Susan Johnson (15 page)

“D
arley was ready to dispatch you on the spot,” Dougal murmured, lounging in the corner of the chaise, his legs propped up on the opposite seat.

“I doubt it,” Walingame muttered, uncorking a brandy bottle and taking a long draught.

“Deny it all you wish, it’s true. You could see it in his eyes. And Darley has never had any scruples about putting a bullet in an adversary. Not to mention, most of his duels have been over some ladylove’s so-called honor. You were lucky you came out of there unscathed.”

“You run off at the mouth, Dougal. As for Darley, I’ll see that he pays for his bloody insolence.”

Dougal grinned. “Thinking about hiring some thugs again?”

“If need be,” the earl growled, immune to issues of honor. Right and wrong were mere words to him.

“Keep in mind, Darley might be on the lookout for a crowd of roughs. He said as much.”

“I don’t care,” Walingame spat. “All I know is that he’s going to pay one way or another for fucking my mistress.”

“He may not be fucking her.” Dougal didn’t add,
And it didn’t look like she was yours.

“Acquit me of stupidity,” Walingame muttered. “They smelled of sex when they walked in.”

“Not from where I was sitting.”

Walingame snorted. “They’d spent the day in bed. I’d bet my stable on that.”

Dougal grinned. “Since I’d like your stable, could we find out whether they had sex or not?”

“Very humorous, I’m sure. Remind me to mock your female attachments. Not only is Janet Ferguson so shapeless one can’t tell if she’s coming or going—she doesn’t discriminate whom she takes into her bed. I hope you understand you’re not alone in fucking her.”

“Nor do I wish to be,” Dougal drawled, his inamorata one of the hotter women he’d ever bedded despite her boyish form and indiscretions. “And I hardly think Annabelle Foster could be considered your exclusive property,” he bluntly pointed out.

“Regardless, I intend to have her back in my bed in short order,” Walingame declared firmly.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

Walingame smiled wickedly. “The usual way. Through guile.”

D
uff had tea with Annabelle, her mother, and Molly before he left. He also asked Mrs. Foster for permission to fetch Annabelle the following morning and was speedily answered in the affirmative.

He stayed for some time, enjoying the company, making plans with them for the summer as though he was a member of the family. It was near sunset when he and Annabelle said their good-byes. They stood together at the garden gate, the sun pinking the horizon, the scent of flowers perfuming the air, a palpable serenity enveloping the scene.

“I can’t remember when I’ve had a more pleasurable day,” he whispered, taking her hand in his behind the shield of her skirts.

“Nor can I. I thank you again for my happiness and your gallantry in all things. It’s delightful to have Walingame gone as well.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll send some servants over to help your mother and Molly with the children and a few men to stand guard as a precaution.”

She shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t. Such actions might unduly alarm Mother.”

“Your mother won’t mind one or two maids, will she? Come, say yes to that, at least.” As for the guards, he would see that they stayed out of sight. But they would be there for his peace of mind, if not hers.

“Very well,” she replied politely, not wishing to continue the argument.

“Good.” He gently squeezed her fingers. “Tell me you’ll think of me tonight,” he murmured.

She smiled. “How could I not?” A man like Duff was not easily forgotten.

“I’ll be here at ten to fetch you. I wish I could kiss you good-bye.”

“No more than I. But Mother and Molly are probably peering out the windows.”

He sighed softly. “So I must be well behaved.”

“I’m afraid so,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

“Darling, don’t cry—don’t—especially when I can’t take you in my arms and comfort you.”

She sniffled and snuffled and a moment later offered him a quivering smile. “There. I’m fine. I’m probably still rattled by all that has happened.”

“Walingame won’t bother you again. Don’t worry about him another second.”

She nodded, forcing back her tears. “I shan’t. ’Til tomorrow, then.” If Duff didn’t leave soon she was likely to burst into a veritable fit of weeping.

He released her hand, bowed faintly, and with a smile took his leave.

As his phaeton drew away from her gate, he waved.

She managed to maintain her smile until he was out of sight. Wiping away her tears, she turned and with a determined tread, briskly walked back to the cottage.

They would have to be gone by morning.

There was no question of staying now that Walingame knew where she lived.

He would be back. She had no doubt.

And even if Duff could protect her—not necessarily a certainty with a man of Walingame’s treachery—she didn’t want to put herself under the marquis’s protection simply because of Walingame.

She’d always avoided the position of “kept woman.”

She’d decided long ago that as compensation for her way of life, she would at least retain her independence. And much as she’d enjoy Duff’s company—a tame word for the glory he offered—he would be the same as any other man if she allowed him to put his mark on her.

