What the Duke Wants (11 page)

“What about the Society itself? Any news there?”

“There’s not a lot to add to what we already know. We only have three suspected members, but no concrete evidence: Lord Middlebury, Lord Nash, and Lord Marchant. Middlebury is the highest ranking known suspect, but the Lord Middlebury from that time period is deceased now, and there has been no evidence to suggest his son has followed in his father’s footsteps, though it seems likely, given the family’s reputation and Middlebury’s individual personality. None of the three known suspects are believed to be the real power and money behind the group, though. Lords North and Fox were investigated, but were never officially considered. They would have been an obvious choice, of course, if one didn’t know them well. They had always been quite vocal in opposition to Pitt, but they never supported the idea of secret societies, preferring instead to operate publicly so as to never jeopardize their political careers. There has never been even a hint of a suggestion as to who was or is the real power behind the group, and since the Society seems to have all but disappeared since Pitt left office, further investigation into their activities has all but ceased in the last five years. Honestly, I believe they are just biding their time, but that’s my gut speaking. We need to find out who pulls the strings, then, I think, the pieces will fall into place.”

“Right. Middlebury cannot be a coincidence. He may not have been the kingpin, but he does have an estate near the Park, and his culpability is obvious. Perhaps, if we find proof through that avenue, we’ll discover the evidence we need to catch the rest of the men behind all this. Get the word out. Inform the rest of the team we’ll be meeting at Stonebridge Park Monday next.”

Bloody hell. My life just got a lot more complicated.

Chapter 8

The Back Gardens, Beckett House…

The Next Morning…

The morning mist still clung to the earth as Stonebridge raced his stallion, Abacus, across the parkland surrounding Beckett House. He had brought his horse with him on this trip, though normally, he wouldn’t have done so. He had suspected he would need the distraction, and he was proved right.

He had intended to ask Lady Beatryce to join him and propose this morning, but an aching head put him in too foul a temper for romance. He was in no mood to offer forth an appropriate proposal, and it wasn’t fair to Beatryce. That was all it was. Really.

Yes, he had thought long and hard about whether or not to delay his engagement pending his investigations into his father’s murder, but he decided he had to proceed as intended. He didn’t want to raise suspicions with a sudden change in his plans; therefore, caution was his best approach. He felt a tad guilty for his suspicious nature, but he was a logical man and good at what he did, and he would follow every lead no matter his personal feelings. This meant he had to see the house party to its conclusion, then head straight for Stonebridge Park after.

Despite the sore head and late night, he arose early as was his custom and headed out for a morning ride to clear the fuzz from his mind. He had drunk steadily last night. Drunk until he barely remembered crawling up the stairs to his bed. Excess drink was something in which he never indulged, and the drink didn’t even perform its intended function. He dreamt of
her
last night: Grace.

And long after stumbling into his bed at some untold hour of the morning, he awoke hard and aching for her. He had been dreaming of her naked and writhing in his bed as he…

Oh, hell, not again.

He pulled Abacus to a halt and rubbed his hand down his face. He had to put a stop to his recall of last night’s dream; it was becoming decidedly uncomfortable to ride his horse.

Since he was almost back to the house, he decided to walk Abacus the remainder of the way while he got himself under control. Dammit, he had a full hard-as-steel erection throbbing in his trousers. He dismounted, but held on to the reins in order to guide his horse on foot.

As he crested the last hill abutting the house’s rear gardens, he unerringly looked to the section of garden where yesterday’s muddy introduction to Grace Radclyffe had occurred. Was it only yesterday? He could still make out the exact location on a slight rise above a circular rose garden.

He jerked his gaze away before he started reliving the encounter. For the hundredth time. He focused instead on a circular path nearby. It was made up of four distinct rose beds with graveled paths between that led to a center circle with a statue of Venus in the middle. Around the edges of the center circle were four benches set at even intervals from which an observer could view either the statue or the surrounding roses.

His eyes locked on to one of those benches. As if pulled straight from his musings, there she sat, the unforgettable Miss Radclyffe, gazing silently up at the house. She had her back to him and did not know he was there. Watching. Absorbing every detail.

