Maggie MacKeever (26 page)

With that profound realization, his head threatened to burst. Had he misunderstood her levity, those many years ago? Had he not lost his temper, accused her of making mock of him—

Speculation was fruitless. Whatever Binnie might once have been, she was now a lady fallen far from grace, and one furthermore who had the unmitigated impudence to introduce a love child into the duke’s nursery. For what possible purpose—unlike lightning, revelation struck again. Sandor was in the habit of seeing his cousin daily. In no way could Binnie have hidden from his keen eye the fact that she had grown happily advanced in pregnancy.

Sandor wasted no time in pondering whose child, if not Binnie’s, Toby might be; if not Binnie’s child, Toby aroused no interest. Frantically, Sandor tried to recall the exact words he’d said to his cousin.

He’d accused her of unbecoming behavior, certainly; but had he made apparent what he believed that behavior consisted of? On due reflection, Sandor decided he had. It was a reflection far more lowering than the realization that someone wished him dead. What a coxcomb he must have appeared, so convinced of his own devastating charm that he concluded that Binnie had proceeded from a want of his affection to embark upon an infamous career. To accuse Binnie, of all people, of being a sylphid! Scant wonder she had slapped his face. Had she ever worn the willow for him, she would no more.

This, of all the conclusions arrived at by the duke, caused him the greatest discontent. That chagrin was inspired not by the fact that he, a man of the world who was well versed in the ploys of romantic courtship, a man whose far from pristine reputation as concerned the opposite sex was very well deserved, had made a cake of himself; but by the decision that his atrocious arrogance could have only roused Binnie’s repugnance.

At this point in his reflections, the duke paused to wonder why he should care so deeply that he might have caused Miss Prunes and Prisms to hold him in disgust. His conclusions, after all, had not been illogical. What else was he to think than what he had, given the circumstances? Galling to think that Binnie had obviously considered the duke’s youngest footman more trustworthy than the duke himself. Even more galling to realize she had been right. Jem would never have been so bacon-brained as to suspect—even worse, to accuse—Binnie of being a lightskirt.

Had the duke been able, he would have cursed loudly. Taxed so unjustly, Binnie would have naturally misinterpreted the events that preceded the accusation. She would have thought him, frankly, to be desirous of mounting a mistress, would have thought he intended she should play that role. And in all justice, although Sandor’s ardor had not been feigned, he had intended nothing of the sort. Had not Miss Prunes and Prisms bid him go and be damned, he would have made her a candid confession of his sentiments.

Very well, what
were
those sentiments? His Grace was not a man given to introspection, and he was rather astounded by the torturous workings of his mind. Even moreso, he was astounded that he could have been so obtuse. Binnie would have found the situation amusing, had she not been so furious with him; nothing could be more droll than the Duke of Knowles berating a lady for shameful conduc, when the cream of the jest was that he wanted the frail one for himself—not as a
petite amie,
but as his wife. Sandor marveled at his capacity for self-delusion. It had become appallingly clear to him that he had never forgiven nor forgotten Binnie’s rejection, had been embarked for an unconscionable time upon a systematic extraction of revenge. That this boorishness had been unconscious excused it not one whit.

Would she, could she, forgive him? The suspicion that she would not alarmed him not a little. In point of fact, the duke was driven nigh distracted by the thought that Binnie might never so much as speak to him again. Such a reaction would not be unreasonable.

Briefly, he allowed himself to savor the few favorable aspects of that fateful interview. Binnie had been jealous of Linnet, which was surely a hopeful sign; she had returned his embrace with enthusiasm, which was equally encouraging. Hold herself aloof, would she? He wouldn’t stand for it!

As becomes apparent, the Lord Knowles did not long wallow in remorse. He had behaved badly; he would make amends. Even without cooperation, atone he would; even if to do so he must kidnap his cousin, lock her away, keep her on starvation rations of bread and water until she proved amenable to reason, as proffered by himself. Countless years had been wasted; time now to act. If he had to drag her protesting to the altar, the duke meant to marry his Miss Prunes and Prisms.

