Nightingale. Part 30

Having seen the duke settled at Dracks, Bear went directly to the stable where Marcus Hardwick boarded his horses. It did not take him long to coax the story from Hardwick's groom.

"It was Mr. Fry's plan," the man stammered as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, a result of Bear's coaxing. Leaning against an upright, the man kept a jaundiced eye on his interrogator. "The two a' 'em, Fry and Hardwick, met here on their way to Welter that night. They knew the duke was headed for his country place and he was alone. He likely would be stopping from time to time to quench his thirst, don't ya know."

"They said all this in front of you?"

"Well, not to my face, if that's yer meaning. I was nearby and they was talking, keeping ther voices low, but not so low as I couldn't hear 'em. I wasn't precisely included in their conversing."

"And what else did you hear of this plan?"

"Fry was the one wanting to waylay the duke and lift 'is purse as a way a' paying off debts young Lattie owed 'im, don't ya see? Said it was also in the way a' doing a favor for a friend."

Bear nodded, encouraging the man to continue.

"Hardwick didn't want no part of it and said so. Mr. Fry knocked him off 'is feet, left 'im laying right there about where yer standing."

"Did Fry go alone then?"

"I doubt he did. He said he'd git some local fellas to help 'im with the business once he was down in the country."

Bear handed the groom a cloth to mop a trickle of blood from his nose. "Did Fry say who else might have been involved?"

The groom looked confused for a moment, dabbing the cloth against his nose and regarding it closely in the dim light. "No, can't say that he did, except maybe the friend he mentioned. I remember wondering why he didn't just go beat the blunt outta the duke's brother, which was the one owing 'im in the first place, but I figured then maybe he give the markers because he didn't have the money, so Fry was going to collect from the duke who did, don't ya see?"

Bear knew Fry had not gone to Welter to demand payment. He had attacked Devlin when the duke was riding alone at night on a remote highway. From Devlin's injuries, it appeared to Bear that the a.s.sailant had meant to do more than injure him, and might have succeeded, if things had gone differently.

Bear scowled at the groom, who suddenly broke for the door. Lost in thought, Bear didn't follow. He liked Hardwick, but he had bad feelings toward Fry. If Fry had hired riffraff at Welter to help him attack Devlin, John Lout would likely know something about it.

Setting his jaw, Bear squinted hard at the stable door the groom had slammed shut as he left. Bear would keep a watch on Devlin until the duke was tucked in for the night; then he and Figg would travel to Welter to have a talk with Lout. If Lout was involved in the attack on Devlin, Bear hoped he would resist. He owed Lout for frightening Lady Jessica. If this were another debt - Bear opened and closed his fists and his face took on a sinister frown - he would enjoy setting things right.

Late in the afternoon, Devlin slapped his cards face down on the table, rocked his chair back, balancing it on its back legs and cast his eyes toward the ceiling.

"What has come over you, Devlin?" Lord Gadspar asked, gathering the playing cards to shuffle and redistribute them. "The lovely Elsabar is newly widowed, and you are newly recovered, yet you've not joined the pursuit?"

Devlin continued regarding the ceiling. "Elsa had some allure beyond her virginal years, but she has been too well ridden of late and her dalliances reported too broadly."

"Which probably only means she has learned methods to please a new beneficiary."

"I suppose." Devlin had no interest.

"What of the newest lady coming to court and to the attention of every man in the ton? Is she of no interest to you either?"

"Who might that be?"

"The Lady Jessica, of course. Surely you have heard of her." Gadspar threw his head back and shouted a laugh at the ceiling as if his words were riotously funny.

Surprised that there was a new lady about with his Nightingale's familiar name, Devlin smiled. "I know nothing of a Lady Jessica." His voice reflected idle interest, but he remained rocked back and impa.s.sive.

"Come now, man. The last two seasons have produced some well-dowered ladies, but few beauties, a situation that has caused complaints among the young gentlemen. Now a most fetching female living under your own roof promises to be the belle of the coming season and you disavow knowledge? What are you playing at?"

The two upraised legs of Devlin's chair hit the floor with a thud as he pushed upright.

"My Lady Jessica? You are speaking of Jessica Blair? Are you saying that she is a member of the aristocracy?"

Gadspar gave his companion a suspicious glance as his eyes narrowed. "That is the lady. Your cousin, if rumors are true. She is the rage among the young swains, and even a few of the old ones. I hear the Earl of Steen is smitten and prepared to offer for her."

Devlin glared at Gadspar, forcing the man to yield another bit of gossip.

"I know, Steen has a reputation as a rogue, Miracle, and he is old, but the man is as rich as Croesus."