All he could do was stand in place and stare, absentmindedly rubbing his horse’s nose as he was captivated by the sight of her sitting quietly in repose. A break in the overcast sky allowed a single ray of sun to shine down on her, casting her hair in that caramel glow he couldn’t seem to eliminate from his mind.

She stood, and it was then that he noticed she was no longer alone. He was staring at her so intently, he hadn’t noticed Cliff walking up the path to her left until she stood in greeting. Shite. With his recent inattentiveness, he might as well hand in his resignation at the earliest opportunity. How would he continue to survive in his line of work?

An intense pang of jealousy startled him, and he nearly jumped on his horse and spurred Abacus to a gallop to interrupt the private moment he'd witnessed. She seemed completely at ease with Cliff by the way her shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of him and then alternately shook with what could only be mirth—probably at some witty remark made by his friend. Cliff was really quite charming with the ladies and was well known for putting others at ease with his friendly manner.

The duke halted his quick stride before he made a complete fool of himself by charging in on their rendezvous. He knew she wasn’t really Cliff’s lover, but jealousy made a muck of his normally rational thoughts. Honestly, they would make a splendid couple, and he should not begrudge them their friendship. He wasn’t interested in a match with her himself; he was going to marry Lady Beatryce, after all. Lady Beatryce, his intended, who was perfect for him and the man he needed to be as the Duke of Stonebridge.

* * * *

“Good morning, Miss Radclyffe.”

Grace stood at the friendly greeting; it was Lord Dansbury.

“Good morning, Lord Dansbury. How are you this morning?”

“Excellent—most excellent.”

“That’s good to hear. Won’t you please join me? The gardens and house are beautiful from this aspect.” She gestured to the bench behind her. It was large enough to seat four comfortably. Two should be no problem even with a man as broad of shoulder as the marquess.

“I would love to, thank you.”

They sat on the garden bench, and for a moment, an uncomfortable silence followed. But after a minute or two, the couple looked at each other at the same moment and laughed. It worked to break the tension built from their awkward silence.

They talked of books, the weather, and the theater—the usual social inanities. Grace was charmed and laughed often. It seemed Dansbury had a funny quip to share on every subject.

After a furiously quick fifteen minutes, he said, “So. Miss Radclyffe. I must admit I had another purpose in seeking you out this morning besides hoping to enjoy your charming company. If you are still free, my aunt, who is currently taking coffee on the back terrace, would like to meet you—if you are amenable, of course. Oh, and don’t worry; she doesn’t really bite or breathe dragon’s fire. Often.”

Grace laughed; he was quite the charmer to be sure. “Oh, I’m not afraid of a rascally dragon. I would be delighted to meet her, of course.” She stood. “Lead on, my lord.”

* * * *

The Back Terrace…

“It is about time you returned, you rogue. I was beginning to think you had turned coward on me.”

“Auntie, you know me better than that.” Dansbury leaned over to kiss his aunt on the cheek before turning to introduce Miss Radclyffe.

“Aunt Harriett, may I present Miss Grace Radclyffe. Miss Radclyffe, Lady Harriett Ross.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Grace curtsied.

“My, my. You are quite beautiful, Miss Radclyffe. No wonder he likes you. Please, have a seat and join me. Dansbury,” she added. She did not even appear to look at her nephew as she said it, “although it is surprisingly becoming on you, it is not like you to blush. Besides, there’s no need; I wasn’t referring to you. Now run along. You’ve had her for quite long enough. It’s my turn to evaluate Miss Radclyffe’s character and make sure she’s suitable.”

Grace, who had been trying desperately hard not to laugh, was startled: “Er…suitable?”

“Never you mind, dearie, never you mind. So, tell me, what sort of trade was your father involved in? Was it something exciting? Daring and risky? Do tell.”

* * * *

The Gardens…

Later that day…

It was a perfect day for pall-mall. The dew on the ground had dried completely once the sun came out at half past ten. By two of the clock, the sun was still shining quite brightly with no breeze to be felt. With such mild temperatures this time of year, it was the perfect weather for being outside.

