Andrea Kane (35 page)

“Smitty, how is his shoulder?” Alex asked, dabbing at the wounds.

“It snapped right back into place, your grace,” he replied. “But it is still quite tender.”

Drake gave a disgusted snort. “Would the two of you stop discussing me as if I were not present?” he demanded.

“Stop moving,” Alex ordered, unbothered by her husband’s angry outburst. “I cannot cleanse these wounds if you don’t sit still.”

Instead of exploding, Drake surprised Smitty by chuckling. “You really are a tyrant, your grace,” he teased, reaching up to wrap her hair around his hand. “You are never content unless you are ordering people about. First on my ship and now at Allonshire.”

Alex’s lips twitched despite her attempt to frown. “I order
you
about only because you are stubborn and unwilling to accept good advice.”

“Mmm …” he answered thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, there is but one place where you seem to have no complaints about my performance.” His eyes twinkled as he awaited her blush.

It was Smitty who blushed.

Alex straightened, hands on hips, meeting Drake’s challenging look. “That is because it is the only place where you are not in need of improvement.”

Drake looked startled, then burst out laughing. “I will take that as the highest of compliments … since you are so very difficult to please.”

“I do believe we are embarrassing Smitty,” Alex informed him, looking sympathetically at the red-faced valet. “And I can see that you are quite well and have no further need of my attentions.” She tossed the cloth onto the low table beside the bed. “So I will return to our guests.”

Drake frowned. “I will join you shortly.”

“You will not,” she replied, pausing in the doorway. “You will stay here and rest.”

“Don’t push me, Alexandria,” he warned, his expression darkening.

She gave him a bright smile. “But that is what we tyrants do best.” She shut the door behind her.

Drake shook his head. “Why do I allow her to browbeat me, Smitty?”

Although the question was only half serious and was spoken more to himself than to Smitty, the older man answered it. “She is not browbeating you, your grace; she is caring for you. She does that because she loves you, just as you allow it because you lo—”

“Never mind,” Drake hastily intervened. His emotions, when it came to Alex, were still too new and raw for him to discuss or analyze. But the thought that she might still love him caused a ray of hope to be born inside his heart.

He stood, wincing a bit at the pain in his shoulder. “I still cannot understand how it could have happened, Smitty.”

“I suppose the saddle strap just wore through.”

Drake shook his head. “That was a new saddle; I cannot believe the straps could wear so quickly.”

“It is also not like Winthrop to overlook such an obvious flaw,” Smitty mused, thinking of the efficient head groom. The elderly man had worked at Allonshire for twenty years and took great pride in running the enormous stables.

At that moment the very man they were discussing knocked lightly on the door.

“May I come’n, your grace?” he asked, when Smitty opened the door.

“Of course, Winthrop,” Drake replied, sitting back down on the bed. He had planned on going back to his guests, but Drake’s instincts told him that Winthrop’s visit was more than just a token gesture to check on the state of his employer’s health.

Winthrop stood just inside the doorway, obviously uncomfortable at being in the duke’s bedchamber.

“I f-felt very bad about the accident, yer grace,” he stammered.

“I know you did, Winthrop,” Drake responded. “And I am certain that it was not your fault.”

The groom looked relieved at Drake’s words. “I appreciate yer faith in me. I was sure that saddle was new and in good condition. But it bothers me that the strap broke like that. It shouldn’t ’ave ’appened. So I just checked on the saddle meself, t’ make sure. …” He hesitated.

“Go ahead, Winthrop,” Drake urged.

“Well … I wouldn’t tell ye this unless I was certain, but the fact is that the strap did not wear out. It was cut.”

Total silence filled the room.

“Cut?” Smitty echoed at last.

Winthrop turned his troubled gaze to Smitty. “Yes, cut.”

“How can you be sure?” Drake demanded.

“There is no sign of wear, yer grace.” He looked utterly miserable. “The slice is clean and so neat that only a knife could’ve made it. It looks like it was cut about ’alfway through, and the jumps ye took with Jupiter were strong enough t’ sever the strap the rest of the way.” His lips tightened. “There is no question in my mind … that strap was cut.”