Alas, Sandor then recalled his own predicament. Pleasant as it was to contemplate dragging off his viper-tongued lady to a long overdue rendezvous with the parson and the marriage bed, not necessarily in that order, Sandor was hardly in a position to conduct himself like some prehistoric caveman. Frustrated beyond measure by being held down by circumstance, and at a moment when prompt and decisive action was imperative lest his quarry act in a manner that placed her forever beyond his reach, such as marrying Mark in a fit of pique, the duke struggled violently against his ropes.

He was prevented from doing himself bodily injury by the sound of approaching footsteps. He waited, motionless, ready to achieve escape by whatever means. On that end he concentrated, pushing aside even the tantalizing prospect of throttling his cousin until she was forced to confess her sentiments toward him.

A door opened. The footsteps came closer. There was a rustle of clothing, a pungent sweaty scent. Then came the prick of a knife-blade against His Grace’s neck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Miss Mannering and Lieutenant Baskerville, with Caliban in tow, had made a leisurely progress through Brighton. They had inspected shops displaying toys and rare china, knickknacks and tea; the library on the Marine Parade where one might read the London newspapers, or gaze through a telescope out to sea. Miss Mannering waited under the colonnade of the establishment across the street while Lieutenant Baskerville went into Raggett’s to ascertain if the Duke of Knowles had recently been there; she acted similarly when he likewise broached the Cider Cellar off the Steine. Then they paused at the comer of the Marine Parade and refreshed themselves with gingerbread and apples purchased from Phoebe Hessell, who cheerfully exhibited for the lieutenant her bayonet wound.

“Impossible!” said Delilah, in a rather garbled tone, due to a mouthful of gingerbread, as they proceeded down the street. “A man like the Duke of Knowles cannot disappear into thin air! I’ll lay a monkey there’s mischief afoot.”

Neal made no response. If mischief was afoot, it had doubtless been set in train by the duke himself, and he hoped Sandor might perish in his own intrigues. He did not expect Miss Mannering, with her sights set firmly on Sandor, to share this point of view. Did she truly care for him, or did she seek merely to feather her nest? By the suspicion that Delilah might have formed a lasting passion for Lord Knowles, Neal was put in a passion himself. Lest he take out that passion on Delilah, he gritted his teeth shut.

To the Downs they went, after pausing to observe a cricket match under way on the Steine. There was no sign of Sandor among the beaux and belles
en promenade.
Nor was he among the people on the seashore, gathering shells, gazing out to sea through spyglasses, being steamed and shampooed and plummeted in the Oriental baths. Their progress was not rapid, Caliban being in a sportive mood.

“This accomplishes nothing!” Delilah said, at last. “Neal, you know your cousin’s habits. Where can he have gone?”

“Hopefully, to perdition!” snapped Neal, then bit his tongue. “I’m sorry, puss! I know you are concerned for him. It does you great credit.”

“Pooh!” Delilah fed the last of her gingerbread, not entirely by design, to the faithful Caliban. “It is my fault that the duke stormed out of the house, and
that does
me no credit at all. Because if I had not taken Toby there, the duke would not have found him; and if the duke had never set eyes on Toby, he would have had no reason to accuse Binnie of being a lightskirt.” Her freckled face was contemplative. “Which was not what I had planned; though I daresay it will serve very well.”

Neal, unaware of the sentiments harbored by his sister for the duke and vice versa, hadn’t the least notion of what Delilah meant, unless she referred to her own campaign to ensnare Sandor. “You still mean,” he inquired delicately, “to form an eligible connection?”

“Of course I do!” Delilah wiped sticky hands on her skirt. “I assure you I am quite incorrigible. And very determined, once my mind is made up! What is it they say? Faint heart never won fair maiden? Or fair gentleman, in this case.”

“The devil!” ejaculated Neal. “You can’t mean you’re
fond
of the brute!”

Miss Mannering paused to look up at the lieutenant, a little frown upon her freckled brow. “Fond? You might say so! Indeed, I did precisely what I said I wouldn’t, and tumbled into love with him after the briefest acquaintance, which just shows how foolish it is to anticipate!”

