Ballrooms and Blackmail (19 page)

Priscilla paled, but Lady Emily leaned
forward. “A woman? Could they describe her?”

“Not in great detail. All we know is that
she was wearing a light-colored gown, perhaps blue or gray.”

Priscilla sprang to her feet. “Oh, Emily!
How could I be so forgetful! You wanted to show His Grace your
painting!”

The duke wrinkled his nose, but Lady Emily
leaned back with a frown. “Now?”

“Now,” Priscilla insisted. “This very
minute. I’m certain Ariadne and Daphne will wish to see it as well.
Mr. Kent and I will wait here. If you leave the door open, there
will be no impropriety.”

Daphne obligingly climbed to her feet, but
Lady Emily and her sister rose more slowly. One look at Priscilla’s
face, and Ariadne held out her arm to the duke. “Come along, Your
Grace. I find it’s best to humor her when she’s like this.”

The duke stood and accompanied them from the
room.

“Odd,” Nathan said in the silence. “You’re
usually more subtle than that.”

She turned and threw herself into his
arms.

Stunned, Nathan held her against him,
feeling her body shake with her sobbing. The rosy scent of her
perfume drifted over him. He cradled her close, rubbed one hand
along the fabric covering her back, allowed himself the luxury of
stroking her hair. The gold was softer than the finest silk.

“Easy, now,” he murmured. “What’s happened?
Another threatening note?”

She managed to shake her head, and he was
certain her tears were giving his cravat a thorough wetting. Then
fear stabbed at him. He held her back to see her face. “Have you
been accosted? Hurt?”

Her lower lip trembled; her eyes were
luminous. How could any woman look so miserable and so desirable at
the same time?

“It isn’t that,” she murmured, dropping her
gaze. “I’m afraid for His Grace’s safety.”

Nathan drew in a breath. Ah yes, there was a
reason he was here. He was supposed to be doing his duty:
protecting the duke. He forced himself to release her. “Why?”

She was twisting the material of her yellow
kid leather glove back and forth around one finger. “I have a
confession to make, Mr. Kent. I fear His Grace will never wish to
pursue me once he knows, and I know you will be very disappointed
in me.”

“Nonsense,” Nathan said, though he felt his
blood quickening. “You must know, Priscilla, that I hold you in the
highest esteem.”

She did not protest the use of her given
name. Indeed, her head came up, gaze searching his. “You do?”

Nathan couldn’t help himself. He reached out
and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You must have noticed. But then,
you have no need to add my paltry admiration to that of your scores
of conquests.”

She shook her head. “Your esteem has come to
mean a great deal to me. That’s why I shudder to tell you the
truth.”

Nathan caught her hands and held them to his
chest. “Nothing you can say will change how I feel.”

She sucked in a breath. “You may think
otherwise when I tell you. You see, my aunt is a homicidal maniac,
and I was trained to be just like her.”

*

There. She’d said it. Her worst fear
realized. All her life she’d admired her aunt, tried to mimic her,
only to learn that the skills she’d practiced could be used for a
terrible purpose.

As if he knew it too, he stilled. His hands
remained cradling hers against his chest, and she swore she felt
his heart beating in time with hers. But everything else about him
was lifeless.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

How could he? She and her parents didn’t
understand either. It seemed someone had authorized Lady
Brentfield’s release from her caretakers and brought her to London,
but all her parents knew for sure was that she had opened the door
of their house the previous evening a few moments before Priscilla
and walked in as if she owned the place. Considering the fact that
Priscilla’s father had rented the house with money gathered from
selling some of his sister’s things, she did own it. Worse, after
all the money her aunt had lavished upon her over the years, all
the attentions paid her, Priscilla felt as if her aunt owned a
piece of her as well.

Now she pulled her hands from Nathan’s. “You
know the dowager Lady Brentfield is my aunt?”

“Of course. I understand she’s
traveling.”

Priscilla grimaced. “No. That’s a story we
circulated to protect her reputation, and our own. The truth is, my
aunt is a wicked woman, and only the fact that she went mad saved
her from the gallows.”