“Who knew that saddle was meant for Jupiter, your grace?” Smitty asked Drake quietly.

Drake raised his somber gaze to Smitty’s. “Everyone. It was no secret. Anyone who had access to the stables would know I use that saddle for Jupiter.” He swallowed deeply, then looked back at the groom. “Thank you for coming to me with this, Winthrop.”

The groom nodded. “I’m sorry ’bout this, yer grace. I ’ave no idea who would do such a thing.”

“Nor do I. But I intend to find out,” Drake replied in a hard tone.

Smitty closed the door carefully behind the retreating head groom, then turned back to Drake.

“Do you know what this means?”

“It means that someone is trying to kill me.”

They stared at each other as the full impact of Drake’s words struck them.

Smitty walked toward Drake and sat down in a chair. “The question, your grace, is who?”

Alex was humming as she left the drawing room, and the chattering women, behind. She could not concentrate on their idle gossip, for her thoughts were still of the fall Drake had taken. Even though she had left him barely ten minutes past, she decided to check on him again, just to assure herself he was as well as he professed to be.

She walked lightly up the stairs, heard herself humming, and smiled. The fear she had felt earlier served only to remind her how very much Drake meant to her, how deeply she loved him. She grinned, thinking of their easy banter. It had been months since they had been able to tease each other so freely. She was healing, Alex realized. At last she was healing. Soon they would be able to talk. And then, perhaps, forgiveness would follow.

On the second-floor landing she passed Winthrop, who was on his way down. He was visibly upset.

“Hello, Winthrop,” Alex greeted him. “Is everything all right?”

He jumped. “Oh … yer grace, forgive me. I didn’t see ye.” He managed a weak smile. “’is grace is doing well. I just left ’im,” he assured her, then bolted down the steps.

Alex looked after him in surprise, then shrugged. He was probably just shaken by Drake’s close call. And he
had
said that Drake was all right. She continued on her way, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months as she neared Drake’s bedchamber. She could hear the deep cadence of his voice, followed by Smitty’s quiet replies. Her hand was on the door handle when Drake’s next words made her freeze in her tracks.

“You know, of course, that this casts a whole new light on the destruction of
La Belle Illusion,”
he said grimly. “Apparently you were correct in your assumption that the men were not to blame for missing their target.”

“That does not surprise me, your grace,” Smitty answered. “I suspected that the powder must have been tampered with. But it never occurred to me that it was an attempt to murder
you.
I suspected a traitor to Britain. But now …”

“Yes … now,” Drake echoed thoughtfully. “Now it appears that someone would like to do away with me. Badly enough to murder a whole crew of men in order to accomplish it.” He paused. “And badly enough to try again in my own home by cutting the strap of my saddle.”

“Dear God …” Smitty whispered.

Alex repeated his words silently. She leaned against the wall outside the room, feeling the hallway spinning around her. Someone had tried to murder Drake—not once, but twice.

Memories of the fateful naval battle sprang to Alex’s mind in vivid detail. She had been there, on the main deck, when the men had tried time and again to hit the American ship. She had heard their cries of surprise, of confusion, when their cannon volleys fell short each time. Unknowledgeable about sea battles, Alex had given it no further thought. But now she realized that Drake’s crew was of the finest caliber. Their aim could not have been consistently poor. The only explanation was that the gun powder had been weak—too weak to propel the balls to their target.

And Drake’s accident today. He and Smitty were saying that the strap of his saddle had been cut. That explained Winthrop’s strange behavior on the stairs. He must have discovered the treachery. Someone had gotten into the stables and tampered with the strap in the hope that it would break, causing Drake to fall to his death.

Someone wanted Drake dead. And that someone was here at Allonshire.

Smitty heard a soft thud just outside the door. Hurriedly he opened it and gasped as he saw Alex’s crumpled body on the polished floor of the hallway.

“Smitty? What is it?” Drake was standing, walking toward the doorway as Smitty stooped over Alex’s body.

“It’s the duchess. She has fainted.”

