The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (11 page)

Both men walked her to the door and after thanking them for their gallantry, she put a hand on the marquis’s sleeve. “I’m counting on you,” she said. “Please find Ruisdell and make certain he is all right.”

“Miss Edwards,” Somerset said, looking into her eyes with something very like shyness, “apologize for Ruisdell. Rogue, but usually the best of manners. You are right to be put out with him!”

“I agree,” Waterford said.

“It’s not in the remotest bit connected to you, Robert. I wish you would forgo this duel.”

“Then I’d have no chance of getting you back,” he said.

“Do you really think I’d marry the man who killed my fiancé? Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Her aunt was sitting up, waiting for her in the pink saloon. She had attended only the dinner party. Disliking balls heartily, she had told Elise that she was very grateful for the false engagement and Ruisdell’s escort so she could forgo her role of chaperone, at least this one evening.

“How was the ball, my dear? You’re home early! I’ve only embroidered a leaf.”

“Ruisdell disappeared again, Aunt. Just like last night.” She recounted the incident.

“Oh, dear. It sounds like his brainbox isn’t altogether sound either. I don’t think I would permit this marriage if it were in earnest.”

Elise knew she could confide in her aunt. “Why do you suppose he really became engaged to me in this silly way?” she asked. “Especially if he left me in precisely the predicament from which he was supposed to be protecting me?”

Her aunt looked bemused. “I thought it was nothing but a lark, at first. Possibly a prelude to an attempted seduction. However, he convinced me in some way that he really was concerned for your safety. What you told me about tonight does not make sense. You are right. I am at a loss to explain it.”

“I want to put him in a book,” Elise said, tucking her feet up under her on the sofa. “Such an enigmatic character! But I am not yet certain whether he should be the villain or the hero.”

“Elise, I declare that you care more for your writing than real life. Sometimes I despair of you.”

“If I had not had my writing while I was growing up, I would be as crazed as my mother. And look at the things it has carried me through since that time. How many women of my age have had four engagements?” She forced a smile for her aunt. Aunt Clarice was so full of sensibility that she actually felt sorry for the mice that Queen Elizabeth caught. Elise reassured her. “I do not know whether to be angry at the duke or worried about him. Especially considering that Robert intends to force a duel upon him.”

Frowning, Aunt Clarice said, “You didn’t tell me he’d taken another turn.”

“No. He is in his right mind this time. He thinks that the duke’s actions were worse than the cut direct. It was particularly marked, since the whole room seemed to be watching. The guests were all taken up with the drama of the meeting of the fiancés. Remember, they have no idea why I cried off the engagement with Robert or Gregory, and they all think it quite remarkable that it appears I’ve snared the duke.”

“So what you’re saying is that whatever frame of mind Robert is in tomorrow, he’s bound to fight the duke?” Aunt Clarice’s eyes were big with fear. Queen Elizabeth yowled, reflecting her emotion.

“Rusidell won’t fight a madman, but he may feel himself obliged to fight a sane one whom he cut most rudely in a place that contained half of London.”

“You are old enough to decide for yourself, of course,” her aunt said later, when the fire had burned to embers, and Elise was nearly asleep, “but I hope you won’t try to go and stop the duel.”

“A younger me certainly would have done so,” Elise said. “A character in one of my novels would not miss it for anything. But it must be your sensible influence, because I realize that there is nothing I could do to stop it, and I should seriously annoy the duke by trying to.”

“And you would pander to Robert’s love of dramatics that he seems to possess in both personalities,” Aunt Clarice added. “However, despite everything, I’m very taken with the duke, and I think if he is wounded, we must have him here to recuperate.”

Elise did not even hear this surprising statement, for she had drifted off to sleep, still in her ball gown.

IN WHICH THE DUKE ATTEMPTS RESTITUTION

Ruisdell woke up in his formal attire. Confused, he questioned himself about his strange circumstances. Where was his valet, Richards? How had he come to allow his master to lie across the counterpane fully dressed?

Standing, he was surprised to find he had not a hint of a bad head. He rang for Richards.

“Your Grace?” his valet responded.

“What happened last night? Why am I in my evening dress?”

“Your Grace would not allow me to attend to you last night. Your greatest desire was to be left alone. You had not been drinking, Your Grace, and the hour was early. It was much as it was when you first returned from war, if that will help you to remember.”

The war! Grinding his eye sockets with the heels of his hands, at last he remembered the night before. Waterford. Elise. The devil! He had left her with a man who clearly belonged in Bedlam. How had she fared?

Desperate to know if she had been carried off again or harmed in any other way, he went to the writing desk in his room, as Richards stared. Trying to compose his thoughts, he was finally able to scrawl out a short note to Elise’s aunt:
I apologize for having failed in my duty to protect your niece last night. I became suddenly indisposed. Please reply by means of my valet, who bears this note, whether or not Miss Edwards is safe. I am most distressed and desire an immediate answer. Forgive my behavior, I pray. Whatever the circumstances, I will call on you at my earliest opportunity. Ruisdell
.

Assuring his valet that he was quite able to manage his toilette and had done so for three years on the Peninsula, the duke sent him off with the note to Lady Clarice. He then took out his temper on his evening dress, shrugging out of his beautifully cut coat with difficulty, and disposing of his waistcoat so violently that the buttons popped off in several directions to the floor of his dressing room. Yanking at his cravat, he threw it to the floor, and let the studs in his shirt fall where they might as he tore it off. Once his pantaloons were removed, he poured an entire pitcher of water over himself and shook his head like his black Labrador when emerging from the lake at Ruisdell Palace.

Oh, dear God, let her be all right!
Closing his eyes as he toweled himself dry, he envisioned Elise being carried against her will aboard a yacht in the dead of night, bound for France and the Continent. Possibly she had even been drugged to reduce her resistance. Beynon’s gallant figure, dressed in full regimentals appeared in his head, accusingly.

