Page 36

T hat evening, hours after he and Lucy had left Eversham watching over Miss Fleetwood, they’d parted ways and returned to their respective homes in order to rest and ready themselves for the announcement of their betrothal at the Langham ball.

He’d always thought her a lovely young woman, but when he set eyes on Lucy as she and her mother were announced before entering the ballroom, he felt his ears ringing and his palms sweat.

“Easy there, old sport,” said Woodward from where he stood beside him. “You look a bit like you’ve swallowed your own tongue.”

That, Will thought, was entirely possible given that he was having difficulty remembering his own name.

He watched Lucy, looking like the embodiment of a fairy princess in one of the storybooks Meg forced him to read her when they children, as she smiled and laughed at something her friend Elise was saying. The gown she’d chosen tonight was such a pale pink that it could almost be mistaken for white. One might have expected that the pale color against her light hair and pale skin might make her look ill or ghostly, but somehow, the gown, a confection of silk and tulle and trimmed in blond satin pieces, made her skin glow. Her cheeks were pink with health, and her hair had been dressed in the style he found most becoming, gathered into some kind of knot in the back with tendrils kissing the skin of her neck.

“A word of warning, Gilford,” Adrian said from where he’d come to stand beside him. “It is all well and good to find one’s intended beautiful, even desirable. Indeed, it makes marriage much more pleasant. But staring across a crowded ballroom at her as if you mean to throw her over your shoulder and carry her off to your lair is not done.”

It took Will a minute to actually comprehend what Lord Adrian had just said. When he did, he turned to give his friend a scowl. “I am not entirely without a sense of decorum. I would not embarrass Lucy in such a manner.”

“Oh dear,” said Woodward from Will’s other side, “I fear you’ve triggered his protective instincts, Lord Adrian. Soon instead of looking as if he’d like to devour his betrothed, he’ll be challenging you to pistols at dawn for besmirching his lady’s honor.”

Before Will could respond to the teasing, the Duke of Langham came toward him in his usual unhurried manner. When he reached them, he removed his quizzing glass from the small pocket he had sewn into his coats for it, and peered at Will.

“Ah, yes,” he said with a shake of his head. “I thought my wife and grandmother were exaggerating, but I see that they were, if anything, understating things.”

Will turned from his surveillance of Lucy as she made her way around the room toward them and gave the duke a cool look. “I can feel you working up to some sort of amusing pronouncement, Duke. If that is the case, then I beg you to say it so that I might go greet my fiancée.”

If he’d spoken to the duke in such a way in his younger days, Will would have found himself at the receiving end of a set-down that would have singed the ends of his eyebrows. As it was, Langham, now happily married and head over ears in love with his wife, simply threw back his head and laughed.

To his brother, the duke said, “You’ve got the right of it. I owe you a hundred pounds.”

At this, Will sighed and glanced over at Woodward. “You weren’t in on the wager as well?”

His friend shrugged. “Only because I didn’t learn about it until this moment.” The American sent an aggrieved look toward Adrian.

“My apologies, old friend,” Adrian said to the American. “You were not nearby when we arranged it. But I promise to include you the next go round. I feel sure this pair will give us a number of opportunities for creative wagering.”

Ignoring his friends’ banter, Will glanced once more to where Lucy was surrounded by a gaggle of society’s most avid gossips. “Suddenly, I am not quite so eager to rush to my fiancée’s side.” He was joking, but knowing how cutthroat the ladies of the beau monde—his mother included—could be, he was inclined to stay where he was.

Woodward shuddered. “I’d rather negotiate a high-stakes treaty than face that kind of questioning.”

Adrian, who was still employed by the Foreign Office, agreed. “No one is better at winkling out information than the matrons of the ton . I hope Lucy was suitably trained to face them.”

They hadn’t yet discussed the particulars of her upbringing but given how easily she’d managed to move between the different levels of society, Will was reasonably sure she’d also learned how to fend off unwanted questions from prying matrons.

But to his surprise, it was Langham who came to her defense. “My dear chaps, Miss Penhallow is not only a member of the Mischief and Mayhem set, but she is now the co-leader of their book club. I suspect the lady is not only adept at deflecting questions; she is likely well equipped to issue some of her own.”