She’d long adhered to a set of rules, first among them that she bestowed her favors where she pleased. Second, that no man made demands of her. And third, that she alone determined when a liaison was over.

In many ways, she was no different from aristocratic ladies who played at amour. She’d just had the misfortune to be born into a craftsman’s family rather than into wealth. Noble ladies amused themselves with a variety of bed partners, their leisure activities often largely devoted to amorous play. Once a peeress had borne an heir, society was inclined to overlook extramarital affairs so long as scandal was kept to a minimum.

Not that comparisons of her life to that of noble ladies mattered at the moment. All that mattered was deciding on an explanation for a swift departure that wouldn’t alarm her mother.

She wished to be gone by midnight at the latest. She wanted to be well on her way before Duff arrived in the morning.

She most regretted leaving him. If there had been a way to say a proper good-bye without complicating her plans, she would have. But sweet as Duff was, wonderful and enchanting as he was, a fleeting love affair was all he offered. She chose to live her life another way.

Perhaps the Isle of Wight would do nicely, she thought, determined not to dwell on what could never be with Duff. It was a wholly useless endeavor, in any event, to pine over lost pleasures. She had many more relevant issues facing her.

The sea air would be bracing, she decided, the distance from London sufficient, the secluded location perfect for anyone wishing to disappear.

And her mother knew the island. As a child, she’d spent time there with her grandparents.

All in all, summer should be an ideal time to enjoy the seashore.

T
he duke and duchess were sharing a moment of quiet after luncheon. Their children and grandchildren had all gone off in a variety of directions, and before leaving the table themselves, they were having a last cup of tea when a footman carried in a note and handed it to the duke.

Quickly unfolding the rumpled scrap of paper, the duke scanned it. “It’s from Duff.” Turning it over to his wife, he glanced up at the servant who had delivered the note. “Who brought this to the house?”

“I don’t rightly know, Your Grace.”

“Is the person still here?”

“He may have left, my lord.”

“Find him. Bring him back. Quickly.” Crisp words, crisply uttered.

As the servant left at a run, Julius turned to his wife. “Duff doesn’t explain why he’s going to London.”

“You and I both know why,” the duchess replied, although mouth pursed, she was clearly beginning to think of other things.

“Perhaps the messenger may be able to shed light on our son’s precipitous departure.”

“I’m sure he can,” she murmured. Then her expression brightened, and quickly pushing back her chair, she came to her feet before a footman could jump to help her. “While you’re waiting for the messenger, dear,” she said pleasantly, “why don’t I go upstairs and tell the girls we’re off for the City. I’ll send word to the stables that we need Giles back at the house.”

“Duff might consider you’re meddling,” her husband cautioned.

Elspeth smiled. “Now, darling, meddling is every mother’s right. We like to think of it as being helpful.”

“Your help may all be for naught if Duff returns before we reach London,” he said kindly. “Have you thought of that?”

“Really, darling, didn’t you read the note? There’s some trouble brewing.”

“How in the world did you fathom there was trouble from those few brief lines?”

His wife offered the duke a beatific smile. “Mother’s intuition, my sweet. Trust me. But do let me know what the messenger says. In the meantime, I’ll see that the girls get their families ready for travel. You might want to order the carriages brought round.”

The duke had learned long ago not to ignore his wife’s motherly intuition. She generally knew of what she spoke. But after talking to the local farmer who had delivered the note, he did have added information to offer Elspeth apropos the time of their son’s departure.

“The man lives on a small holding near the hunting lodge,” the duke related. “He was out tilling his garden shortly before noon when two men on horseback rode up and asked him to relay the note to us. Apparently Duff was already in transit when he remembered to apprise us of his plans.”

“That explains the pencil and rough hand. He was writing from horseback. How sweet of him to think of us,” his mother said, in that doting way of mothers that overlook all their children’s infractions.

“No doubt we should count our blessings that he thought of us at all,” the duke said ironically.

“Exactly, my dear,” Elspeth replied without an iota of irony. “He’s a most charming boy. Now, did you learn anything more—about Miss Foster, who we all know is the reason Duff has quit his life of seclusion for the bright lights of London.”

“The yeoman knew nothing of her. I asked in a roundabout fashion.”

“Then, perhaps it wouldn’t be amiss to drive through Shoreham on our way south. In the way of a small reconnoitering mission.”

“Perhaps you and I should do that alone.”

“You’re absolutely right. Much as I adore our girls, they are prone to gossip, and darling Duff doesn’t need that sort of mischief right now. When he’s still…well…recuperating.” The duchess had never allowed herself to use more than the most benign language to describe her son’s emotional state.

