A Baron in Her Bed (20 page)

As the first notes of a Handel waltz were struck he placed a hand at her waist and guided her around the floor among the other couples.

“You could have danced with one of those eager young bucks,” he said as they changed direction.

“I would rather dance with you.”

“My dancing is in no way superior to your last partner. The duke, wasn’t it?”

She gave Guy a fierce look. “You are the one man I’ve met who does not bore me.”

“Are you flirting with me, Georgina?”

“Yes.”

“You do remember my betrothed, Horatia?”

“Oh yes. I quite liked her. But she is not right for you.”

Amused, Guy said, “Let’s enjoy the dance.”

“I am the right girl for you, Guy,” she said. “If only you could see it.”

“The duke seems a perfect choice for you. I’m sure your brother would agree with me. It has been spoken of,
oui
?”

“He is too young.”

“Broadstairs must be close to thirty.”

“He isn’t as…sophisticated.”

“
Il est bon.
Then perhaps he will make you a good husband.”

She pouted. “I don’t wish to find out.”

“You may not get the chance. He is dancing with a
jolie
girl.”

“Is he?” Georgina looked around. She shrugged. “Oh, that’s Melanie Gilliam.”

“She’s amusing him. See how he laughs?”

Georgina shrugged again. “So?”

Guy noticed her take another peek when they turned in that direction. “Can you make him laugh like that?”

“Of course I can.”

“Will he dance with you again?”

“As a matter of fact, he has asked for the next dance,” she said airily.

“Then I shall watch and see if you make him laugh.”

“I’ll accept the bet. If I win it, what will you give me?”

“My compliments.”

“Pooh!”

Amused, Guy stood and watched Georgina dance with the Duke of Broadstairs. She flirted shamelessly. The poor man looked helpless. Guy wished the duke would stand up to Georgina more. It was what she needed. She respected her brother for that reason.

Broadstairs gave a loud guffaw, and Georgina’s triumphant gaze sought Guy’s. He nodded then strolled out onto the terrace.

The Taylors’ mansion in Hampstead was some ten miles from Mayfair and had a large park bound by a high brick wall. A fresh breeze ruffled the trees on the soft spring night, and a full moon like a silver penny hung suspended in a cloudless sky. What a perfect night to share with Horatia. They might have been wed by now and living at Rosecroft Hall. He wandered down the steps and moved beyond the flaming torches into the shadows. At the sound of rustling in the bushes behind him, he spun around expecting some night animal to emerge.

Something hard struck the side of his head. He saw flashes of bright light, heard a laugh, and sank into oblivion.

“It is not like Guy to be late,” Horatia said for the fifth time.

“No,” her aunt repeated.

Horatia walked to the window and back, her skirts swirling around her legs.

“Do sit down, Horatia. I declare you have worn a path in my carpet.”

Horatia sank down but remained on the edge of her chair, her ears cocked for the sound of horses clattering over the gravel. “I’m afraid, Aunt.”

“What can befall him in a short carriage ride through Mayfair?”

“What if he’s been hurt?”

“Someone would send word.”

“What if Lady Georgina has beguiled him?”

“Beguiled by two different women within a few days? I doubt he is that susceptible,” her aunt said.

Another hour passed with little said. Only the ticking of the long-case clock broke the silence.

It was close to midnight before Horatia consented to go to bed. She lay stiffly staring into the darkness while jumbled thoughts crowded her mind. Guy was not a liar. Nor was he a coward. If he didn’t wish to marry her, he would tell her so. She thought about his passionate kisses in the coach and how they’d made her feel so alive. She couldn’t believe he no longer felt that way.

She punched her pillow and rolled onto her side, as worry turned to anger. She’d asked him several times about his past, but he’d told her little. Perhaps she’d been fooling herself and didn’t know him at all. She turned over and tucked her hand under the pillow, staring blindly into the darkness. That wasn’t true. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and the realization made her tremble with fear.