The mention of the book club reminded Will not only of Vera and her disappearance but also of the men’s book club Eversham had told him about. “Speaking of the book club,” he said aloud, “are any of you aware of a similar group, but for gentlemen? Only Eversham told me about it, and I was wondering who was a member and—”

“Ah, excellent,” Adrian said with a grin, clapping Will on the shoulder. “We were going to mention it to you this evening, but Eversham beat us to it. We are all members, of course, and will be happy to welcome you into our number.”

Will frowned. “Even, you, Woodward?” Somehow it didn’t seem fair that he’d been overlooked while the American had received an invitation. Not that he was going to get his drawers in knots over it.

Woodward looked sheepish. “Adrian and I founded it. And if you are wondering why you were not included, it’s because you were off sowing wild oats on the Continent when we started.”

Somewhat mollified by the explanation, Will asked, “Do you really meet in order to discuss books? Eversham said you read adventure novels.”

“To be perfectly candid,” the duke told him, glancing around as if he feared being overheard, “we do a bit more imbibing than book discussion. Not to say we don’t discuss books at all. Wrackham brought a very naughty French novel to one meeting, and it was quite interesting indeed.”

Will gave a bark of laughter, which he quickly turned into a cough. When he’d recovered himself, he asked with a mix of suspicion and approval, “Is this club simply a way for the husbands of the Mischief and Mayhem set—and Woodward—to meet while the ladies are at their book club meetings, where they actually do discuss books?”

“Do not be absurd,” Adrian chided him. “We also meet when they are doing other things together.”

“So Eversham lied about the adventure books?” Will wouldn’t have expected it of the man, who seemed like such a stickler for the truth.

“Poor fellow,” Woodward said with a crooked smile. “He genuinely hoped we’d discuss his favorite adventure stories. So every meeting we do make an attempt to speak about a book. But by the time we get to it, half of us are drunk and the other half are arguing about some philosophical point or other. And a few belong to both groups.”

“Who starts a book club where books are not discussed?” Will asked, amused despite himself.

“We intended to read books when we started,” Adrian said a bit defensively. “My wife is an author, after all. I’d hoped we could read some of her books. But you know how it is. It is difficult to convince a group of grown men to behave in a certain way. Especially when spirits are involved.”

“And one of them is a duke and your own brother,” Woodward said under his breath.

Will wondered if the ladies knew of the existence of this club or if the secrecy was one of the appeals. Rather like the Hellfire Club, only for books instead of mock satanic rituals.

He was about to ask when he idly glanced over to where Lucy had been under interrogation from the society matrons and noted that she was no longer with them. The musicians had begun to tune their instruments in preparation for the opening dance, which she’d promised to him.

Scanning the room, he looked for the halo of her light hair among the female heads in the throng on either side of the floor. But he didn’t see her. Remembering the story Meg had told him about how the two friends had met, he decided to make a circuit of the room and see if Lucy was perhaps behind one of the large topiary trees that had been brought in to decorate the room.

As he strode away from his friends, he heard one of them—Woodward?—remark something about losing another friend to the graveyard of betrothed and married.

We aren’t wed yet.

Though Will had begun to feel a closeness to her that he’d never in his life experienced. They were friends, he realized. Friends who wanted to strip each other naked and proceed from there.

But, he thought as he wended his way through the other guests, he’d need to find her first.

It wasn’t lost on him that Vera Blackwood had been taken in the middle of a ball.

The thought sent a stab of fear through him, and his search took on a dark edge.

When he spotted her amid a circle of younger ladies that included his sister, Elise Clevedon, and Jane Fielding, the relief that coursed through him was so intense it almost unmanned him.

From now until they captured Jedidiah Hamilton and his female accomplice, Lucy would have protection. Whether that came from the police or himself, he didn’t care. But Hamilton had proved himself capable of abduction and murder, and if he decided Lucy needed to be eliminated, he wouldn’t hesitate to harm or even kill her.

His fear and anger at Hamilton must have shown on his face as he approached the group of lively ladies, because once they noticed him, their laughter dimmed.

“Lord Gilford,” said Lucy’s friend Elise in what sounded to Will’s ears like a warning, “I hope you know what a clever, generous, and loyal lady you have asked to wed you.”

