Ballrooms and Blackmail (23 page)

“I understand you’re a wicked sort of
fellow,” she was telling Richmont as Priscilla found a spot not too
far away to observe. “For a consideration, I might be willing to
forget what I know.”

A little beyond Richmont, Nathan shook his
head at the woman’s attempt at blackmail. It was a little like the
pot calling the kettle black.

“I believe you have me confused with someone
else, madam,” Richmont replied, voice heavy with disdain. He tried
to shift around her, but she moved to block his path.

That was it. Only a few more moments.
Already Priscilla caught sight of Jamie Cropper on the stairs. His
Grace happily pointed him in her direction, and she could see
Acantha speaking animatedly, as if airing her many grievances. If
she wasn’t careful, she might catch Richmont’s attentions and give
away the game.

Priscilla glanced at Nathan, who shook his
head as if in warning, but her former suitor had managed to move
around Lady Minerva, still protesting his innocence. Heart
pounding, she placed herself in his path.

“No, indeed, sir,” she said with her
prettiest smile. “I’m certain this dear lady has the right of it.
You have a presence about you.” She lay a hand on his arm, finding
it tensed. No tenser than her own. “It positively exudes danger.”
She allowed herself a shiver and the smallest of giggles.

Behind the black mask, his dark eyes
glittered. “Is that what it takes to reach your cold heart, Miss
Tate?” he asked. “The hint of danger?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Lady Minerva said with a
sniff, eying his costume as if she found it lacking.

“It is not my heart but yours that concerns
me,” Priscilla told him, her shiver no longer contrived. “Please
know I never set out to hurt anyone. I intended only to capture the
greatest matrimonial prize. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

He frowned as if he could not believe her.
“And I was not enough? Are you so grasping, madam, that you could
overlook the polish of my address, the height of my position in
Society, the size of my stables?”

Was he so arrogant he thought those things
truly mattered? Once she might have agreed, except for the stables,
of course.

“I fear such things do not move me as I had
hoped,” she confessed. “Now, I know that it is a man’s character,
his integrity, his loyalty, that I admire.”

He shook his head. “Are you mad?”

“Completely,” Lady Minerva agreed.

Priscilla could only smile. “I cannot argue
with you. But I find I enjoy my new madness far more than my former
so-called sanity.”

Lady Minerva snorted, but Richmont
stiffened. Before she knew what he was about, he seized her arms
and hauled her closer, breath hot against her face. “Do not mock
me! You had no right to refuse my suit. You made me the laughing
stock of London.”

Priscilla refused to cringe away from the
anger that tainted his words, twisted his face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lady Minerva said. “I
think you’re doing an excellent job of making people laugh at you
all on your own.”

Richmont’s fingers tightened, and despite
herself, Priscilla winced.

“Let her go.” Nathan’s voice was as hard as
Richmont’s grip as he stepped to their sides.

“I should,” her former suitor sneered. “But
first I want her to grovel. You will apologize for your treatment
of me, before all these fine people. Tell them you were so foolish
as to throw me over for some obscure duke who doesn’t even have the
social wherewithal to attend his own party.”

She could have apologized. She knew how to
appear heartbroken, remorseful. She could have made just the sort
of spectacle he seemed to crave. But she knew Jamie must be close,
and she was certain Nathan would never allow her to be hurt.

“But I didn’t throw you over for a duke,”
she told her captor. “I threw you over for his personal
secretary.”

Richmont’s eyes goggled, and for a moment,
she thought he might have an apoplectic fit.

“There, you see?” Now Emily’s voice pierced
the hubbub around them. “Homicidal tendencies, just as I said.”

As if he knew trouble was coming, Richmont
released his hold on Priscilla and stepped back. “All part of the
masquerade. No harm done.”

Easy for him to say. Priscilla was sure her
arms would be bruised tomorrow. She rubbed them now as Nathan
closed the distance between them.

“But great harm attempted,” Emily insisted.
She turned to Jamie, who stepped up beside her, eyes narrowed. In
his plain brown jacket and trousers, he stood out among the finery
of the other guests, solid, comforting.