Dawn broke, and traffic began to rumble through the streets. She heard the servants moving about.

Horatia sat up. Someone had knocked at the door.

Chapter Fourteen

A
t the loud rap of the knocker, Horatia rushed down the stairs, her heart racing, praying it might be Guy. She reached the hall where a maid had just admitted Lord Strathairn.

“I apologize for flouting convention and calling at cock’s crow, Miss Cavendish,” he said. “But I wonder if you know where Lord Fortescue might be?”

His words produced a shudder of fear. She clutched her dressing gown and shook her head, her plait swinging. “I don’t. You’d best come in to the parlor, Lord Strathairn.”

The big man followed her inside. Horatia sat before her knees gave way. Lord Strathairn perched on the edge of a chair looking as if he wished to be gone.

“Guy was engaged to escort my aunt and me to a rout last evening, but he didn’t come. Nor did he send word.”

“He disappeared while attending a ball with my sister, Lady Georgina, and I.” He looked down at the hat he held in his hands. “I didn’t worry at first. I have not known him long but suspected, well, that a lady might be involved.” His lashes shuttered his eyes, making her wonder what he wasn’t telling her.

“A lady?”

“I thought it might be you, Miss Cavendish, for Guy seems single-minded in that respect. I waited all yesterday, and when he did not return last night, I grew alarmed.”

Horatia clutched the arm of the sofa. “He disappeared during the ball?”

“Yes. It was a perfectly respectable affair, held at the home of Lord and Lady Taylor at Hampstead. He wasn’t seen again after he danced with Lady Georgina.”

Guy danced with Georgina! Lord Strathairn’s words rang warning bells in her mind. She shook her head and tried to focus on what was important. “And your sister returned home with you?”

“Yes.” His sandy eyebrows lifted. “You have no worry on that score. Lady Georgina spent most of the evening dancing with another gentleman. Fair set the
ton
on its ear, but that’s my sister.” He stood as if to leave. “Try not to worry. I shall obtain the guest list from Lady Taylor. Someone might be able to enlighten us.”

Horatia rose too. She swallowed to moisten her scratchy throat. “Would you let me know as soon as you have news, Lord Strathairn?”

“I promise.” He took her hand. “Don’t worry. Guy is a capable fellow.”

After the door closed, Horatia rubbed her arms and paced the room. She felt as if the life had been sucked out of her. She went to the window and watched Lord Stathairn climb into the carriage. “The Horse Guards in Whitehall,” his booming voice instructed the jarvie.

Aunt Emily entered the room, adjusting her lace cap.

“Did you hear, Aunt?”

“Yes. I listened at the door. I didn’t want to greet him in my wrapper.”

“Why would he go to the Horse Guards?” Horatia asked.

“Perhaps he seeks help from his fellow officers.”

“I wonder if he believes Guy has abandoned his goal and returned to France.”

“Surely not. You don’t, do you?”

“There was something Lord Strathairn didn’t wish to tell me.” Horatia turned away from the window, massaging her aching temples. “Someone wants Guy dead, but it doesn’t seem possible they attacked him at the ball. A guest would have witnessed it, or his body…” She swallowed. “…would have been found.” She moaned. “I must try to find out what happened.” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Aunt Emily patted her arm. “Hush, my dear. You must learn patience. We shall hear soon enough. I must say when you first told me of these attacks on Guy I put it down to coincidence. England can be a very dangerous place, if you are wealthy and go about unprotected. But no one plots and plans to kill others without a very good reason. And what reason could that be? I’m sure there is a quite logical explanation for his absence.”

The hours passed in excruciating slowness. It became almost unbearable. At times, Horatia suspected she was losing her mind. She had hastily dressed, barely eaten, and jumped at every sound.

When the knocker sounded, it took her a moment to believe she hadn’t imagined it.

Horatia rushed into the hall to find Aunt Emily’s maid, Sarah, at the door open-mouthed. A glamorous dark-haired woman stood on the porch in a striped French silk pelisse of Mexican steel blue.

