Alissa Baxter (33 page)

Alexandra shook her head. “I was fortunate indeed, your grace, that Jimmy saw me. Had he not...” Alexandra’s voice petered out as she realised how narrowly she had escaped from a truly disastrous fate.

The door opened and Alexandra looked up to see Leighton entering the room, bearing a small silver tray with a crystal decanter and a couple of glasses on it. Placing the tray on a side-table, he bowed, then withdrew from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The Duke strolled over to the table and poured a measure of brandy into one of the glasses, then handed it to Alexandra. She took the glass from his hand, and looking doubtfully at the amber liquid, sniffed the pungent odour emanating from her glass. “Is this brandy, your grace?” she asked suspiciously.

“It is indeed,” the Duke confirmed. “Drink it, Alexandra. You have suffered something of a shock this evening, and it will do you good. Go on,” he commanded when Alexandra continued to look doubtfully at her glass.

Alexandra took a cautious sip, and pulled a face. “This tastes quite awful,” she said, and then gasped as the fiery liquid burned a path straight down to her stomach. She braved a few more sips, however, and was pleasantly surprised when she felt a delicious warmth begin to seep through her veins. Feeling suddenly more relaxed, she decided that the curative effects of brandy were indeed quite remarkable.

When she had finished the brandy, the Duke took the glass from her hands and placed it back on the table behind him, before moving purposefully towards her and taking her hands in his again. He was about to speak when Leighton knocked on the door, and hesitantly entered the room again. Clearing his throat, he addressed the Duke, “I apologise for interrupting you, your grace, but there is a gentleman here — a Sir Jason Morecombe — who desires speech with her ladyship. I informed him that Lady Beauchamp had retired to bed, but he said that the matter was urgent. He refuses to leave.”

The Duke frowned. Releasing Alexandra’s hands, he said tersely, “I shall see him, Leighton. Show him in here.”

“Yes, your grace.” Leighton bowed and withdrew, and a few moments later ushered Sir Jason inside.

The baronet’s usually impassive face registered surprise when he saw Alexandra standing in the middle of the room. “The abducted heiress has returned, then — no doubt rescued by his grace, the Duke of Stanford,” he said, bowing in the Duke’s direction. “My compliments to you, sir. Your gallantry is to be admired.”

“You — know that I was abducted?” Alexandra faltered.

“I witnessed the whole affair, my dear. The pistol was an amusing touch. A pity you were overpowered from behind. I was quite looking forward to seeing you take aim.”

The Duke viewed Sir Jason through narrowed eyes. “How did you come to witness the abduction, Morecombe?” he asked coldly.

Sir Jason smiled. “After our dear little lady here told me of the supposed threats made to her by one Lady Barrington — and the planned meeting in Vauxhall Gardens — I decided that such sport could not be missed.”

“You told him about the letters, Alexandra?” the Duke said, frowning.

“I thought that Lady Barrington had written them and that Sir Jason was aware of this,” Alexandra explained nervously. “I — I sought Sir Jason out last night about what I perceived to be Lady Barrington’s threats to me.”

“I see,” the Duke said quietly. Looking across at Sir Jason, he bit out in quite a different voice, “You did nothing to prevent Miss Grantham’s abduction from taking place, Morecombe.”

“Er — no,” Sir Jason murmured. “I saw no reason to interfere in an affair that is not my own.”

“Yet, you have come here, tonight,” the Duke stated flatly.

Sir Jason’s eyes glittered from beneath their heavy eyelids. “I was intent on seeing how Lady Beauchamp was bearing up after the disappearance of her granddaughter — to complete the details of my little tale. You see, although I have no desire to personally interfere in this affair, I have no objection to speaking about it. A more delectable piece of scandal has yet to come my way.” He looked down, carefully studying his polished fingernails. In a cruel voice, he added, “When the
ton
hears of tonight’s happenings, Miss Grantham, you will be the talk of the town.”

Alexandra hands flew to her cheeks, but before she could say anything, the Duke spoke curtly, “You will not speak of this to anyone, Morecombe.”

Sir Jason looked up from his contemplation of his nails and murmured, “But, I shall, Stanford. I shall. You forget, your grace, that you do not have the ordering of me. The
ton
will be most amused to hear of Miss Grantham’s adventures this evening. Our dashing little débutante is soon to become a — er — disgraced little débutante.”