At her words, Lucy colored, and the other ladies around them, including Meg, Will noted with exasperation, suppressed titters. “Elise,” Lucy said with a speaking look, “this really isn’t necess—”

But Elise wasn’t finished. “Lucy is not without friends, and though you haven’t yet shown yourself to be a scoundrel, if at some time in the future you do, then you should expect the wrath of all of us gathered here now to rain down upon you.”

The look Elise gave him made Will fear for his bollocks, and he hadn’t even done anything wrong. Still, he didn’t want Lucy’s friends thinking he meant to mistreat her.

“Ma’am,” he said, giving the widow a little bow, “I give you my word that I would not ever wish to cause Miss Penhallow unhappiness. If I do anything to bring down the wrath you spoke of, then I shall be the first to punish myself.”

His words must have been, at the very least, adequate, because Elise gave him a look of grudging approval. “Very well,” she said, as if this group of ladies—the Ems?—were the arbiters of Lucy’s future.

“Are you quite finished threatening my betrothed?” Lucy demanded wryly. “Or is there some other warning you wish to issue him on what is supposed to be a happy occasion?”

At this, Elise gave Lucy a rueful but unapologetic look. “You and I both know how many things can go wrong in a marriage. I simply wanted to make sure he knows that you will not be without friends.”

Her face softening, Lucy gave her friend a grateful smile. Will thought she’d never looked more lovely.

“I do know,” she said to Elise. “And I am grateful for it.”

“I hope you know Elise speaks for all of us,” Meg told Will in the silence that descended as Lucy and Elise shared as much of a hug as their evening gowns would allow.

“Et tu, Meg?” he asked his sister with a raised brow.

“I am simply warning you that if you should turn out to be a terrible husband, my loyalties will lie with my friend.” His sister raised her own brow right back at him.

“At least I know where I stand,” he said to no one in particular.

Finally, Lucy turned to him and said, “I believe this is our dance?”

Around them, the rest of the group split up to search out their own partners, and Will led Lucy onto the floor among the other couples. As the music began, he couldn’t help thinking of how much had changed between this and their waltz at the Maitland ball a couple of days before.

For several minutes, they gave themselves up to the rhythm of the dance. And as he looked into her eyes, Will felt something stir within him. Not the sexual attraction he’d come to expect whenever they were together—and sometimes even when they weren’t—but something much higher, in the region of his heart.

He reveled in the feel of her in his arms. Her soft rose and lavender scent. Her grace as she allowed him to lead her in the once-scandalous dance.

This is love.

The thought was at once so startling that it made him stumble a little, but also so unsurprising that he wondered why he hadn’t realized it before.

“Are you all right?” Lucy asked softly as he regained his balance. “We can go sit somewhere if you wish.”

He hid a smile at her solicitude for him—as if he was an elderly gentleman or a recovering invalid. But that was his Lucy. Thoughtful and kind to a fault.

Suddenly, he did want to get out of this ballroom. Away from the eyes of the guests who were watching them to see if the match between them was one of necessity or of something more. Away from their respective groups of friends, who wished them well but also seemed poised to step in if something should go wrong.

“I should like some air.” Lucy’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he wondered how common the sort of symmetry of thought between them was. It had happened more than once, and he was not yet in a position to be jaded about it.

He nodded, and as they continued to dance, he gradually steered them off the ballroom floor and toward a pair of French doors leading into the gardens.

They’d spent an inordinate amount of time in the gardens of fashionable London this week, but this time, Will vowed, it would be for reasons entirely unrelated to abduction or schemes or murder. They’d been immersed in such darkness since that first night when they’d crossed paths in the Leighton-Childe library; he thought it was time for a little respite for themselves.

As if by unspoken agreement, they walked arm in arm through the French doors and out into the torchlit night air.

They hadn’t made it more than a few yards from the terrace and into the thick foliage when Will heard a voice meant only for their ears.

“You’d better come with me, my lord, Miss Penhallow. Otherwise, I’ll have to do something that will turn this fine betrothal ball into something tragic.”

Will hesitated. He knew that voice. Had heard it only a few days ago when he and Lucy had called at the Blackwoods’ townhouse.

How in God’s name did she figure into this?

“Lady Fortescue,” Lucy said in a cool voice. “How can we help you?”