Though one would think that Grace ought to avoid the sport in light of her tendency toward chaos, she could not resist playing it whenever the opportunity arose. It was her favorite sport, after all, and often, her mishaps seemed to help her game more than hinder it, to the disgruntlement of others, of course.

So it was with great trepidation (from the other guests) that Grace, Stonebridge, Dansbury, Beatryce, Lady Prudence Bookworth (a neighbor), Miss Bookworth (her sister), and Lord Richard Middlebury decided to play a game of pall-mall in the back garden.

Lord Richard Middlebury, newly arrived to the festivities, was clearly an outright rake of the first order. It was immediately obvious in the way he perused the guests the minute he stepped out on the back lawn. He was dressed from head to toe in colorful attire and was, without a doubt, classically handsome—beautiful, actually—with his pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and slim physique—though there was a disconcerting coolness about his eyes that appeared whenever he wasn’t actively charming the ladies, which unsettled Grace.

“Lord Middlebury, it has been an age,” exclaimed Beatryce with undisguised delight.

“Ah, Lady Beatryce, you are a vision as always, my dearest.” Lord Middlebury had overabundant charm.

“Oh, Richard, you are ever the Lothario. I do believe you know everyone here? Or perhaps you are not acquainted with my cousin, Miss Grace Radclyffe?”

“I have not had the pleasure, no.” He perused her with a not so subtle inspection of her figure. She felt as though she were being stripped of her clothing and studied.

“Well then, Richard, may I present my dearest cousin, Miss Grace Radclyffe. Grace, Lord Richard Middlebury. Ambrose and I have known Richard for quite some time, haven’t we, darling? Oh, the times we had and the youthful adventures we shared…” exclaimed Beatryce in a sweet and dreamy voice. A false voice.

The sudden tension apparent by the duke’s clenched jaw belied that statement.

“Miss Radclyffe, the pleasure is all mine.” Middlebury bent to kiss her hand.

“Thank you, Lord Middlebury.” Grace curtseyed in return.

Lord Middlebury held her hand for an inordinately long time, but just as she was about to become uncomfortable with his attention, he dropped her hand as if burned.

Grace looked at him, startled, but he wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, his eyes stared down the duke.

“Stonebridge.”

“Middlebury.’

The two men eyed each other with matching frowns. Neither shook hands despite their vocal acknowledgement. It was obvious these two men shared a troubled past. Each man radiated abundant fury; the surrounding air felt oppressed with it. The duke’s infernal eyebrow shot up and his hands were clenched at his sides. She’d noticed he raised that brow an awful lot throughout the day, and she was disconcerted that she’d noticed that level of detail about him. It was painfully clear that a thousand words were exchanged between the two men, though neither uttered a word out loud.

The Bookworth sisters whispered furiously throughout the exchange, and Grace strained her ear to hear what they were saying. It was apparent the two women were discussing the two men.

“I never thought we’d be so lucky,” whispered Lady Prudence.

“Don’t I know it, Sissy. I’ve never seen them in the same room together. Have you?”

“No. But won’t everybody in London be so jealous when we tell them. Ooooh, I wonder if they’ll come to blows.”

Goodness, I wish they’d say why. Why might they come to blows?
Grace should feel ashamed for her blatant eavesdropping, but she was too curious to care. She sidled closer, desperate to hear more.

“How dashing! Simply everyone would want to come to tea at our house if they did, just to hear all the juicy details. I wish they’d get on with it. And just think, we’ll have front row seats.”

Both girls giggled.

“Did you hear that Middlebury’s father wrote to Eton’s Head Master, and asked to be allowed to decide the duke’s punishment after their big fight?”

Finally! Something worth hearing.

“No, I hadn’t heard that part? How bad was it? I heard he nearly killed Middlebury. I bet the punishment was harsh.”

“Yes, it was. And Stonebridge almost died from it. The Head Master was fired when it was over. And I heard it’s why Dansbury and Stonebridge are so close. I heard Dansbury somehow saved the duke’s life though they’d never met before then.”

Both girls sighed together. They’d obviously romanticized the entire thing. Silly girls.