"And a slayer of wives, if servants can be believed."

"That may be true, but he first swaddles them in silks and jewels and spoils them lavishly as he toys and plays with them, sometimes for years, before he tires of her."

"Then he murders them."

"He is of the old school, Miracle. He considers a wife as chattel. I understand he never intends harm, only grows a little exuberant at play. You and I both know that as a man ages, it takes more stimulation to bring him to performance level."

"Great G.o.d in heaven, what have we come to, that we consider murder an acceptable prelude to intercourse?" Devlin stood and shoved his chair, which fell sideways with a resounding thud. "If you are speaking of my ward being wed to a blackguard like Steen, then you ... " Seeing amus.e.m.e.nt on his friend's face, Devlin stopped abruptly. "Never mind."

Gadspar grinned broadly. "You are in exceptional voice today, Your Grace. I don't believe I have heard you expound so fiercely on any subject in all the years we've been friends. Is it the girl? Is she arousing you like this? I say, old man, no wonder the dandies rhapsodize. Has a simple country maid worked her wiles even on you?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Effecting a dismissive shrug, Gadspar said, "I suppose it would be of no interest to you, then, that Steen plans to steal her away as soon as Sat.u.r.day, from Benoits. He has hired a pair of scoundrels to ambush his carriage after he spirits her from the house. They are to take the couple to an unnamed location and hold them captive a full twenty-four hours."

Devlin bent to pick up his toppled chair. "A full day?"

"Long enough to ruin her reputation and ... "

Grabbing the much-abused chair by one leg, Devlin hurled it against the wall with enough force to startle men playing cards at the other end of the lounge. The st.u.r.dy chair shattered, a leg flying one way, a broken slat another.

Undeterred by noisy objections and grumbling from bystanders, Devlin raged. "Does the man intend to leave me no choice? Shall I be forced to kill him?"

Gadspar shook his head. "Action which would further damage the lady's reputation. No, I suspect he intends to make it impossible for you to refuse his offer, to force you to allow him her hand."

"Never."

"What other option will you have if you are to preserve her reputation, and your own?"

Studying Devlin's face, Gadspar retreated; placing himself safely out of reach of the duke's clenching fists. He marveled then as Devlin's expression softened.

"Ah, friend Gadspar, thanks to you and your timely warning, I shall not allow Steen's theatrical farce to take place. I will simply negate his plan with one of my own."

Gadspar took a step closer to ease an arm around Devlin's shoulders. "Glad to have been of help, old friend. Actually, I thought you might be relieved to have the girl off your hands."

"Who or what made you think her a burden to me?"

"Let's see now. You are a man seasoned in the strategies of females. I, and others of course, naturally a.s.sumed this novice to be of no interest to you. I supposed she was pretty enough. The watchers say she was a bit ungainly immediately following her arrival, but has taken control of her length and looks quite well in her clothing. Still, I would hardly have thought her a match for a man of your exotic tastes."

Devlin shrugged the other man's arm from his shoulders. "Then you and I, Gadspar, are not all that close these days, are we, that you should be familiar with my taste in women?" With that, Devlin turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

"I thought you were one of his most intimate friends?" a man at the near gaming table observed, glancing up from his cards.

"Yes." Gadspar chuckled good-naturedly. "It has been my experience, however, that love can make a beast of a reasonable man, a stranger to even his closest friends and family."

The five men at the table regarded him soberly, their interest obviously piqued as he continued. "I confess I have never before seen this man in love. What a peculiar being it has made of him. In spite of his experience, he seems surprisingly unaware of his condition. This situation bears watching. I think I shall attend Benoits' ball Sat.u.r.day night and follow this drama. See where it leads."

Devlin stood on the stoop at Dracks, squinting toward the setting sun and reviewing his conversation with his old school chum. He might need to go back inside and apologize. Just as he decided to do so and pivoted, he heard a familiar pop as a missile ripped the air just below his ear. Fingers pressed to the spot came away sticky. Blood. He had been shot, or at least grazed.

That was the trouble with civilians carrying firearms. There was a constant danger of inadvertent discharges, which was the reason he preferred not to carry a weapon when he was in town.

Dabbing at the scratch with his neck cloth, Devlin hurried to his carriage, parked at the curb, and ordered an overwrought Latch, who had seen and recognized the sound of a gunshot, to take them home.

Meanwhile inside Dracks, members, unaware of the incident on their doorstep, talked noisily of wagers.

"Mark my words, the Miracle matter will end in a duel between the duke and Steen," one man said.

"Nah, Steen's too old and too wily to allow things to progress that far," said another.