He quickly donned fresh linen and morning attire, tying his cravat absent-mindedly. By that time, Richards had returned. He handed the duke a note, sealed with a violet wafer.

Your Grace—Elise returned last night in company with the marquis of Somerset (may I say you are lucky in your friends?) as well as Robert, who seemed to have his normal wits about him. However, Elise tells me he is looking for you in order to challenge you to a duel for your cut of him last night. We will look to see you soon.

Lady Clarice.

Profoundly relieved, Ruisdell sank into a chair. Except for the fact that he was a stranger to Providence, he might have offered up another prayer—this one of gratitude.

“Richards, pack a portmanteau or two of my clothing—morning dress, riding clothes, and ball dress, and have it conveyed to Lady Clarice’s townhouse. Also take your own things. We will be staying there, perhaps as long as a week.”

Ignoring the tempting ham, eggs, and pastries on the sideboard of his breakfast room, he stopped only for a cup of coffee and then made his way to Elise. Bates opened the door of the townhouse to him with the intelligence that the ladies were in the Music Room on the first floor. As the butler led him upstairs, he was somewhat disconcerted to hear singing. It was a mezzo soprano voice singing passionately in the Italian language. When Bates opened the double doors, he saw Elise at the piano, a quill behind her ear, accompanying Lady Clarice, who was singing a dramatic aria he had never heard. She stood erect and more imposing than usual with Queen Elizabeth under her arm.

Neither woman stopped her activity, so he entered and seated himself on a small pettipoint settee which stood in the window embrasure. The room was large, with impressive murals which he judged (by the dress of the characters) to have been painted in the Georgian era.

Watching Elise, he saw that she was concentrating, with some difficulty, upon a badly written score marked by many eradications. Her morning dress was a rich teal-colored muslin with a wide black satin ribbon tied under her bosom. As always, there were flowers in her hair. Today they were aromatic freesias in delicate violet and pink.

When the aria came to a conclusion, Lady Clarice turned to Elise. “Well, my love, was that more satisfactory?”

“Yes, Aunt. Very. I think you may consider this aria complete. It is one of your best, I believe.”

The duke grinned. “Lady Clarice! You are writing an opera?”

Turning to him, she said, “Yes. These many years. What did you think?”

“Well, I’m not a connoisseur, nor do I understand Italian, but it seemed to me to be very fine. Your voice is elegant, if I may say so.”

“Indeed you may!” Lady Clarice flushed with pleasure and sat on a sofa upholstered in heavily embroidered gold silk. “Thank you.”

“And what is the subject of your work?”

“Cats. I’m afraid it’s a bit outré for today’s literally minded audiences, but I hope it may find those who will appreciate it by the time it is complete.”

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Elise said, her voice empty of all inflection.

“I come, not only to take up my post of protection, but also to offer you my sincerest apologies for my behavior of last night. I realize that I left you in an awkward, if not dangerous, position.”

“Your behavior was certainly irregular.” His fiancée rose from the piano after dipping her quill in ink and making a notation on the score. “However, as you have taken upon yourself this task without compulsion, I certainly have no right to complain.”

“Were you frightened?” he asked.

Seating herself next to her aunt, she allowed that she had been. “But I am forced to revise my unfavorable opinion of the Marquis of Somerset.” She told how he had gallantly accompanied her and Robert.

“I understand that Waterford is now seeking my blood in both his personalities.”

“Yes,” Elise said with a sigh. “You were to have fought a duel this morning, were you not?”

The duke stood and began pacing. “The devil! I have insulted the man, I suppose. It completely left my mind.”

“I hope you have not forgotten that we are engaged to appear before the magistrate this afternoon.”

“My wits appear to have gone begging. I am glad you remembered.”

“Have you eaten, Your Grace?” Lady Clarice asked with evident concern.

“That also slipped my mind.”

“I shall go inform Cook that you will take luncheon with us.” She bustled out of the room.

Surprised that Elise’s aunt would leave her alone with a known rake, he told himself to justify her confidence. Would he never be free of Beynon’s presence, as it were, over his shoulder?

He rose and went to the fireplace, extending his arm along the mantle, careful not to disarrange the collection of Dresden china figurines, also in Georgian dress. His other hand found the pocket of his pantaloons. “Miss Edwards, can you forgive me? I was seriously distressed. In fact, I suspect food poisoning. The night before last, I ate oysters. I should have known better. June does not have an ‘r’ in it.”

“Your Grace, I do not for a moment believe your tale. However, I also do not believe that you meant to cut Robert.” Concern for him was evident in her puckered brow. He was touched by it. How long had it been since anyone had shown him concern?

“I assure you I was quite ill. I sought the gardens lest I disgrace myself in public.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. On my honor.”

“Well, since you would have been aware that you were making me a sorry case in front of the
ton
, I suppose I must believe you. You must have been truly ill, for you did not even seek my pardon, or perhaps more importantly, Robert’s.”

He cursed inwardly. “I beg your pardon now. Do you consider me a cad? Shall I go down on my knee again?”

She laughed, and he was glad to see her brilliant smile reappear, lighting up her countenance. Beynon’s sobriquet was truly descriptive.

“No, you needn’t. Your distress seems quite genuine. Did the same disorder send you out of our box at the opera, as well?”

Stifling a desire to bolt from the room at having his sensibilities thus disclosed, he merely said, “I’m afraid so. I really must stop eating shellfish.” His excuse seemed thin, even to him.

Removing one of his calling cards, he wrote on the back, using the occasional table at his elbow. “I will just send a note to Somerset at White’s and have him start the gossip that the oysters were responsible for my sudden departure last night. That should settle things nicely.”