Forbidden to Love the Duke (25 page)

“Don't bother,” Elora said. “I've sent everyone home for the night.”

“And we're all alone, after what happened?”

Elora unhooked the clasp at the back of her neck and shook her head. “I wanted us to be alone. I've got my gun in case anything happens. I needed to talk to you, Ivy. I don't know that we'll have another chance.”

“Do you keep a gun on you at all times?” Ivy asked as the necklace slid into the palm of Elora's hand.

“It's wise to be on guard in my profession.”

“Courtesan?” Ivy asked uncertainly. “I didn't realize you considered it an avocation.”

Elora smiled and removed her earbobs, dropping them into her other hand along with the necklace. In the low lights of the chandelier, the gemstones reflected a brilliance that momentarily mesmerized Ivy.

“I'd remove them, too, if I were going to plump pillows and take stock of linen wardrobes. I wouldn't even have worn them here.”

“I brought the set to give to you,” Elora said quietly.

Ivy looked up in astonishment. “As a wedding present? I couldn't accept anything this expensive. I appreciate the thought, Elora. I'm touched, but I don't need a costly gift like this.”

Elora gave a sigh. “The set isn't mine. I stole it from the Duchess Suite at Ellsworth. James had promised to pay me off in jewels, and I'm certain he forgot.”

“An oversight, yes,” Ivy murmured, afraid that this conversation was not going to end pleasantly over a fresh pot of tea. “Well, it was good of you to return them. If James promised you a present, he should—”

“I don't want a gift from James.”

Ivy nodded. “That might be better, considering you hope to make a match with Curtis. I won't say anything to James. In fact, I'll hide these and you can put them back where you found them when we go back to Ellsworth for the wedding. I've a feeling that is where James would prefer to have the ceremony.”

Elora stared at the necklace in Ivy's hand. “I won't be able to attend the wedding.”

“Because of what you just told me?”

Elora smiled. “Because I'm about to be arrested any day for larceny. I have to leave England tonight. I've been warned that my last victim reported me to the police.”

“Victim?” Ivy said, taken aback. This was not the pleasant chat about making the town house comfortable for Curtis and the children that she'd envisioned. The tone of the conversation had taken a dark turn, indeed.

“I steal jewels that belong to the ladies whose lust-struck husbands I sleep with. While they're still sleeping, of course. The gentlemen are too ashamed to admit their infidelities to their wives, and so when the theft is discovered, they invent elaborate stories about having noticed a young man or a gang lurking about the house earlier in the week.”

“You're a jewel thief?” Ivy asked Elora, swallowing over the knot in her throat.

“Yes. It seemed a harmless adventure at the beginning. Sometimes I pawn the jewels, the gentlemen buy them back, and the wife isn't the wiser. But the last gentleman I robbed decided he would be honest with his wife and bring me to justice. I'm leaving England as soon as I hear James's carriage outside the house. I want to know that you're safe before I escape. Despite everything that's happened, I've never forgotten your kindness to me the evening of the masquerade.”

Ivy rose from the sofa, leaving the necklace and earbobs on the cushions, and went to the sideboard. “This calls for something stronger to drink than tea. How long have you been doing this?”

Elora smiled with a touch of pride. “From the night of my—
our
humiliation at the costume ball. My first theft was a small amethyst-studded hair comb worn by a spoiled debutante who found it great fun to gossip about my disgrace the rest of the night.”

“Oh.” Ivy couldn't think of how one should respond. She couldn't congratulate Elora. Nor could she find it in herself to condemn her.

“From stealing jewels,” Elora continued, “I graduated to stealing other women's husbands. It gave me pleasure to sleep with the men whose wives had excluded me from society.”

“And James?”

“I would have married James in a heartbeat, but he didn't love me, and I love Curtis, but he would never trust a woman like me.”

Ivy shook her head. “I have to be honest, I can't imagine the duke or his brother being impressed by
your résumé.” She stared down at the sideboard, her nerves prickling. She wished Elora hadn't confessed any of this. It made her feel like an accomplice. “It appears that the servants have put out full decanters of brandy and whisky. Do you have a preference?”