The lady came forward with her gloved hand held out. “
Mademoiselle Cavendish? Je suis Duchesse la Châteaudunn, la sœur de Lord Fortescue.”
 
She
put
her
hand to
her
flushed
cheek
, and
her
light green
eyes
became anxious
. 
“Oh, pardon! English!”

“How nice to meet you, Your Grace
.”
Horatia sank into a low curtsey. “Will you come into the parlor?”

Guy’s sister reminded Horatia of a tiny bird. She barely reached Horatia’s shoulder. But there was a family resemblance in the resolute look in her eye. She settled her skirts around her on the sofa.

“My brother did write to inform me of your
fiançailles
. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances. Do you know where he might be? I called at the earl’s house. Lord Strathairn was away from home. The servants could tell me nothing. A young lady said my brother had left without giving his direction. She gave me your address.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I don’t know where the baron is. I wish I did.”

“You…you are worried, too. I can see.”

“I must confess I am a little.”

“
Gee
has always been most
solide
,” the duchess said with a stricken look.

“Yes, that’s what makes it so surprising,” Horatia said. And so frightening. Horatia resisted expressing the full force of her fears aloud, for the duchess looked close to tears as she fidgeted with her stylish reticule.

“He would not be so …” She waved the reticule about as she frantically sought for a word. “
Negligens.”

Horatia plastered on a polite smile. “Can I offer you tea or coffee, Your Grace?”

“
Non, merci beaucoup
.”

“Where might I contact you, should I hear any news?”

“I have taken a house in Portland Place.” She shook her head, causing the soft feathers on her bonnet to flutter. “But we must act
ne pensez-vous
? Where might we begin, Miss Cavendish?” She motioned to the window, through which a luxurious carriage and four matched grey thoroughbreds stood restlessly, their heads held by a liveried groom.

Horatia stared at the lady opposite, who chewed her bottom lip while waiting for her reply. She might be a duchess, but she was also a woman after her own heart. “We might go to Hampstead.”

“Pourquoi?”

“That is where Lord and Lady Taylor reside. It is where Guy was last seen. He disappeared, you see, while attending a ball there.”

“Then we go there.” The dainty woman rose on feet encased in blue suede half-boots the like of which Horatia had never seen, trimmed with silk rosettes.

“I’ll inform my aunt and fetch my bonnet.” Horatia felt her spirits rise as she hurried towards the door. At last she could do something.

Guy opened his eyes and stared into the dark. It might have been a moonless night at midnight, but he knew he was indoors. The air was thick with dust and mold. He moved his head gingerly. It ached and every part of his body seemed bruised. Where was he? A memory flashed into his mind, a silvery moon, the sweet smelling garden at Hampstead and then . . . nothing. He put his hand to the sore spot on his crown and discovered a lump and crusted dried blood coating his hair. He loosened his cravat, his mouth bone dry, his insides hollow with hunger. His last conscious thought came back to him, a demanding voice in the darkness. What did they ask him? He couldn’t remember. How long had he been unconscious? Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he spied a faint light under a door. He staggered from what appeared to be a bed of coarse dusty onion sacks and walked an unsteady path towards the light.

Once he located the door, he turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stood blinking in the glow of candlelight flickering in iron sconces along a short stone passage. He seemed to remember being dragged along an earth packed tunnel at some point before the blackness claimed him again, and felt sure he was still underground. The weight of stone pressed down, disorienting him. The air rank with the smell of rat droppings and tallow made him swallow as nausea gripped him. He sucked in the stale air struggling to breathe. Brighter light shone out from an archway at the end. Bracing himself against the wall, he lurched forward, stumbling into a wide cavern. A candle wheel hung from the ceiling throwing the cavern into a chiaroscuro of light and shadow, the frigid air smoky. Without his coat, Guy shivered in his ruined evening clothes.