The Duke spoke with deathly quiet, “Do you choose swords or pistols, Morecombe?”

“My, my — chivalrous to the end.” He gave a mocking bow. “I choose the small sword, of course.”

“This affair is not to go beyond the walls of this room, Morecombe,” the Duke said grimly. “So, I propose we fight here and now.”

“Without the presence of seconds, my dear man?”

“Without the presence of seconds — I can send my tiger to Stanford House to collect the swords.”

Sir Jason yawned. “Your proposal is a trifle irregular, your grace, but I shall indulge you. The defence of a lady’s honour is a — er — delicate matter.”

The Duke strode to the door, and opening it, called for Leighton. The butler appeared, and upon hearing the Duke’s request that his tiger be sent in to him, hurried off to call Jimmy. The tiger entered the Morning Room a moment later. His eyes widened when he heard Stanford’s instructions to him, and he asked excitedly, “Tis to be a duel then, guv’nor?”

“Yes,” the Duke said shortly, as he divested himself of his coat. “But you are not to say a word about it to anyone, Jimmy,” he warned.

“Course not, your grace,” his henchman said, shooting him a reproachful look as he left the room.

Alexandra, who had been standing in frozen horror all this while, suddenly regained the use of her voice. “Robert, you cannot fight Sir Jason! You may be injured — or even killed! Please don’t fight him! I could not bear it if you were lost to me.”

The Duke placed his hands on Alexandra’s shoulders. “My dear — there is no other choice. I shall not allow you to be the subject of cruel gossip.”

“But what if you are hurt?” Alexandra said anxiously. “I know very little about fencing, but even I have heard that Sir Jason is a master swordsman.”

“My thanks to you, dear lady,” Sir Jason said, bowing gracefully. “I am honoured that you have such confidence in my ability.”

Alexandra glared at him. “I am not speaking to you, sir. My concern is for the
honourable
man in this room.” Turning her gaze back to the Duke, she said, “Oh, Robert! Please, please take care!”

“I am an experienced swordsman, my dear,” he said quietly. Releasing her shoulders, he continued, “I believe it will be best for you to leave us now, Alexandra.”

“But — this duel is being fought over me. I must stay!”

The Duke shook his head. “Your presence will only serve as a distraction.”

Alexandra looked gravely up at him, then nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. Studying the Duke’s beloved features, she realised, in an agony of fear, that this might be the last time she saw him alive. The thought made her feel dizzy, but Alexandra determinedly fought the darkness threatening to engulf her as she moved away from him and walked to the door. Just before she left the room, she turned around and said, “I love you, Robert.” The words, however, came out only as a scratchy whisper, and Alexandra knew that he had not heard her. She attempted to say them again, but her throat was too constricted, and no sound came out. Shivering uncontrollably, Alexandra took one last look at the Duke, who now had his back to her, before leaving the room. It was the first time — and perhaps the last time — she had told Robert that she loved him, she thought in anguish. And he hadn’t heard her.

A few minutes later, Jimmy returned to Beauchamp House, bearing a pair of matching small swords. By this time, the chairs had been pushed back and both Sir Jason and the Duke had taken off their shoes and waistcoats, and were in their stockinged feet. The two men tested the flexibility of their blades. “You agree that the swords are evenly matched?” the Duke asked curtly.

“They are, your grace. I am entirely at your service.”

There was the briefest of salutes, and then the blades rang together, steel against steel. After a few moments of cautious circling, Sir Jason opened the attack, lunging swiftly. The Duke countered and delivered a swift thrust which Sir Jason managed to parry. The two men were unevenly matched, Sir Jason being of a smaller build than the Duke. But what he lacked in size, the baronet more than made up for in agility, the languidness that characterised him in his everyday life noticeably absent this evening as he skilfully fought his opponent. The Duke, however, had the advantage over Sir Jason in strength and in reach. His eye was quick and with a steady hand he parried the cunning thrusts of the other man, moving with tireless resolution, incredibly light on his feet for such a large man.

The desperate battle wore on, one man fighting for the honour of a lady he was prepared to lay his life down for, the other attempting to avenge a slight on his pride he had never been able to forgive. Beads of sweat, by this time, were rolling down the faces of both men. It seemed as if the duel would never end as they fought on and on. There was a scuffle of blades suddenly and Sir Jason saw an opening and lunged forward. As he did so, however, the Duke’s sword shot out in a lightning thrust, flashing above the other man’s guard. Sir Jason stumbled, then dropped his sword, clutching his left arm. The Duke stood back, breathing heavily, as he watched the red stain slowly spreading over Sir Jason’s shirt sleeve.

