A Marquis to Marry (10 page)

“That’s all for now.”

Mrs. Frost turned away, and Race went to the window and looked out. As the duchess came to mind, a peaceful calm settled over him. So Susannah was her name. A lovely name for a beautiful, confident lady. He couldn’t see her house from this window. He would need to go into his book room at the back of his house for that. Somehow just knowing she was not far from his back door pleased him immensely.

He smiled and then chuckled to himself. All it took to get her to tell him her name was a quick, albeit possessive, kiss on the street. That had been risky. Downright foolish, in fact, especially if she had been ruined years ago, as he suspected. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

He had wanted to kiss her since he first saw her walking toward him in his crowded music room. After Gibby’s foolhardy stunt and their wild ride through Town, Race’s inhibitions were down, and his senses were acutely aware of his surroundings. He’d kissed her without forethought. He was glad he had, and now he couldn’t wait to kiss her again. But next time he wanted to linger over the kiss and take time to taste her sweetness. He wanted to hold her close and feel the warmth of her pliable body in his arms.

She was surprised he had kissed her, but she wasn’t angry. That pleased him.

There was something exciting about her, something intriguing and elusive. Because she withheld her past from him, it made him want to know everything about her. And he wanted to know it from her, not past copies of scandal sheets or anyone’s faded memory of that time. Not that he thought her past would change how he felt about her. It wouldn’t. He was much more interested in the present.

Did it matter that she wanted his grandmother’s pearls? Not one damn bit. He had no intentions of giving them up, no matter what her documents said.

And all that aside, he wanted her. That was as plain and simple as night and day. She wasn’t indifferent to him, either. He was sure of that. He’d sensed passion in her that afternoon in his home when he had stood so close to her he felt her minty breath caress his lips.

He wasn’t being foolhardy. He realized there was still the possibility she was working with Captain Spyglass, Winston, Smith, or possibly some other person in order to obtain the necklace. So why was he so attracted to her that he risked kissing her on the street? Because she enchanted him. Because she was so different from the usual London lady that caught his fancy.

The priceless Talbot pearls were rare and had a long history. No one had collars made like that anymore. He really wasn’t surprised so many people wanted them. But the pearls would remain safely tucked away in his safe hidden behind some books on his bookshelf.

Race stared out at the side lawn of his immaculately kept grounds. Even the vegetable and herb gardens were tended to perfection. Race liked order in his life, and Susannah was disturbing that, but in a way that was exhilarating. Even now, he should be concentrating on Gibby and his problem, but instead Race was remembering a warm, firm kiss on soft, sweet lips, and astonishment sparkling in cool green eyes.

“Race, what the devil is going on?” Morgan said, walking into the drawing room with his usual swagger. “I was at home when some lad showed up and said for me to come to your house right away.”

“Good, you’re here. Sit down.” Race turned away from the window and walked over to the mahogany sideboard that was inlaid with ivory swirls, and poured a splash of claret into two glasses.

“All right,” Morgan said and seated himself in a large upholstered chair. “I don’t like that pensive look on your face. What’s going on?”

Race walked over and handed him a glass. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to tell you.”

A wrinkle formed between Morgan’s eyes. “That sounds ominous. There’s nothing wrong with Blake, is there?”

“No, it’s Gibby.”

Morgan leaned forward. “Is he hurt?”

“Not yet.” Race took a drink from his glass. The deep red wine went down hard and settled like a rock in his stomach. Race was frustrated that he hadn’t been able to stop the insanity in the park. “He’s been challenged to a duel, and he intends to fight.”

Morgan jumped up from the chair, wine sloshing out of his glass over his hand, to stand toe-to-toe with Race. “Damnation, Race, you had better be lying to me or pulling a prank, but either way, this is no way to amuse yourself.”

Morgan was an inch or two taller than Race, but Race still managed to look him square in the eyes and hold his ground. “I assure you, Cousin, I’m not doing either one.”

“This is lunacy. He is too old to duel, not to mention it’s been against the law for years.”

“I know all that and told him so, but he insists he’s going to go through with it.”

“This is unbelievable. Why didn’t you tell him he couldn’t do that, and put an immediate end to this?”

Race’s frown deepened. “There is one small problem you seem to be overlooking, Morgan. Gib is a grown man. Besides, didn’t it cross your mind that I might have already told him that, as well as every other reason I could think of to insist this fight will not take place?”

“One of you had better be dead or dying,” Blake said, striding into Race’s drawing room with a grimace on his face. “But no, you both look healthy as horses to me, so why was I told to get over here for an urgent matter? I was already in my carriage, about to take my new bride for a ride in the park, when a ragamuffin showed up and told me I had to get over here in half a shake.”

“It’s urgent all right,” Race said, walking over to the sideboard.

“Damned urgent,” Morgan agreed and took a long drink from his glass.

“All right,” Blake said, his concerned gaze darting from one cousin to the other. “In that case, one of you best speak up quickly and tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Gibby,” Race said. “I was in the park less than half an hour ago and, while I was there, a man named Steven Prattle approached Gibby and challenged him to a duel.”

“What the devil?” Blake said.

Race handed Blake a glass of the dark red wine and said, “It’s true.”

“You were there and heard the challenge?” Blake asked with an incredulous expression on his face.

“Every blasted word.”

“Well, why in the hell didn’t you stop him?”

If only he knew.

Race was getting tired of the accusations, but losing his temper with his cousins wouldn’t help solve this problem.

A tired half chuckle escaped Race’s lips. “Give me some credit, Blake. It’s not as if I wasn’t trying like the devil himself to stop the whole thing. Do you think I want to see Gibby having a boxing match at his age?”

“Boxing?” Morgan asked.