Ivy turned slowly, sensing that Elora was not listening to her at all. Ivy glanced around the room. She saw the jewels glittering on the sofa beside Elora, the pincushion she had brought to mark repairs for the seamstress, and, standing in the doorway, a middle-aged man with a bulbous nose and ruddy cheeks.

“What,” Elora called out with loathing in her voice, “are you doing here?”

J
ames received a hearty welcome back to his club. He nodded to the old friends who remarked that they had missed him. He even managed to smile at members he had never met who expressed their desire to make his acquaintance. Some thanked him for his service at Albuera. A few expressed their regret at his brother Curtis, Viscount Bramhall's, injury. He accepted their sympathy in appreciative silence.

Then he walked up to the chair in which Oliver was sitting, raised him up by his lapels, and hurled him into a table. Two glasses of claret went flying. Oliver shook his head at the assault and James punched him with all his might in the jaw.

“I'll pay for all damages,” James said to no one in particular.

Oliver rubbed his chin, looking stunned. “Does that include the damage to my face?”

James pulled off his coat. A waiter took possession of it and hastily stepped behind an armchair. “Where is your mobcap, Oliver? Did you leave your apron at home? Do you mind if I dust the floor with your deceitful face?”

“An apron?” someone echoed.

“A mobcap?” said another.

The club porter arrived and summoned every waiter in the establishment to break up the fight. None of these men appeared eager to intervene. In fact, the porter decided to start taking bets on the outcome of the match. The duke had said he would pay all damages. He could afford the bill.

Society could be fickle. Society chose its darlings. A handsome poet might be popular for a season. But a duke was always in favor, especially when he had been privately wronged and took revenge in public, representing the ideals that his peers could not be bothered to uphold. This would make the papers and give the gentlemen present some good gossip for their wives.

“I have never known the duke to lose his temper,” one baronet remarked as James apologized for stepping on his foot. “He must have good reason.”

“It must be a woman,” another said, shaking his head over his newspaper.

“His brother was wounded at Vitoria,” the gentleman at his side murmured. “It's enough to make one go mad, the casualties we have suffered.”

Oliver had crooked his forearm to deflect the next blow. James drew back his left fist and drove it into Oliver's belly. “Fight back, Mother Goose. Fight me, you coward.”

Oliver reached inside his pocket and James took another jab, remembering how quick Oliver was with a gun. Oliver's head snapped back. This time when he recovered, his eyes blazed with anger. Defiantly he pulled out a handkerchief to dab at the blood trickling from his
mouth. At last he threw a punch that glanced off James's cheekbone.

They crashed through the door and out into the hall, battling like two unchained beasts. Oliver hit the mirror hanging on the wall. It fell, showering glass on his head and shoulders. Before he shook himself off, James bore him to the staircase and down they went, heads banging, fists flying until they reached the bottom. Oliver lifted his hands in surrender to the small crowd gathered above.

“I forfeit,” he said in a ragged voice. “I have wronged His Grace. I deserved the beating he gave me tonight. I have acted dishonorably toward him.” Oliver leaned his head back against the balustrade. “If you challenge me to a duel, I won't fire. I am a cad,” he said, speaking now in an undertone to James. “Courting Ivy was all a ploy, except that I began to care for her and her sisters. All along I sought the treasure at Fenwick.”

James fought a wave of faintness. His eyes wanted to close and his head kept jerking back. “Treasure? What the hell are you talking about?”

Oliver shook him hard. “Don't fall asleep. We have to keep each other awake through the night to monitor our injuries.”

James snorted. “We are not spending the night together. Explain more to me about this elusive treasure.”

“The pawnbroker Ivy sold her pearls to swears there is a fortune hidden somewhere in Fenwick. I wanted to find it. I didn't realize that my conscience would interfere with my attempts.”

“Forgive me if I have no tears to spare.”

Oliver put his head between his knees. “I made the
mistake of mentioning my plans to Joseph Treadway one night when I was drunk. He in turn told that hulking fool Ainsley, and I assume Ainsley told Elora.”