His color was fading. “What could she
possibly have done to deserve the gallows?”

Priscilla could not bear to watch his
admiration turn to disgust. She paced the room, gaze on the blue
carpet. “We have reason to believe she engineered the deaths of her
last husband, Lord Brentfield, and his heir. They died in a
carriage accident that we now suspect was no accident at all. She
then set out to marry the next Lord Brentfield, a distant cousin of
her late husband. She wanted continued access to the Brentfield
fortune, you see. When he was uninterested, she attempted to find
him a wife she could use to control him and his money.” She took a
deep breath and dared to glance at him. “Me.”

Nathan’s face was so smooth it betrayed
nothing of what he was feeling. “Continue,” he said.

The chill in his voice froze her heart, but
she couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t take the chance that her aunt
might strike again.

“She threw me and the new earl together, in
public and in private,” she explained, rubbing her hand up the
sleeve of her muslin gown as she walked. “He was proof against my
charms.”

“Singular gentleman,” he quipped. “Was he
blind or deaf?”

Priscilla found a smile. “Neither. He was
already in love with someone else. When that became clear to my
aunt, she tried to kill the woman.”

He stiffened. “Do you have proof of
that?”

“Not enough to convince a magistrate,”
Priscilla admitted, slowing. “But the trap she tried to spring on
my rival caught the earl instead. And when he did not die
immediately but lay in bed recovering, she tried to smother him
with a pillow.”

He was watching her. “I take it you foiled
her attempt.”

Priscilla nodded, coming to a stop in front
of him. “Emily suspected her, you see, and we were able to prevent
further harm to Lord Brentfield and his intended. But my aunt
injured herself trying to escape, and when she was apprehended, it
was clear her mind had snapped. She had no memory of her actions,
no thoughts beyond those of a little child. She’s been residing
with keepers ever since.”

“And that’s why your family is so
impoverished,” he said.

“No. We are impoverished because we always
lived on Aunt Sylvia’s largesse, and now there is no largesse. Lord
Brentfield pays the cost for her care, for which I bless him
daily.” Priscilla swallowed. “That is, until she escaped. Some time
yesterday.”

His eyes glinted. “Do you know where she
is?”

“She arrived at our house only a little
before you let me off, and she was wearing a gray dress.”

He sucked in a breath, and Priscilla hurried
on. “Don’t you see, Nathan? The house where she’s cared for is only
a mile or so away from the abbey. She might have been the one
trying to harm the duke.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Surely she’d appreciate
his courtship of you.”

Priscilla threw up her hands. “I no longer
know how she thinks, if she thinks. Perhaps she saw us together and
thought he was threatening me. Perhaps she was angry with me for
not ensnaring Lord Brentfield instead. All I know is that she could
have caused the accident yesterday, and she could strike
again.”

“Surely your parents can contain her,” he
protested. “Return her to her hosts.”

“They were eager to,” Priscilla assured him.
“Father watched her through the night, then went to call for the
carriage. She managed to slip away from my mother. We have no idea
where she is now.”

Desperation drove her hands to clutch the
lapels of Nathan’s proper navy coat. “She could be anywhere! She
could come after the duke at any time! We must save him!”

Nathan stared at her. He knew she was right.
If her aunt truly was bent on murder, they had to protect
themselves. Yet it was not her own person or reputation for which
she feared, it was the duke’s.

All along he’d thought she was playing a
game, one at which she had every advantage of nature and skill to
win. But she had to know that revealing this secret could ruin her
if he wasn’t trustworthy. She had put all her faith in him.

Could he do any less?

He took her in his arms again, held her
close. “We’ll find your aunt,” he promised. “And your blackmailer.
Am I right to assume this is the secret you feared would be
discovered?”

She nodded, and her hair caressed his cheek.
“Yes, but I’ve thought and thought, and I don’t know who else could
have learned of it.”

“Perhaps one of her caretakers talked,”
Nathan said, trying not to drink in the scent of her like water.
“Perhaps she escaped another time and was seen before being
returned. Whatever happened, we need help to fetch her back this
time.” He held her away from him. “I want you to allow me to
contact Bow Street.”

