreement.” He looked again at Sophie, and his smile vanished. “As much as our duke would like to fancy he can control what gets discussed tonight, I regret to say he’s sadly mistaken as far as I am concerned. I have a simple proposition: You stop meddling with my courtship of Kitty Barker, and I won’t make sure all of Brussels—and London too—learns about your interesting demonstrations this evening.”

Before Sophie could say anything, Parthenope laughed. “What a gooserump you are, Underwood.
I’m
the one who made sure Kitty got to know the Richmonds, not Sophie.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t alter the matter in the slightest. If you do not repair the damage you’ve caused me with her, I’ll be delighted to drag your friend’s name through every mud puddle I can find.”

“Kitty is free to make her own—” Sophie began fiercely, at the same time that Peregrine said, “I’ll call you out before I’ll see you do such a thing, sir!” But a gentle hand fell on her arm.

“Did I hear my niece’s name mentioned?” Mrs. Barker said, eyes wary but smiling pleasantly.

Mr. Underwood bowed. “In passing, ma’am. Are you going downstairs? I should be delighted to accompany you there in a moment or two, as soon as I have finished my business here. Will you excuse us?”

To Sophie’s surprise, Mrs. Barker shook her head. “I think I should rather like to hear what is being said about Kitty … if I hadn’t already guessed. Rest assured, Lady Sophie, that Kitty is quite safe from Mr. Underwood.”

Norris Underwood flushed an unbecoming shade of crimson. “I beg your pardon, madam!”

“I expect you’re here trying to blackmail Lady Sophie and Lady Parthenope into fixing your interest with Kitty, or you’ll go gossipmongering. Don’t do it, Mr. Underwood. It won’t work. You’ll never have Kitty. We know what you are.”

He tried to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes had taken on a hint of hollowness, as if he were afraid, which he might well be, if the shop owners of Brussels had begun to call in their bills. Sophie found herself nearly sorry for him. Nearly.

“But you know, I have a bit of business I’d like to discuss with you myself.” Mrs. Barker’s face remained solemn, but a faint twinkle was visible in her eyes. “As I said, I know what you are. I also know that you’re in line to be a baronet and that I’d rather fancy being called ‘her ladyship.’”

Parthenope made a queer sound, which quickly turned into a cough. “Sorry,” she said, pressing her handkerchief to her lips.

Mrs. Barker looked at her, and Sophie could have sworn she winked. “So what do you say, Mr. Underwood? I’m even more capable of buying myself a fine title than my niece is, you know. And I know what I’ll be getting for my money, so there won’t be any unpleasant nonsense. I expect we could come to a very comfortable arrangement, in time.”