The name wrenched James out of his thoughts. “Did I hear you correctly? Elora was involved in the attack on Fenwick Manor?”

“That isn't what I said. Elora merely knew the men who attacked Lilac and Quigley. Ainsley was the one who got away. I shot Joseph, and I do not regret it. I might be a blackguard but—”

James lumbered to his feet. “Where is Ainsley?”

“Had he any brains in his bloated head, he would be en route to France. The chances are, however, that he's in a gambling hell.”

“Well, I know where Elora is, and I'm not happy about it. Wendover,” he called up to the slender figure descending the stairs, “I need your help. Oliver, get off your arse. If you are sincere in your regret, your atonement starts tonight.”

E
lora stared at the scruffy gentleman in distaste. His jacket hung open. Wine stains soiled his cravat and the cuffs of his wrinkled shirt, but by far his worst offense of all was the gun wobbling in his hand. “What are you doing here?” Elora demanded. “I warned you repeatedly that you were only to speak to me in private, if then. Our association has ended.”

Ainsley grunted. “We're in trouble—that's why I'm here. While you're sitting here sipping tea, Ellsworth and your poet got into a battle like a pair of lions at the duke's club. Talk of it is all over London. It's time for a holiday in Venice.”

Ivy's hands tightened around the whisky decanter. “How did the duke fare?”

He squinted, evidently too inebriated to see straight. “All I know is that they almost killed each other and then, according to witnesses, took off together the best of friends.” He waved his gun at Elora. “I don't suppose you managed to find out where that treasure might be hidden. That was our agreement. I keep your secret, and you keep me on the dole.”

Elora's lip curled. “That was our agreement before Oliver and I realized you were willing to attack helpless women and commit murder for what could well be a fairy tale, Ainsley.”

“There is no treasure,” Ivy said wearily. “Don't you think we would have found it ourselves? Oh, dear heaven. Is that why Lilac was attacked? You hideous fool.”

“You're up to your pretty neck in this, Elora,” he said, ignoring Ivy.

“Don't believe him, Ivy,” Elora said. “He's pathetic. He's no doubt lost again at the tables tonight, and I have loaned him money for the last time.”

Ainsley stepped into the light. Ivy couldn't decide whether the stringy hair on his forehead was damp from rain or perspiration, but the effect was off-putting either way. “Don't you sound like a saint?” he said to Elora. “What's that beside you? Your latest contribution to charity?”

“They aren't mine,” Elora said, murder in her eyes. “I'm afraid you wouldn't understand even if I explained it to you all night.” She rose to face Ivy. “I'm also afraid he has a point.”

Ainsley nodded toward the side door. “And I'm afraid all this chatter and stolen gems will be the end of us. Get your pretty self in the hall, governess.”

“Duchess,” Elora said with a rueful sigh. “She is to become a duchess in a few weeks.”

“Why force me to go with you?” Ivy wondered aloud. “So far, Ainsley, all you've done is attack Quigley and behave quite stupidly. Oliver, after all, did save Lilac's life.”

“Ainsley has assisted me in my career,” Elora said with a sour look at the man.

“Well, who else knows that?” Ivy asked.

“Oliver and now you.” Elora opened the reticule that sat on the tea table. Inside it was a pistol, which she lifted to point at Ivy. “You're to be our insurance, that's all.”

“Then I suppose you'll have to kill me, because I won't go willingly.”

Elora glanced at Ainsley. “I assume the coach is waiting. Why don't you go outside and make sure the street is clear? I'll take care of her.”

Ainsley hesitated. “If she's anything like her sister, she'll put up a fight.” He pulled off his coat, moving toward Ivy, and threw it over her head. “Move.”

The smell of Ainsley's body odor on the coat alone might have incapacitated Ivy had she not immediately begun breathing through her mouth. Her muffled screams would not be heard outside the room. She needed a weapon. She turned, wondering what her sisters would do in this situation.

