An Inconvenient Duke Page 3

  When his lips curled faintly into a smile, a jolt of raw attraction sparked inside her. It struck so unexpectedly that it shocked the daylights out of her.

  “You seem surprised,” he said, amusement coloring his voice. “You didn’t think I could waltz?”

  He’d misunderstood her stunned bewilderment. Thank God, because she couldn’t have borne the humiliation if he realized how her body tingled in response to his.

  “I thought you’d be rusty in your steps,” she dodged. “I didn’t think you’d have had much opportunity to practice during the past few years.”

  “Not often, that’s true. And my horse made for a damnably clumsy partner.”

  She laughed despite the fluttering butterflies in her belly. “Four left hooves?”

  “The rascal kept wanting to lead.”

  Another laugh bubbled from her as he twirled her into a turn in the far corner of the room, then started a promenade back across the floor. How had she not remembered him being so witty? Brilliant, of course. Cunning even, from the stories she’d read of his battle exploits. But such a dry sense of humor was a welcome discovery, one that was helping to cut through her unease.

  The worst was over between them, apparently. Hoping they could be friends, she teased, “Perhaps I should be partnering with the cavalry at society balls.”

  But he didn’t laugh at her joke, instead forcing a tight smile as if distracted. Apparently, more lingered on his mind than the reason she’d been avoiding Charlton Place.

  Well, if they were going to find a way to be friends, then she might as well be bold about it. “General, is something wrong? You keep looking at me as if…” She shook her head, puzzled. “As if you don’t know what to make of me.”

  “Because I don’t,” he answered honestly, his brow drawing down into a puzzled frown. His bluntness was jarring, as was the sound of betrayal in his voice. “Because I simply cannot fathom why you lied to me about Elise’s death.”

  * * *

  Danielle stumbled.

  Marcus caught her in his arms to keep her from falling. He held her against him to steady her, but in that fleeting beat, the sensation of her yielding body against his solid front passed through him like a warm breeze.

  When he’d glimpsed her across the gardens, he’d thought she was beautiful. But up close, she was downright stunning.

  The awkward young miss he remembered had completely disappeared. In her place was a woman in full, with ample curves, elegant lines, and an inherent grace visible in every move she made. She’d been replaced by a woman exuding confidence. That was the contradiction he now saw in her, one he found surprisingly alluring—that so much strength lay beneath that elegant exterior.

  But he also saw a flash of stunned bewilderment cross her face. She hadn’t expected him to accuse her of lying about Elise’s death.

  He led her back into the waltz. Anyone watching would have assumed she’d simply missed her steps if not for the way she stared up at him, as if he were a stranger.

  Perhaps he was. He was beginning to wonder if he knew her at all. Had circumstances been different, he would have requested this waltz for the express purpose of getting to know her again. Perhaps even to become better acquainted than they’d been before. Spending time with a beautiful and intelligent woman would be a welcome luxury after so long away at war.

  But Elise had been killed. Danielle had lied about it. And he desperately needed to learn why.

  So he said as calmly as possible, tamping down the distrust she stirred in his gut, “You hid the truth from me about how she died.”

  “I told you everything I knew,” she defended herself.

  His eyes locked with hers as he expertly turned her through a half circle to move them away from the other couples. Although they kept their voices low, he couldn’t risk being overheard. “What you wrote in your letter wasn’t true. You said that she’d been found in the park, that she’d gone for a morning ride and been thrown from her horse.”

  “Yes.” An emphatic nod. She was regaining her balance, both in the waltz and in the conversation. “She was found that morning in the park by one of the Horse Guards who had been out exercising his mount. The guards didn’t know who she was. They came to me because they’d found my name on a note she had in her pocket. They asked me to identify—”

  Choking on the words, she looked away, but not before he saw a stricken expression cross her face.

  A pang of guilt pierced him for confronting her without warning like this, but he’d been trying to speak with her since he returned, only to be refused at every turn. But when he found that note among his sister’s belongings, a deeper urgency to uncover the truth gripped him. Starting with discovering what Danielle knew.

  She sucked in a steadying breath and continued, “They asked me to identify her body.”

  Despite admiration for her control, Marcus glanced away and twirled her into a tight turn, unable to bear the sight of her grief. Or to have her see his.

  “They said that she must have fallen from her horse, that her mare was found nearby. That her neck was broken. What reason would they have had to lie to me? Or me to lie to you?” More than grief rose inside her now. Anger was beginning to simmer beneath her calm, collected surface. “As soon as I was able, I came here and told Claudia, informed the staff when Claudia was too overcome to do so herself, made arrangements for the funeral… And then I wrote to you.”

  Dear God, the hell those two women must have gone through here while he was hundreds of miles away, unable to help. His heart pounded brutally from the omnipresent grief that had shadowed him for the past two years, and from the guilt, which was made worse by this confrontation.

  Yet it couldn’t be helped. “That wasn’t how she died.”