She started to shake her head, but Nathan
gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Not a stranger. Mr. Cropper. I
believe we can agree that he will be discrete.”

He felt her tension ease. “Yes. I trust him,
particularly if he’s working on my behalf.”

“Good.” Nathan released her. “Until then, I
think you should consider staying with Lady Emily.”

She frowned. “Why?”

He chose his words carefully. “We cannot
know your aunt’s mind, as you pointed out, but it seems she has
always favored you. That favor could turn on you if she perceives
you as working against her. Here at Lady Emily’s, there are always
staff about, more people to keep you safe.”

“Very well,” she said with a shiver that
made him long to gather her close once more. But voices sounded
from the corridor, and he forced himself to take a step back from
her even as she wiped away the last of her tears with her
fingers.

“How did you like the painting, Your Grace?”
she asked brightly as he, Lady Emily, and the Courdebas sisters
entered the room. Ariadne put her head down as if trying to avoid
having to comment on the topic, and even her more exuberant sister
hurried over to her seat as if to distance herself.

His Grace shuddered. “Dark, dismal,
distressing thing, all blood and gore. I commissioned one like it
for the east drawing room.”

Only Lady Emily looked pleased by his
announcement.

“Well, then,” Nathan said, hiding a smile,
“I believe we should take our leave of you.” He bowed to Lady Emily
and her friends. Then he took a step closer to Priscilla.

“I will be in touch as soon as I know more,”
he murmured as he bowed to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured back. “And be
careful.”

Nathan straightened to find His Grace eyeing
him. His cousin’s head was uncharacteristically high, his chin
remarkably firm. What now?

“Miss Tate,” His Grace said. “I must speak
to you. Alone.”

“Alone?” she asked, paling.

“Alone.” He affixed Nathan with a glare.

“Oh, look at the time,” Ariadne cried,
reaching for her sister’s hand and drawing her to her feet. “We
have so many things to do!”

“We do?” Daphne asked with a frown.

Ariadne’s grip on her sister’s hand was so
tight it strained the fabric of her gloves. “We do. Emily, dear,
would you walk us to the door?”

“Assuredly.” Their hostess shook out her
green skirts, and all three trotted from the room so quickly they
seemed to suspect it would shortly be set ablaze.

Nathan refused to budge. He could hear his
heart pounding in his ears. This could not be what he feared.

His Grace paid him less attention than if he
was one of the comfits on a plate. He clasped his hands behind the
back of the tan coat Nathan had insisted he wear that day.

“Miss Tate,” he said, long nose in the air,
“I have made my decision. I think you’ll do quite well for a wife.
I’ll speak to your father today, and we can announce our engagement
at the masquerade.”

Nathan felt as if the coffered ceiling had
fallen on his head. He should have seen this coming, but somehow,
he’d thought the duke would discuss the matter with him before
making his choice. Until today, he would have counseled him against
Priscilla Tate. Now, well now, he wished he’d proposed first.

The feeling slammed into him, nearly knocked
him off his feet. He wanted to be the one to court Priscilla,
request her hand in marriage. Oh, not with this perfunctory
proposal but with one made from heartfelt entreaty, on bended knee,
his dreams shining in every word.

But he knew her circumstances. The Duke of
Rottenford was the better catch, higher position, greater fortune.
What did Nathan have on his side of the equation other than the
fact that he saw her for who she was and loved her for it?

He waited for her to murmur her acceptance,
to claim the honor for which she’d worked so hard. But instead of
fluttering her lashes at the duke, cooing out her delight, she
looked at Nathan. Their gazes held. Was he mad to think he saw
regret for what might have been?

Then she was blushing, gaze on her slippers.
“I am honored, Your Grace. But you must know that my family cannot
be compared with the elevation of yours. Indeed, there is reason to
believe at least one member is insane and rather dangerous.”

What was she doing? She’d made her
confession to Nathan, but he’d hardly expected her to present it to
the duke himself. If Mr. Cropper succeeded, Lady Brentfield would
soon be back where she belonged and no one the wiser. Why mention
the matter now?