“I told you not to move.” Ainsley made a grab for her arm. Being a drunken oaf, he miscalculated by several inches, allowing her the chance to dodge between the sideboard and the window.

She wrenched the coat from her head as he swore and staggered into the sideboard. His gun fell under the draperies. Ivy thought she detected hoofbeats on the rain-soaked cobbles. She listened until the clatter receded, taking her hopes for rescue into the night.

“Step out from behind the sideboard,” Ainsley said, flexing his fingers.

“No,” Ivy said.

“No?” He sounded incredulous. “Would you like your neck broken?”

Ivy looked down at the bottles and glasses arrayed on the sideboard. “Why don't we have a toast to celebrate this momentous occasion?”

“Give me the damn whisky, you impertinent witch.”

“Of course.” She snatched her hand away as he made another attempt to grab her, this time managing to strike her in the shoulder. Unstopping the decanter, she raised it and splashed its potent contents in his face. Allowing him no time to recover, she then brought the empty bottle down upon his dense skull.

Elora looked at Ivy in reluctant admiration. “What happened to his gun?”

“How should I know?”

“Can you find it? I never intended to hurt you, Ivy!”

She wasn't sure she believed Elora. She had a vague idea where the gun had fallen, but it didn't seem like a good moment to make a dive for it. Ainsley was weaving around the carpet like a boxer dodging the blows of an invisible opponent. Elora walked calmly around the tea table, holding her pistol high, her reticule wrapped around her wrist.

Aware that this was a temporary reprieve, Ivy began throwing glasses at her would-be captors like a barmaid in a drunken brawl.

“Ivy, stop it!” Elora cried. “Look for the gun,” and then, to Ivy's amazement, Elora raised her pistol to the chandelier and shot at the links that secured it to the ceiling.

The fixture swayed back and forth in a mesmerizing arc. Ainsley looked up as the chandelier tilted, spilling burning candles and melting tallow on his recently abused head. He screamed and threw up his arm to shield his eyes. One candle remained lit in the listing chandelier. In the shadows Ivy saw Elora dart across the
room and disappear through the door to the back of the house.

Ivy reached down beneath the drapes and felt for the gun in the corner. She heard footsteps in the street and a carriage door slam. Had Elora escaped and left her alone with Ainsley?

She peered through the drapes.

There was shouting in the hall. Ainsley stood up and backed into the tea table. Two men appeared in the doorway, a pair of the grimmest-looking ruffians Ivy had ever seen. She prayed it was a trick of the light and not nature that had played such unkind favor on their appearance. The tallest man stared at her with an intensity that made her feel faint.

She would rather jump out of the window and beg for the mercy of a stranger than to surrender to those fiends. Ainsley must have hired them from the roughest stews to subdue her.

“Elora?” Ainsley called again. “Where the hell are you?”

The men rushed into the room, one with a pistol in each hand, the other, as she had feared, heading straight toward her.

“Do not move!” he shouted.

Too late. She had already parted the drapes and drawn them back together. Thus hidden, she turned frantically to find the window latch.

“Did I not order you to hold still?” a deep voice rumbled, and a large familiar hand reached through the drapes to feel for her.

“James?” she whispered, hopeful but uncertain.

She gasped as a hideously bruised face poked through the drapes. It pained her to look her beloved in the
eye—the one eye not swollen into a slit, that was. “What happened to you?”

“Get down on your knees.”

“What?”

“On the floor. Hide behind the sideboard until Oliver or I tell you it is safe to show yourself.”

She grabbed for the brandy bottle before her descent, just in case, and folded to her knees. Her position prevented her from witnessing what next occurred, but from what she could gather, Ainsley's defeat was swift and bloodless. She heard him beg, “Ellsworth, for the love of God, don't kill me. I wouldn't have harmed her. She was only to be my ticket to the coast.”

“Sit down on the sofa,” James said, “or I shall give you a ticket straight to hell.”

“The Runners are here, Your Grace,” a third male voice said, and Ivy realized that the other man at the door with James had been Oliver. Was it possible they had made amends during the evening? Was a duel no longer an inevitability?