Emily nodded to Richmont, who stood with his
head high as if daring her to blacken his name. “This man
orchestrated the blackmail of two young ladies of the
ton
and attempted murder on one of them and His Grace the Duke of
Rottenford.”

Her strident tone was beginning to draw a
crowd, as more and more of His Grace’s guests stopped their
pursuits and wandered closer. As if unaware of them, Emily put her
hand on Jamie’s arm and gazed up at him. “I’ve been wanting to say
this since the night of our debut ball. Arrest him, my love!”

Gasps rang out all around, but whether at
her command or her declaration, Priscilla wasn’t sure. Mr. Cropper
covered her hand with his a moment, smile turning up as he gazed at
her, and all at once, Priscilla could see why her friend was so
besotted.

But his marvelous smile vanished as he
turned to face Richmont. “In the name of the King, Desmond
Richmont, I arrest you for blackmail and attempted murder.”

Richmont eyed him, lip curling. “You’ll have
to catch me first.” He grasped Priscilla by the shoulders and
shoved her into Jamie.

She had more grace than that! She broke away
immediately, turning, but already he was halfway to the stairs, the
crowd parting before him as he brandished his sword. Nathan and
Jamie took off in pursuit, but Richmont’s fears lent him speed. Was
she never to be rid of him?

Suddenly, he stumbled, went down on one
knee, sword clattering to the floor and sliding out of reach.
Nathan and Jamie converged on him and wrestled him away from it.
The crowd applauded as if they thought it was all part of the
entertainment. Over Nathan’s shoulder, Daphne winked at
Priscilla.

“It seems the fair Diana knows the value of
a well-placed foot,” Emily said with a grim smile.

“And Lady Death the value of a well-placed
word,” Priscilla countered, catching her breath. “Your father will
hear of this.”

“If someone can catch him between meetings,”
Emily replied, watching as Jamie remanded Richmont into the custody
of two burly footmen.

Lady Minerva closed the distance between
them. “If you take up with that Runner,” she warned, “our deal is
off.” She picked up her skirts and stalked away.

Emily sighed, but brightened as Jamie
approached them. For the first time in her life, Priscilla felt
invisible, for his gaze was all for her friend.

“You’re taking a chance,” he murmured. “But
I promise you won’t regret it.” He clasped her hand, brought it to
his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be by
tomorrow to speak to your father.”

“Oh, Emily,” Priscilla said as he released
her and strode off to haul Richmont to the magistrates. “Does he
have a chance of even locating your father?”

“He will persevere,” she replied, eyes
shining. “He’s a Runner.”

“Look!” someone cried. “It’s nearly
midnight!”

All heads turned to the clock as both hands
reached the top. Voices quieted; the music stilled. The silver
chimes struck the hour. All around Priscilla, ladies revealed their
faces, gentlemen pulled off masks. The air was filled with
exclamations, laughter.

She found Nathan at her side. With tender
fingers, he removed her mask, touched her cheek with a smile. She
felt herself trembling.

Before he could speak, her parents rushed
up.

“Don’t you have an announcement, dearest?”
her mother asked with a pointed look to the top of the stairs,
where His Grace, Acantha, and Glynnis still waited, their own masks
now off.

Not anymore. At least, she hoped not. She
glanced at Nathan, who slipped his hand over hers and gave it a
squeeze before turning to her parents.

“I believe I do,” he told them. “Mr. and
Mrs. Tate, I intend to marry your daughter. I know I am not the
matrimonial catch you had hoped for her, but I am a member of the
House of Rottenford, and I have a reliable income and the promise
of a small estate just outside London. I cannot keep her in the
style you would no doubt expect, but I will love and cherish her
all the days of my life.”

His declaration warmed her heart, but her
father’s smile was tight.

“That’s all very well and good, young man,
but I’ve already given Rottenford my word that our daughter will
marry him.”

“Something I intend to rectify,” Priscilla
promised Nathan.

Her mother stiffened. “Oh, Priscilla. Don’t
be rash.”

Priscilla smiled at her. “I’m not, Mother.
You know me. I always know exactly what I’m about. And I’m
convinced this is the best for all of us.”

She drew Nathan through the crowd and up the
stairs to the duke’s side.