Drake nearly knocked Smitty over in his haste to reach Alex’s side. With his uninjured right arm he gathered her to him and, with Smitty’s assistance, carried her into his room. By the time he had laid her on the bed her eyelashes were fluttering open.

“Drake?” She felt confused. Why was she lying on the bed when he was the one who was injured?

He smoothed her rumpled hair off of her face. “Are you all right, love?” His dark face was tight with concern.

“Yes … I’m fine. Why?” She wished she could get her bearings.

“Apparently, you fainted just outside my bedroom.”

A cold wash of memory slapped her in the face, and she gasped.

“What is it, princess?” He was watching her face carefully, trying to assess how much she had overheard of his conversation.

In a fraction of a second Alex decided not to let him know that she had heard. He had enough to concern himself with, without worrying about her as well. She needed time to think, to plan her strategy. It never occurred to her not to get involved; this was Drake’s life, and she would protect it with her own.

She smiled weakly. “I suppose it is the excitement of the day—first the party and now your accident.” She took a deep breath and sat up. “I’m fine … really I am. I was just on my way to make sure you were all right.”

He studied her face carefully. She was so pale. It worried him. He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks. “These have been difficult months for you, haven’t they, princess?” The tenderness in his voice was so real that Alex found it hard to remember when he had called her by that name in mockery of her way of life.

“They’ve been difficult for all of us,” she answered lightly, standing up. The room was still wobbling a bit, and she blinked to stabilize it.

Drake caught hold of her arms. “I think you should take your own advice, princess.”

“What advice?”

“I want you to lie down and rest until dinner.”

“But our guests …” she protested.

“You will have plenty of time to entertain our guests this evening.” Alex knew that firm tone, just as she knew it would be useless to argue. Besides, she needed time alone to sort out everything she had just learned.

She nodded meekly. “Very well. I will go to my chambers.”

“I will send Molly up at once,” Smitty announced, hurrying out the door.

Drake wrapped his right arm around her waist and guided her to the door. “I’ll take you to your room.” He led her across the hall.

“It’s really not necessary, Drake.”

“Humor me,” he answered, drawing Alex into her room. “I will feel better knowing you are safe in your bed.”

He stayed with her until a clucking Molly scurried in to prepare her mistress for a nap. She gaped at the duke’s half-naked state, turning several shades of pink and red.

“I’ll let you rest now,” Drake told Alex quietly, his eyes twinkling at Molly’s predicament.

Alex nodded and yawned, suddenly overwhelmed by sleepiness.

Drake grinned. “Sweet dreams, princess.” He walked toward the door.

Alex stared at his retreating back; the corded muscles that rippled across his broad bare shoulders, the powerful thighs that were emphasized by his buff riding breeches. A flood of feeling washed over her as she realized how close she had come to losing him.

How much she loved him.

“Drake … ?” She didn’t realize she had said his name aloud until he turned to give her a questioning look. Without a word she went to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her forehead against his strong chest.

“Princess?” He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. She knew she wasn’t making any sense to him, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, that she needed him, that they would resolve their problems. But Molly was standing just behind her, muttering disapprovingly under her breath. Now was not the time.

Alex raised her face to look up at him. “Are you certain you are not badly hurt?” she whispered. He gave her a slow, devastating smile, then leaned over and touched his lips lightly to hers. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmured, for her ears alone. “Later tonight, when our guests are all asleep, I’ll show you just how totally I’ve recovered.”

She smiled back until the door closed behind him. Then she allowed her mind to begin working, trying to solve the terrifying puzzle of who wanted Drake dead.

When Molly had gone, Alex lay down, fighting the sudden need for sleep that tugged insistently at her body. She had to think this through … to determine who was behind the attempts on Drake’s life.

Anyone could have tampered with the gunpowder. There was no way to narrow down the possibilities. She frowned, forcing her eyes to remain open. But the saddle … Very few people had access to the stables. She refused to consider the servants. Never had she seen a more loyal and dedicated group of employees, not even at Sudsbury. That left the guests … and the family. The family was more preposterous than the servants; so that left the guests.