“You cur, Stanford,” the baronet whispered venomously. He swayed on his feet, before slowly crumpling over.

The door burst open, suddenly, and Alexandra ran back into the room. Upon seeing Sir Jason lying on the floor, she cried, “Oh — thank goodness, Robert! I heard someone fall, and thought perhaps it was you... He — he is not dead?”

The Duke wiped his wet sword, and said dispassionately, “No — he is not. I merely pinked him in the arm.”

Leighton, who had entered the room behind Alexandra, stared at the baronet in horror. “Your grace — I must protest! If Lady Beauchamp knew of tonight’s goings-on she would be shocked!”

“She will not know of them, though, Leighton. What you have seen tonight must not be spoken of. It is understood?”

Leighton, responding automatically to the authority in the Duke’s voice, nodded his head, but his eyes kept returning to the man lying on the floor.

The Duke ordered quietly, “Bring me some cloths, Leighton. I shall bind up the wound, and then we shall help Sir Jason to his carriage.”

As the butler left the room, Sir Jason stirred. A few minutes later, with a hand held to his arm, he sat up. “Damn you, Stanford, you’ve nearly severed my arm,” he said weakly.

“It is nothing but a scratch,” the Duke said, eyeing the injured man. “Ah — Leighton has returned,” he continued, as the butler came back into the room bearing some cloths and a pair of scissors. The Duke moved across to Sir Jason and, ignoring the other man’s feeble protestations, efficiently cut away the baronet’s shirt sleeve. He swabbed and bound the wound, which, as he had said, was not very deep, then made a sling out of one of the cloths to hold up Sir Jason’s arm.

“I think that will suffice,” he murmured, standing back and surveying his handiwork. He turned to Alexandra, and said, “My dear, Leighton and I shall help Sir Jason to his carriage, now. Retire to bed — our discussion will have to wait until the morrow. The hour is too late, now, for any further conversation.”

“But, Robert -”

The Duke repeated firmly, “To bed, Alexandra.”

Alexandra reluctantly nodded her head. She had hoped to speak further to his grace this evening. But as a numbing tiredness suddenly began to spread through her limbs, the thought of retiring to bed seemed most welcome. Smiling tiredly at the Duke, Alexandra bid him goodnight before leaving the room and making her way upstairs. The evening’s adventures had left her feeling completely drained and she was not sure whether she was coming or going. On the way to her bedchamber, Alexandra stopped outside Emily’s door, but when she opened it and peeked inside, she saw that the room was in darkness. She would have to wait until the morning to speak to her friend, Alexandra realised, quietly closing the door again.

With the aid of her maid, who was anxiously awaiting her in her bedchamber, Alexandra slowly undressed and slipped into a nightgown, images of the evening flitting relentlessly through her brain. The moment her head touched the pillow, however, she fell into a deep slumber, her confused thoughts merging immediately into uneasy dreams.

Alexandra arose early the next day. Looking at her reflection in the mirror while Hobbes brushed her hair, she anxiously thought of her upcoming interview with the Duke. What would he have to say to her, now that she was out of danger? And would he still be angry with her for her foolhardy actions? The questions revolved in her brain, refusing to be dismissed. After Hobbes had put the finishing touches to her toilette, Alexandra stood up and moved to the door. Just as she was opening it, she turned back to her maid and said softly, “Thank you, Hobbes, for not asking me any questions about last night. I cannot speak about it.”

“I know,” Hobbes said, smiling at her young mistress. “Get yourself along now, Miss Alexandra. His grace will be calling soon, I’ll be bound.”

Alexandra looked at her maid in surprise and, wondering how servants always seemed to know every last detail about their employers’ lives, she left the room and walked across to Emily’s bedchamber. When she entered the room, she saw that Emily was sitting up in bed, sipping a cup of chocolate.

Emily put the cup down when she saw her friend, and exclaimed, “Oh Alex! Thank God you are safe. Lady Beauchamp gave me some laudanum last night after you returned home, and I’m ashamed to say that I fell asleep before I could find out how you were.”