The duke had been more realistic about Duff’s debility. He knew there were men who came back from war broken for life. And while he wished a full recovery for his son, whatever the outcome, he would have protected and supported him. That seemingly, Miss Foster had performed a miraculous transformation in a matter of days would forever garner his gratitude, not to mention his indebtedness. “We’ll have Giles escort the girls. I’ve had the traveling coach readied. There’s room for them all, although I suspect Giles will prefer riding instead of joining a swarm of children inside the confined space of a carriage.”

“I’m sure he will,” the duchess noted with a faint smile. “And since everyone knows how I can dither about closing up the house before traveling, they won’t mind going on ahead.”

“What do we say to Miss Foster if we chance to see her in Shoreham?”

“We won’t see her. Really, darling, you don’t actually think our son would run off to London if Miss Foster was still in the country, do you?”

His brows lifted slightly. “And yet, you’re stopping by.”

“Insurance, darling. That’s all. Now be a dear and tell Giles he’s to play escort when he comes in and I’ll see that the girls and children are informed of our plans.”

In less than three hours the entire D’Abernon family was on the road to London. A half hour later, having detoured to Shoreham, the duke and duchess were standing at the door of Annabelle’s mother’s cottage.

“There’s obviously no one here, darling,” Julius noted. “You needn’t knock.”

“I’d feel better doing so.” And she did.

“Why don’t I check the back door,” the duke offered.

“See if they left any servants behind, although it doesn’t appear to be the case. Strange, that,” the duchess murmured, her mind racing with possibilities.

She said as much a short time later as she and her husband were bowling south in their comfortable chaise. “Didn’t you think the cottage had an air of abandonment? There wasn’t a servant in sight. It almost gives one the impression the family wished to disappear,” she said, a musing note in her voice.

“Perhaps they don’t have servants.”

“Miss Foster is not destitute. Everyone knows she paid a tidy sum for her London house. I’m sure she could afford a cook or maid for her family—such as it is. Duff never did mention the exact makeup of the family.”

“We shall find out once we reach London, I expect.”

“Thank you for your calm counsel and support, darling. I appreciate your understanding.”

“I worry about our son as much as you do, sweetheart. We shall see that all remains well with him”—Julius smiled—“and possibly with Miss Foster, too.”

While his family was still on the road to London, Duff was tossing his reins to a young flunky on King’s Place. He’d already been to Annabelle’s town house. It was closed, so he’d checked for Walingame at his clubs and was now at the earl’s favorite gambling hell.

That Walingame had abducted Annabelle he didn’t doubt for a moment. That he’d make the cur pay for that transgression was also not in doubt.

“Wait here,” the marquis said to Eddie, who had dismounted behind him. “I’ll let you know whether we stay or go.” Then he strode to the stairs fronting an elegant colonnaded facade, took the steps in a leap, lifted the brass knocker on the door, and let it drop.

When the door opened, an imposing butler surveyed Duff’s dust-covered garments and boots with disdain. But as his gaze eventually came to rest on the marquis’s face, the man’s expression abruptly changed. “My Lord Darley!” he said with considerable warmth. “What a pleasure to see you again! Miss Abby will be gratified to hear you’re back in town. Please”—he waved Duff in with a wide smile. “She’s upstairs. You know the way.”

“Thank you, Willis. The usual crowd, I see,” Duff said with a nod at the adjoining rooms.

“Miss Abby’s games are honest, my lord. It makes for good trade.”

“A wise businesswoman,” Darley murmured, already striding toward the curved staircase, alight with a splendid crystal chandelier. Familiar with the house, Duff raced up the carpeted stairs, turned right as he reached the first floor, and strode down the corridor until he reached the last door on the left. Rapping twice, he pushed the door open without waiting for an answer, and walked in.

“If you don’t mind,” a waspish voice intoned, the lady in question’s back to the door as she plucked a book from her library shelf. “Kindly wait to be granted entree.”

Duff shut the door behind him. “And if I don’t?” he murmured with a smile.

“Duff! Darling Duff!” Abigail Fleming, the flame-haired proprietress of the preeminent gambling hell in London, swung around, opened her arms wide, and laughed in glee. “You’ve finally come back, you darling man! Come give me a kiss, you rascal! Life has been interminably dull without you!”

“You’re looking excessively fine, Abby,” Duff said with an appreciative glance at her splendid form in a jonquil yellow gown with a fashionable low decolletage. Reaching her in three long strides, he took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

She leaned back slightly and gazed up at him, a teasing glimmer in her violet eyes. “You certainly don’t call that a kiss after how many years—four? Surely,” she purred, “you can do better than that.”