  “But the guards said—”

  He whirled her through another turn. “She didn’t die from being thrown from her horse.”

  Danielle frowned at him, bewildered. “How do you know that?”

  “She didn’t go out riding that morning. She’d left the night before to meet up with a man named John Porter and never came home.”

  Her voice softened as she repeated, her face paling, “How do you know that?”

  “Because I found a letter from him among her things, confirming the date and time of their meeting.” The information spilled out of him in a rush of frustration and grief. He didn’t want to wound her, but now that he could finally challenge her with what he knew, he couldn’t stop, for Elise’s sake. “Then I tracked down the stable boy who had been working in my mews at the time of the accident. He said she often saddled her own horse and rode off alone. Apparently, she’d done that several times in the months leading up to her death. I think she did it that night, too.”

  He twirled her through a circle so unexpectedly that she glanced up at him, startled by the movement.

  “Elise was too good of a horsewoman to be thrown from her mare. Certainly not on a morning trot through the park. Especially when she didn’t go out on horseback at all that morning.” His gaze fixed on hers with a hardness that told her he’d brook no dissembling. “So let’s start over with the truth, shall we?”

  “I did tell you the truth! I told you everything that the guards…” As her voice faded, the confusion on her beautiful face melted into anguish.

  Her reaction pierced him. She certainly wasn’t pretending the emotions behind that. Not even an actress at the Theatre Royal would have been good enough to fake such raw pain and sorrow.

  Fresh guilt assaulted him. Good God, did she truly not know? Had it never occurred to her that Elise’s death hadn’t happened at all the way she’d claimed?

  He searched her face for answers. “You didn’t know that she’d left Charlton Place at night, alone, to meet a man?”

  “No. Or I would have stopped her.”

  Looking at her no
w, hearing the resolve in her voice, that he very much believed. “And John Porter?”

  “I don’t know who he is.”

  A bitter taste rose on his tongue. “Was he her lover?”

  “No! Elise would never…”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away in embarrassment. Danielle might have blossomed into a woman while he’d been away, but her reluctance to put to words that his sister had taken a lover assured him that she was still innocent. He had no idea why he should care, but he thanked God that some things hadn’t changed.

  “Why else would a widow meet up alone with a man at night?”

  “Not for that.” Irritation sparked in her eyes that he would assume that of his sister. Despite himself, a warmth blossomed in his chest at her defense of Elise’s reputation. “Not her.”

  His fingers tightened around hers as he continued to waltz her around the room. “Are you certain she wasn’t planning to elope?”

  She gaped at him, thunderstruck. “What on earth makes you think that?”

  “In his note, Porter wrote that everything was set for their vanishing that night.”

  She blanched and missed a step. If his arms weren’t around her, she would have stumbled again. She rasped out hoarsely as she hurried back into step with him, “A vanishing?”

  The way she repeated that, her haunted expression—Good God. Instantly, his blood froze. “You know more than you’re telling.”

  She gave a fierce shake of her head. “I didn’t know about any of this!”

  “Did she die on the way to meet him or coming back?” His gaze narrowed, watching her closely as he dared to finally put voice to his fears. “Or did he murder her?”

  She gasped, the strangled sound so pained that he flinched. “Murder?” The word came as barely any sound at all on her lips, and she began to tremble, so hard that she nearly shuddered in his arms. “Oh, God…Elise…”

  “So I’ll ask again.” He twirled her through a tight circle, one meant to keep her off-balance. “Who is John Porter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did he mean by their vanishing?”

  She fiercely shook her head. “I don’t—”

  “And Scepter?”

  At that, she halted right there in his arms, smack in the middle of the dance floor, bringing him to a stop with her. For one fleeting heartbeat, he saw fear grip her face, the same fear he’d seen on every man under his command the first time they’d charged into battle.

  Then it was gone, and in its place came anger.

  “How dare you?” Outrage filled her voice. “This is why you asked me to waltz? Not as an old friend of the family, not even to commiserate together in our grief—this dance was nothing but the battle strategy of a war-hardened general, to keep me from fleeing while you interrogated me!”

  “My sister was murdered, and I’m damned well going to find out why.” His own anger flared in response, yet he was aware of the crowded dance floor around them and kept his face carefully inscrutable. “John Porter warned Elise in his letter to stay away from them, as if he were afraid of them and what they were capable of doing.” He searched her face for answers. “So tell me what you know. What the hell is Scepter? Why would he warn Elise to stay away from it? And where can I find the people behind it?”

  “I don’t know.” The icy look she gave him was one of absolute obstinacy. “And for your sake, General,” she said, her eyes practically glowing, “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I need to know what you’re hiding about—”

  “Stop!” she ordered hoarsely, pushing herself free of his arms. “Please. Just stop.”