"Devlin may offer for the girl himself," Gadspar speculated quietly, staring at the door that had closed behind Devlin.

"I'll wager a hundred pounds against that," one shouted, his bet prompting joyous shouts of agreement and challenge as men gathered in the lounge.

The noisy debate escalated but Gadspar, looking skeptical, walked out the door wondering where he might find Lattimore Miracle. He wanted to discuss this rather surprising turn with someone who knew the duke and the girl. What was her name? Ah, yes, Jessica Blair. A perfectly respectable English name. His mother knew some Blairs. Maybe they had people near Welter who could throw some light on this mysterious little coil. He would inquire.

It was twilight as Devlin blasted into the foyer and blew by Patterson without a greeting, instead snapping a question. "Where is Jessica?"

"She is with your mother, Your Grace, in the South rose garden. Shall I summon her?"

"That will not be necessary." Devlin's tone and body language warned it might be best to let this gathering storm blow through unhindered.

The duke thundered into the rose garden.

His mother carried a basket while Jessica stooped to cut long stems of blood red roses to lay across it. Their murmured conversation ended with Devlin's shout.

"Jessica, I forbid you to attend Benoits' ball on Sat.u.r.day. Is that understood?"

Devlin seldom addressed her these days in any but the most gentle tones. His sudden, unreasoning belligerence seemed undeserved.

"What?" both women said, almost in unison.

The dowager was first to challenge the statement. "We sent our acceptance a fortnight ago, darling. Jessica and I will be attending together. She will be well chaperoned."

"She needs to be more circ.u.mspect about her attendance at these things," he said.

"But, darling, why should she deprive the Benoits? She is the most popular young lady of the coming season. Men flock to her like bees to clover. She is well-spoken and makes a lovely impression, not only on the young men, but on their mothers and fathers as well. She is exquisite on the dance floor, executes the newest steps with a grace I have not seen, even in Vienna."

Devlin's expression darkened, a rare occurrence when he addressed his mother. "She is my responsibility and under my protection, Madam. I do not intend to explain myself to you, to her, or to anyone else on earth, except perhaps the Queen. Jessica is not to attend Benoits and that is final." He held up a hand signaling he would entertain no further discussion. With that, he turned on his heel and left the two women standing speechless.

"Well," the dowager said finally, straightening to her full height and looking both indignant and confounded.

Jessica's eyes fairly sparked. "I am under the man's protection. I am not his bondservant, nor am I an upstairs maid to be ordered about with no civil explanation." Her piercing eyes, pewter gray and glittering with righteous indignation, met the dowager's.

"You and I have accepted the Benoits' kind invitation and I fully intend to honor that commitment. You do not have to accompany me. If you prefer not to, I shall invite ... " She considered a moment, then continued. "I shall require Mrs. Conifer to attend with me. A duenna is perfectly acceptable as a chaperone, isn't that correct?"

The dowager studied her charge. "No, darling, our accepting the invitation is as much my commitment as yours. We are absolutely in the right in the matter. We cannot go about playing w.i.l.l.y-nilly with our obligations."

Jessica frowned her confusion at the basket of long-stemmed roses. Even the sight and aroma of those did not ease her annoyance. She did not know what in the world had come over Devlin, but ever since he regained his eyesight, his moods had been capricious and increasingly difficult to fathom.

Chapter Eighteen.

Devlin did not join them for their evening meal, nor did he appear in their box at the theater; although, to their mutual astonishment, Lattimore slipped in shortly before the curtain rose.

"Good evening, ladies," he said, sliding into a chair behind them.

They both greeted him amiably, neither able to imagine what could have induced Lattimore to attend "Romeo and Juliet." He might be expected to endure one of Shakespeare's darker dramas, but habitually complained about plays about what he termed "the buffoonery" of romantic love.

Each time Jessica glanced back, Lattie was scanning the other boxes, as if he were searching for something - or someone. Yet when she looked toward him, he favored her with one of his devastating smiles.

Escorting them through the crowds after the play, Lattimore chatted companionably. His banter dwindled shortly before he asked, quite nonchalantly, "Will you be attending Benoits Sat.u.r.day?"

Jessica looked to the d.u.c.h.ess for their response, refocusing Lattie's attention by indicating his mother should be the one to answer.

"Perhaps," Lady Anne said. "Will you be there?"

He dimpled. "If you and Jessica will be, I wouldn't deny myself the excitement."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Jessica asked, annoyed by his answer.

He looked all innocence. "Nothing, my sweet. Nothing at all."

"Lattie," his mother said quietly, "what is all the to-do about Benoits? You seldom show any interest in such galas."

"That's not so, Madam."