Blake edged closer to Race. “With bare-knuckle fists?”

“Yes,” Race admitted. “As farfetched as it sounds, the man gave Gib his choice of weapons, and the old dandy chose his fists.”

“You can’t fight a duel by pugilism,” Morgan exclaimed. “That’s outrageous. What kind of tomfoolery are you asking us to believe, Race?”

“The cold, hard facts, Morgan,” Race said, raising his voice, too.

“All right, calm down both of you,” Blake said. “Just start at the beginning, Race. What were you and Gibby doing when he was challenged?”

“Having a conversation. I was there with the duchess, and I saw Gibby with a group of people who were waiting to see a man crawl into a cage with a tiger.”

Morgan’s gaze zeroed in on Race’s face. “You were there with the duchess?”

“Yes,” Race said innocently. “I took her for a ride in the park.”

“What duchess?” Blake asked, his gaze sweeping from one cousin to the other.

“That’s right,” Morgan said with a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “You didn’t meet her, did you?” Morgan turned to Race. “And you haven’t mentioned her to Blake?”

“It’s been only three days since I met her,” Race said, unable to hide his annoyance at being hammered with questions about Susannah and Gibby. “I haven’t seen Blake until now. He’s married, remember? He’s not attending the parties as often or visiting the clubs at night as he used to.”

Confusion wrinkled Blake’s brow and screwed up his lips before he asked, “What duchess are you two talking about, and what were you doing in the park with her?”

“Obviously, he was courting her, but what he was courting her for I don’t know.”

“Morgan,” Race said in a warning voice.

“Duchesses are usually married to a duke. What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into?” Blake asked.

“She’s the Dowager Duchess of Blooming. Ever heard of her?”

“I can speak for myself, Morgan.”

Morgan gave him a dry smile. “Of course, my apologies, Race.”

“I’ve met the Duke of Blooming a couple of times,” Blake said. “I can’t say I know him well. He seldom comes to London. Why were you with his mother?”

Morgan chuckled deep in his throat.

Race shook his head in exasperation.

Blake’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and he said, “No, wait, if I remember correctly, the dowager duchess isn’t his mother. She is his father’s second wife, or maybe she was the third wife, but I was told she was much younger than he was. I don’t think I’ve ever met her.”

“Probably not,” Race said.

“Take my word for it,” Morgan added. “You would have remembered if you’d met her. She is as beautiful as Henrietta but not quite as young. I’d say she’s about our age, thirtyish, wouldn’t you, Race?”

Morgan was being impossible. “Yes. And if you had met her, it would have probably been somewhere other than here. This is her first visit to London in twelve years.”

“That long? Sounds like she is as reclusive as her husband when he was alive. You were in the park with a beautiful woman, and Gibby was challenged to a duel? What else has been going on since I married that I don’t know about? I can’t believe you two have been keeping all this news from me.”

“It’s not as if we wanted to or intended to, Blake. It’s just that you aren’t as accessible as you used to be.”

“I live less than a mile from the both of you, and I damn well expect that one of you will stop by once in a while and fill me in on what’s happening in my own family.”

“Can we please get back to Gibby and the fight?” Race asked in an irritable voice. “The challenge happened less than an hour ago, so it’s not as though days have passed concerning Gibby. Right now, his situation is more important than the duchess or your hurt feelings.”

Blake growled. “My feelings aren’t hurt. I’m angry I was left out.”

“I agree that we do need to discuss Gibby,” Morgan added. “But there’s one more thing about the duchess that Blake needs to know before we quit the subject. She wants Race to hand over our grandmother’s pearls to her.”

“What?” Blake asked, clearly taken aback by this news.

“Yes,” Morgan continued. “She says they were stolen from her family and wants Blake to give them back.”

“What gall! Would you two blackguards not keep things like this from me ever again? Even if I am married, I still want to know what is happening.”

Race suddenly felt as though he was back in the park again. He wasn’t having any better luck keeping control of the conversation with these two than he had with Gibby and Prattle.

“All right, you’ve made that clear already, Blake.

Morgan, you’ve said enough. Now, would both of you please sit down so we can get back to Gibby? The duchess and the pearls can wait.”

Grumbling to themselves, his cousins took the two upholstered wing chairs that flanked a small circular table, and Race sat in the middle of the flower-printed settee facing them.

“I’ll make this simple for you. Mr. Steven Prattle’s sister, Penelope, accused Gibby of compromising her at Lord Tinkerton’s party last night.”

“Gibby?” Blake exclaimed. “No way in hell. That didn’t happen. I’m sure of it, but start at the beginning, and tell us everything.”

Race briefly filled them in on all that happened in the park, leaving out only the part about his kissing the duchess when he took her home. Contrary to what his cousins thought, he did not have to tell them everything.

“And you couldn’t persuade Gibby to give up this preposterous idea of a boxing match?”

Race drained his wine glass and placed it on the rosewood table in front of him. “No. I think Prattle might have been convinced to forget this idea if I could have persuaded Gibby, but Gib had whipped the crowd into a frenzy to get them on his side. They were with him all the way, shouting ‘fight’ at him over and over again. You can’t imagine what it was like.”

“What in the devil made Gib want to box the man like a bruiser?” Blake asked, shaking his head.

“Who knows what goes through that strange mind of his? It’s clear we have to figure out a way to get Gibby out of this and let him save face, too.”

“Usually the only way that is done is by marrying the lady in question,” Morgan offered.

“Do either of you know of her?” Blake asked.

“I’m thinking she’s one of the spinsters who usually sit around the dance floor at the Great Hall,” Morgan said. “Seems she’s rather tall and buxom and maybe about fifty years old. Do either of you think Gibby wants to marry her?”