He applauded at the sight of her. “Well
done, Miss Tate!”

Acantha sniffed. “Yes, well done. But I want
you to know this was all your fault. You were the one who spurned
Mr. Richmont.”

“And your sisters were the ones who gave
Miss Fairtree the idea to blackmail us,” Priscilla reminded her.
“I’d say we’re even.”

Acantha sniffed again and tossed her curls,
which were beginning to wilt along with what was left of her
feathers.

Glynnis touched Nathan’s shoulder, quickly
withdrawing her hand. “What will become of me? Will your Runner
take me away too?”

Priscilla looked from her pale face to
Nathan. He shook his head. “I think not. The family would not
appreciate the scandal.” He turned to the duke. “I propose we make
use of our cousin’s surprising organizational skills and
determination, Your Grace. Your estate in Jamaica has not been as
profitable as it should. Perhaps it requires the leadership of a
new manager.”

His Grace wrinkled his nose, and Priscilla
was so glad she’d chosen Nathan instead. “A woman manager?”

“A Rottenford manager,” Nathan countered.
“Someone who has your best interests at heart.”

Glynnis raised her head. “I’ll do it. I’d be
glad for something to call my own. Perhaps then I can prove to you
that I truly do love you, Your Grace. All I ever wanted was your
admiration. We can make the arrangements tomorrow.” Excusing
herself, she went to find her mother.

One problem solved. Now to the other. Taking
Acantha’s hand and the duke’s, Priscilla tugged them to the
opposite side of the ledge. She could feel Nathan watching her, but
he didn’t move to intercede.

“Your Grace,” she said. “I don’t love you,
and I have found a man I do love. I release you from your
obligation to marry me.”

The duke frowned. “Are you jilting me?”

Priscilla smiled. “No. I’m giving you a
chance to find a girl who loves you for yourself.” She glanced at
Acantha.

Acantha drew herself up. “Don’t look at me.
It’s clear he’s dim as a doorpost. I could do better.” With a toss
of her feathered head, she sashayed down the stairs.

His Grace looked to Priscilla. “What am I to
do now?”

Priscilla patted his arm. “Go enjoy your
party. We can find you a suitable bride another day.”

With a happy nod, he strolled off. Priscilla
turned to Nathan, but just then, Ariadne wandered past, whimsical
smile on her face.

“Espionage,” she murmured to Priscilla
before drifting down the stairs in Acantha’s wake. Priscilla
determined to take her aside at the first opportunity to learn what
had happened with the dashing centurion.

Nathan moved to her side, and her heart
started beating faster again. Her parents might complain, Society
call her mad, but this was the right path. She had never been more
certain of it.

She took a step closer and fluttered her
lashes. “Have I told you, Nathan, how very much I admire and esteem
you?”

“Not nearly enough,” he replied with a
laugh. “But we have our whole lives to assure each other of our
mutual devotion. Starting now.”

Going down on one knee once more, he took
her hands and gazed up at her, and she found herself sinking into
his remarkably fine eyes.

“Priscilla Tate,” he said, “I adore you.
Never have I met a more determined, clever, talented, beautiful
woman. I offer you all that I am, such that I am, and all I will
ever be. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes,” Priscilla said, delight bubbling up.
“Always and forever, yes, Nathan.”

He rose and took her in his arms. And
Priscilla Tate, belle of London, the toast of many a fine
gentleman, gave herself up to the joy of being loved by someone who
truly knew her. And that was, quite simply, the greatest
matrimonial catch she could ever have imagined.

Thank you for choosing
Ballrooms and
Blackmail
. If you enjoyed Priscilla and Nathan’s story, there
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Read more about our intrepid sleuth, Lady
Emily Southwell. She and her friends Priscilla Tate and Daphne and
Ariadne Courdebas have other adventures ahead. If you missed the
first book, which introduced Priscilla and her friends and the
mysterious happenings at Brentfield Manor, be sure to look for
Secrets and
Sensibilities
. And
Art and
Artifice
will tell you the story of how Lady Emily first
met dashing Bow Street Runner, James Cropper. Turn the page for a
sneak peak of Book 4,
Eloquence and Espionage
,
available
now
.