She fervently hoped so. And she hoped that the police
had
arrived. For now, however, she wasn't sure whom to trust anymore beyond the duke. Elora had portrayed herself as a friend and had betrayed society as a whole. Oliver—she didn't know what to make of him at all. She pulled out the stopper on the brandy decanter and sniffed its contents as a restorative.

She trusted her sisters.

“Ivy?” a concerned voice said.

She trusted Quigley, Carstairs, and Captain Wendover.

“Ivy?”

Above all, she trusted James.

“Are you drinking?” he demanded.

She glanced up at the face that appeared through the drapes and recoiled. “Is it over? May I come out?”

He bent down and lifted her through the drapes to her feet. The muscular arms that offered her refuge felt like the duke's. The hard body against which she leaned comforted and radiated a male heat that her senses instantly recognized. The bliss that she knew only when he held her gradually stole over her.

But she had to steel herself to look up into his battered face without wincing. “Is Ainsley gone?”

“Wendover summoned the Runners and they've taken Ainsley away.”

“And Oliver was after the treasure at Fenwick all along?”

James grimaced. Ivy suspected he might have been trying to grin, but his swollen lip contorted the gesture. “He didn't realize what the true treasure was. Or who she was, I should say.”

They stepped around the sideboard into the dimly lit drawing room. Ivy sighed. “He didn't realize that there is no treasure.”

“Be careful where you step,” he said, holding her close to his side. “The moron broke a whisky decanter against—good God. It appears he shot at the chandelier.”

“That moron who broke the decanter would be me. I was hoping to cause a distraction so that I could summon help. Elora escaped. She—”

He lowered his head to hers. “Oliver told me about Elora. I think he might have gone after her to say good-bye. Now, Ivy, please kiss me.”

She hesitated. “Where? Is there a spot on your face that has not been hurt or disfigured?”

“My chin,” he said wryly, pulling her down beside him on the sofa. “What a night it has been, Ivy. I apologize for being rude to you. I found out that Oliver had come to your room at Ellsworth. It did not put me in a pleasant mood.”

Ivy lifted her head, relieved that at last the truth was out. “He told you?”

“No. Mary did.”

“She recognized him?”

“She recognized his voice,” James said grimly. “She thought you were afraid to tell me.”

“I was, James. I knew you wouldn't let an insult pass unanswered.” She picked up the necklace and earbobs that Elora had left on the sofa.
This
was a secret that could definitely wait another day. “You look exhausted,” she said, leaning back to stroke his hair. “Why don't you fall asleep here for an hour?”

He shook his head. “We have to go back to the house. There will be questions to answer, and the children to reassure. I want to sleep beside you. I was insane on the drive here, knowing that Ainsley—”

“James?”

“I love you dearly, but whatever we do tonight, I don't think Mary and Walker should see you in your condition. We'll have to make sure they're asleep when we go back to the town house.” She kissed his cheek, rising from the sofa. “Don't run away.”

He caught her skirt, laughing painfully. The jewels slipped from her fingers. “Where do you think you're going—”

She left the room before he could follow her to the kitchen, meeting him in the hall minutes later with a
bowl of lukewarm water and a few towels. “You were gone too long,” he said.

She flinched again at the sight of his face. “James, I trust this is the last time you will scare me like this.”

He preceded her into the drawing room and sat heavily on the sofa. “I scared
you
? Oliver is not the only man in London who can be accused of reckless driving on your account.”

“Let me wash the blood from your face.”

“If you must.”

“Does your brother have a shirt somewhere in the house you might borrow?”

“I had a wardrobe sent here.” He winced as she dabbed gently at the bruise coming out beneath his eye. “I love you fiercely, you know.”

She smiled. “I know. Please stop fidgeting.”

“Something is poking me in the posterior.” He reached beneath his seat and pulled from the sofa the diamond necklace that Elora had removed from the Duchess Suite. “How the deuce did this get here? I was looking for it at Ellsworth.”

She wrung out her towel. He was starting to look better. “I'll explain if you hold still a little bit longer. And by the way, I love you fiercely, too.”