He let his hands drop away, stepped back, and smiled faintly. “You must acquit me of my prodigal past, Abby dear. The thing is”—he hesitated, then with a deprecating shrug, said, “there’s a possibility I may be at least thinking of falling in love. Indeed you may look at me like that. I find it equally shocking.”

Concealing her chagrin at perhaps losing one of her favorite lovers, Abby took his hand and offered him a charming smile. “So England’s premier Corinthian might have been felled by Cupid’s dart. I’m astonished to hear it, but come, my pet, sit with me and tell me of this divine who has stolen your heart.” Leading him to a chair, she took one opposite him, leaned back, and with a graceful little wave of her hand, prompted him to speak. “Start from the beginning, my dear Duff. I want to know everything about this incredulous matter.”

“Actually, I only just met her four days ago—well, met her again, I suppose one would say—or more precisely, spoke to her for the first time in—” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You wouldn’t happen to have a brandy?”

“Of course, darling.” She’d heard of his troubles since Waterloo, and now this—Darley contemplating love after only
four days
? She didn’t wonder at his restiveness. In an effort to ease his discomfort, she chatted superficially about the current gossip going about town as she poured them both a drink. Handing Duff his brandy a moment later, she sat down again and lifted her glass in salute. “To your return, Duff.” She smiled. “And to the possibilities of love.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” With a flashing smile, he raised his glass, then drank it down in one gulp and set it aside. “You needn’t worry,” he said, dipping his head as though in acknowledgment of her assessing gaze. “I scarcely drink these days.”

“So much the better. Drink is the devil. And I know that better than most. Everyone downstairs would do better to drink less; they’d win more.”

“But then you wouldn’t profit as much.”

“True—although I’m long past concerns about money. You only just arrived in town, I take it,” she went on, indicating his travel clothes with a lift of her hand.

“Eddie and I rode in an hour ago.”

“You haven’t been home yet?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been looking for her.”

“I gathered as much. Your inamorata wouldn’t be here, though. Or at least I doubt she would. Who is this creature who can turn your head in four days when no one so much as held your interest for four hours all these years?”

“Annabelle Foster.”

It was a considerable achievement not to look stunned. On the other hand, Abigail Fleming hadn’t made her way to these lofty heights of business and financial success without a good deal of sangfroid. “No one can fault Miss Foster for her grace and beauty,” she noted pleasantly, leaving everything else about Miss Foster unsaid.

“Unfortunately, she’s disappeared.”

His blunt admission was as shocking as his confession of love. Abby couldn’t possibly say what she was thinking—that Annabelle Foster often made herself inaccessible to men she didn’t wish to see. On the other hand, Duff was not like other men—definitely not, she reminded herself, knowing well his versatile talents. To that point and another having to do with Miss Foster’s well-known aversion to a certain earl, she delicately inquired, “Might there be some other reason she chooses to secret herself from the world?”

“Fucking Walingame. He found her yesterday at her mother’s.”

“Ah—and you were there.”

He nodded. “Naturally, I sent him on his way. But she was gone this morning.” His jaw went taut. “I think he’s taken her.”

The curtain had rung up, the play fully revealed. Abby set her glass aside as though suddenly she must needs keep her wits about her. “He comes in here regularly,” she said, watching for Duff’s reaction.

“I know. Is he here yet?”

“It’s too early for him.” She held Duff’s gaze. “I hope you don’t mean to spill blood in my house.”

He suddenly looked like his old self, all cheeky insolence and swagger, his dark gaze audacious. “I wouldn’t think of it, darling. I’ll drag the bastard outside.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “He won’t fight you fairly, you know. Just a warning.”

“I’m well aware of his lack of principles. Don’t worry, I am vigilant.”

“Tell me what makes you so sure Walingame has something to do with Miss Foster’s disappearance?”

“I just do.”

“She’s left any number of men in the lurch. You know that.”

“Yes.”

“But she wouldn’t leave you?”

“No.”

“You’ve always been shamelessly arrogant.” Her smile was familiar and warm. “But with good reason, as you well know.”

He was polite enough not to agree. He only said, “Do you mind if I wait up here for him to arrive?”

“Not in the least.” She would have liked to say
I’ll have him disposed of for you
, but knew better than to interfere in a gentleman’s debt settling. “Have you eaten?” she said instead. “You look as though you could use a good meal.”

“I haven’t—nor has Eddie. He should be brought in and fed. Tell him I’m staying here for a time.”