Bad enough to think of Delilah coldheartedly set out to land a plump fish; far, far worse to realize she meant to savor her catch. “Give it up!” Neal said abruptly. “He’ll lead you a merry dance. You
can’t
think he’ll make you happy, puss! He doesn’t care a button for anything but himself. Look at Binnie! Sandor once wanted to marry her, yet now he accuses her of being a lightskirt.” He watched with fascination as Delilah’s cheeks turned pink, decided she was laboring under some strong emotion. “I’m sorry if this makes you unhappy, but I can’t stand by and watch you set your cap at a beast like Sandor. Even if you did manage to marry him, you would find yourself plunged into grief!”

Nobly, Miss Mannering attempted to restrain the merriment attendant upon so cork-brained a notion as that she was enamored of the ill-tempered duke. She had a high regard for him, certainly; a clear-sighted young lady, Delilah recognized virtues in the duke that were apparently well hidden from his family. However, she had never briefly contemplated settling with Sandor in matrimony. Now that she did so, she perfectly agreed with Neal that to do so would be a prodigious misstep. But this was hardly an appropriate moment to acquaint Neal with the extent of his error, lest she make a sad botch of the whole affair.

“Oh!” Her voice, due to the preceding reflections, was strangled. “I fear it is midsummer moon with me!”

Confronted with a mulish young lady, prohibited from attempting to lure her away from a man who could only cause her grave unhappiness, Neal tried a different tack. Subtly, he recalled to Delilah the reception held in her honor, at which she had enjoyed such success. Any one of those admiring gentlemen, he intimated, would be a better catch for an enterprising young lady than the duke. To this, Delilah responded that those gentlemen had been gazetted fortune hunters all. Miss Mannering had no intention of placing her fortune in such a person’s hands.

Thus reminded of Delilah’s avaricious nature, Neal put forth the suggestion that, could she but restrain her greed, she could surely discover some gentleman who suited her needs. Since Delilah looked extremely startled by this remark, and since Neal interpreted that amazement as resultant upon his understanding of her motives, he added that she mustn’t think
he
minded that she was dangling after wealth. It was not unnatural, the lieutenant professed, that a young lady already possessing one fortune should yearn for yet another—if she
did
truly possess a fortune, and wasn’t laying claim to something that wasn’t truly hers—or he supposed it was not unnatural, though he admitted that to him it didn’t make a great deal of sense.

Miss Mannering reflected, with considerable amusement, that she had gotten herself involved with a uniformly cockle-brained family. Never had she met a group of people so set on misjudging one another. In Neal’s case, at least, there was some excuse: Edwina had warned her that her behavior was open to very unfavorable interpretations, and Edwina had been correct. But she was ignoring Neal. With keen interest, she waited to see what absurdity he would utter next.

Lieutenant Baskerville did not disappoint Miss Mannering: after acquainting her with his suspicion that she was an adventuress, he informed her that she erred in choosing Sandor as her dupe. The duke’s mind was of a mean and little structure, Neal explained, and he possessed an insuperable vanity, but all shortcomings aside, there were no flies on the duke.

Delilah could bear no more, lest she burst into laughter, which would doubtless cause Neal to take offense. “Cut line!” she gasped. “I promise I shan’t come to grief. But where is Caliban?”

Obviously the subject was closed. What a dreadful pickle this was, decided Neal, for all concerned. He must marry a lady for whom he had not the least affection, lest she ruin the lady for whom he harbored the greatest affection possible; while the latter lady was set on contracting an alliance with a cold and heartless brute. Naturally she was set on finding Sandor; of course she was determined that, for Sandor’s insult to Binnie, Neal should not wreak vengeance. Accordingly, Neal was not to be permitted to carve out his cousin’s gizzard. Feeling very frustrated, Neal looked around for the missing hound.

They had, during their conversation, reached a poorer part of town, one with which Neal was not familiar. Nor did he care to be. The silent squalor of his surroundings struck him as ominous.

There!” cried Delilah, tugging on his arm. “That alleyway!”

Sure enough, Neal caught a glimpse of a hideously multicolored tail. He also heard a frantic barking. Neal did not deem it expedient to be running into alleyways in this particular section of town, and so he said, but he spoke only to air. Delilah was already in hot pursuit of her pet.

Resigned, Neal followed. As if things were not already bad enough, now Caliban must hold at bay some unwary pedestrian, who would doubtless seek legal redress for injuries sustained.