  As the other couples continued to dance on around them, the attention of the room fell upon them, and everyone craned their necks to see what was wrong. But Marcus didn’t care that whispers went up at the scene they were making or that Claudia now stood in the doorway, watching them curiously. Danielle Williams knew more than she was admitting. Far more. He wouldn’t stop pressing until he had the entire truth and brought to justice the man responsible.

  The waltz ended, and the last notes died with a flourish. When she stepped back, he had no choice except to let her go.

  But this conversation was far from over.

  Aware of the attention of the crowd still upon them and clearly wanting to lessen the spectacle they were making of themselves, she held out her hand and dropped into a curtsy as if nothing were wrong.

  “Your sister was a good woman who dedicated her life to helping those in need,” she said between deep inhalations as she gathered herself enough to put a smile onto her face for the crowd around them. “Keep that memory, and let the rest go. I beg you.”

  He took her hand and bowed over it, attempting to appear as if they were simply finishing the waltz. He murmured against her fingers, “I have no intention of letting this go.”

  Four

  Marcus hurried downstairs toward the entry hall so he wouldn’t be seen as he left the house. It was one of the reasons why he was up and dressed in his riding clothes so early despite not getting to bed until after three o’clock this morning. Even then, he hadn’t slept, tossing and turning as he replayed in his head his conversation with Danielle and kicking himself for not handling it better.

  She hadn’t known about the murder. That was obvious. Yet she knew more than she was telling, he was certain. He wouldn’t stop seeking her out until he had answers. Even if he had to waltz her halfway to Calcutta to get them.

  Around him, Charlton Place was a hive of early morning activity. The servants were all busily cleaning up after the party, putting the furniture and rugs back in their proper places, and taking all the glasses and plates down to the kitchen. The Roman decorations were being removed one column at a time but quickly enough that the garden was beginning to return to normal. Thank God.

  While the staff was spending their day doing this, it would be safer for him not to be anywhere near the house. A wise general knew when to retreat.

  But he also wanted to clear his head. Because he needed to come up with a new strategy for dealing with Danielle.

  “Marcus, you’re sneaking away,” Claudia chastised lightly as she entered the hall and caught him. “Again.”

  She was lovely in her morning dress of pale pink, her light brown hair carefully pulled into a stack of curls. As this season’s Incomparable, she turned gentlemen’s heads everywhere she went, but they were fools to chase after her. Only one man held her heart, and Marcus fully expected Adam Trousdale to offer for her by year’s end. She’d put her own life on hold for the past two years to remain at Charlton Place and care for Penelope. But now that he had returned and assumed Pippa’s care, she could move on, taking greater part in the events of the season, marrying soon, and establishing a household of her own.

  At least one female in his family would live happily ever after. The blame he carried for not being able to give that to Elise clawed at him even now.

  “I’m not sneaking away.” He covered that well-meaning lie with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going out for a ride.”

  She arched a disbelieving brow in that manner she had that reminded him instantly of his stepmother, so much so that his chest panged. Rachel Braddock had married his father when Marcus had been only nine. With a son to raise and dwindling finances to see to, his father had had no choice but to remarry. And quickly. But he’d chosen well, helped along in no small part by the family’s good name and his grandfather’s rank as baron. Marcus’s new mother had been a dedicated, kindhearted, and intelligent woman who cared for him as if he were her own, and within three years, Marcus had two sisters whom he loved dearly.

  Which was why he’d not stopped Claudia from throwing last night’s party. Hosting it had made her happy, and he’d do anything to make his family happy. He slid a glance through the front door
sidelights as Mount Vesuvius went gliding past, carried away by four footmen. He heaved out a sigh. Anything…even if it killed him.

  Thankfully, she didn’t challenge his very flimsy excuse for leaving so early. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  He tugged on his leather gloves. “We?”

  As if on cue, his five-year-old niece, Penelope, skipped through the breakfast room door, dangling her favorite toy—a threadbare stuffed horse—by its hind leg. Pink ribbon laced through its tail. The same pink ribbon she’d knotted into his horse’s tail last week. “Uncle Marcus!” She threw her arms around his legs in a big hug and tilted back her head to look up at him. Fresh out of bed, with her bare feet poking out from beneath the hem of her night rail and wrapper, she smiled at him as she always did right before she asked him for something he couldn’t refuse her.

  “Pippa.” He scooped her up, and she snaked a skinny arm around his neck. “What are you doing down here? You should still be up in the nursery.” Asleep. Just as he’d hoped so that he could make a clean escape for a few hours. But apparently, the entire household was awake, including the two Braddock women.

  “I wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.” With that explanation, she let go of him, completely trusting that he’d hold on tight to her and not let her fall.

  But of course he would. Always. “That is very sweet of you.”

  She smiled, the one that would have gentlemen tripping all over themselves years from now when she debuted. She moved the horse back and forth over his waistcoat to let it gallop across his chest. “So does Brutus.”

  “And very sweet of him, too.” So now the creature’s name was Brutus. She changed it nearly every day, trying out new names the way society women tried out fashion styles. God help him when she grew older.