It Takes a Hero (36 page)

Invitations went out posthaste and the piles of acceptances started pouring back in almost immediately.

Standing at the doorway to the ballroom, the duke stood beside his beloved duchess. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "You've outdone yourself, goddess."

"Not yet," the former Lady Diana Lamden said, her lips pursing into a thin line. "Miss Tate is here, but there is no sign of Colin's brother. I will ring a peel over Rafe's infuriating head if he doesn't show."

"First my cousins, now you. I pity Rafe, with the lot of you plotting against him. Bad enough you've joined the conspiracy to see him leg-shackled, but his own brothers?" The duke shook his head. "I've never seen Colin take such joy in another man's fall."

"Not since yours, Temple," Diana said, a sly grin turning her lips. When they had met, her husband had been the Marquis of Templeton. Temple he had been then, and Temple he would always be to her.

"What about all this Darby nonsense?" he asked. "Do you think anyone will dance? Seems a demmed shame to have hired musicians when none of the young ladies are willing."

"I have Lady Tottley's promise that tonight will be the turning point in this crisis."

Temple snorted. "It had better be. I bet an inordinate sum down at White's that the Darbyites' resolve would crumble this very evening." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I have every faith in your capabilities as a hostess."

Diana harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. "It will have nothing to do with me," she said, "but Rafe's Miss Tate."

Temple looked over in that direction, but his gaze stopped as he saw a furtive figure sneaking in the door from the garden. He was about to call a footman to dispatch the uninvited guest when he realized the interloper was none other than Rafe Danvers. "What the devil is he doing?"

Diana followed his gaze and smiled. "You know how much he hates receiving lines and being announced."

"But do you see what he is wearing? Who tied that cravat?" Temple had once been
the
Corinthian of the
ton
, and had never quite shaken his eye for detail and fashion. "I'd wager that disreputable little thief Cochrane is behind that mess. I declare it looks like a hangman's noose."

"Oh, do behave, Temple. Why I haven't seen Rafe that well dressed, well, ever. Leave him be. He's obviously a man in love."

"His efforts will be for naught when his Miss Tate catches sight of
that
cravat."

Diana's gaze rolled upward and she swatted him with her fan. "Temple, you are incorrigible."

"That is why you love me so," he told her, slanting a glance at Rafe and hoping he found everything his heart desired in this Miss Tate. Everything Temple had found with his dearest Diana.

"I have a nice vicarage in Porterton. Perhaps you've heard of it?" the most respected and honorable Reverend Brown asked.

Rebecca smiled at the man before her, trying devilishly hard to recall what he'd just asked.

Luckily for her, Miss Honora stepped in and helped her out. "Porterton? Such a lovely village. I read about it in Mr. Billingsworth's latest travelogue."

The man preened. "Mr. Billingsworth did our small hamlet a great honor by including it in his book." The man slanted a glance at Rebecca. "Have you read Billingsworth, Miss Tate?"

"Um, uh, yes," she offered, wondering what it was she'd just volunteered. "Quite edifying," she added.

The vicar smiled, his wide set eyes blinking from behind a pair of dirty spectacles. He was fifty if he was a day, bald and sweating profusely. Lady Tottley had sent him over, Rebecca suspected, to give her a chance to see what the Fates held for her if she was fool enough to refuse Lord Pease.

Happily for her, Miss Honora stood beside her, giving the vicar her full and rapt attention.

Meanwhile, Rebecca continued her vigilant watch for Sydney Kitling.

She and Rafe had returned to Tottley House after finding Purcell, only to endure Lady Tottley's wrath—for the viscount had come and gone—until they explained the circumstances to her, and the danger that Kitling presented.

With the Gadbury sisters' fortune missing and two bodies, Lady Tottley had called for the colonel and ordered the man to take charge of the perimeter.

The colonel had been only too happy to comply, lamenting at great length the lack of cannon.

They decided not to tell the Gadbury sisters about Sydney's duplicity for they feared the kindly sisters would not believe them and alert their beloved friend to the grim future that awaited him.

Yet when the man failed to show up to escort the sisters to the Setchfield Ball, Lady Tottley, Lady Lucinda, Rebecca and Miss Honora went on to the Setchfield Ball, while Rafe and his brothers set a trap outside the duke's house. Alminta begged off, pleading a case of megrims, while the colonel chose to stay behind to continue reading Richard's journals in hopes of discerning some hint as to where the ruby was hidden.

"Kitling," Rafe vowed, "will not escape." Then he'd promptly told Rebecca she was to remain inside Setchfield House and well away from harm's way.

Despite Rafe's dire warning, Rebecca had spent the first hour of the party crisscrossing the ballroom, a vigilant gaze sweeping over the crush of people in hopes of spotting Sydney. That is until she'd been trapped by Lady Tottley's vicar. The man had droned on for the last half an hour about the joys of Porterton and the fine state of his vicarage, and his parishioners, until she thought she would have to borrow a page from her uncle's repertoire and feign insanity to be rid of him.

Instead, a familiar voice asked, "Who do we have here?" and with his words brought on a different sort of madness.

His Spanish tinged tones rippled down her spine like the memory of his lips on her bare skin. Her gaze flew to meet his.

"
Rafe!"
Even as she said his name, her hand went to her mouth as she caught herself. "Er, I mean, Mr. Danvers, how nice of you to join us. I would like to introduce you to Reverend Brown. He is the vicar for a lovely little village called Porterville."

"Porterton," the man corrected, his nose twitching.

Rafe grinned at the vicar and then at Rebecca. "It is so nice to meet you, sir." He held out his hand and gave the vicar an enthusiastic handshake.

"And you, Mr. Danvers," Reverend Brown said, glancing up and down at Rafe as if he wasn't too sure whether he'd be called upon to protect the ladies from this obvious cad or if he'd have to ask the ladies to protect him.

"You know, I would love some punch," Miss Honora announced. "Reverend, would you be so kind as to show me where the refreshments are being served?"

"Uh, well, I suppose I could," he said, glancing at Rebecca and then at Rafe. "And perhaps we'll run into Mr. Billingsworth. I have it from Her Grace that he is in attendance."

"Here?" Miss Honora said. She glanced around the room as if she were about to be introduced to Prinny. "
The
Theonius T. Billingsworth? I wouldn't know what to say to him—why he is
the
authoritative source on so many subjects. I believe I would be too flustered to speak in his presence."

"Would you care to join us, Miss Tate?" the reverend asked, holding out his arm, obviously still unconvinced that Rafe was proper company for a young lady, even in a crowded ballroom.

Miss Honora wrapped her arm in the crook of the vicar's elbow. "They will be just fine. He's an old friend of Miss Tate's," and with that, steered the man away, asking him, "Have you read Mr. Billingsworth's treatise on the great monuments of England? Why I have been dying to see Nettlestone Castle ever since I read his description."

Reverend Brown adjusted his glasses. "And I as well. Perhaps when we find Mr. Billingsworth, he will offer us a personal account of the property."

Honora beamed at such a prospect and the pair went off in search of the illustrious Mr. Billingsworth, leaving Rebecca with Rafe.

Once they were well away, Rebecca leaned over and whispered, "Did you catch Kitling?"

Rafe shook his head. "There's been no sign of him." He adjusted his cravat. "Did you have a chance to find any clues in Richard's haversack?"

She shook her head. "I only got halfway through his journal before I had to get ready for the evening."

She waited for him to tell her something, her dress was divine, her hair spectacular, but all she got was a puzzled look.

Why was he looking at her head so oddly?

"Is something wrong with my hair?" she asked, patting at the elaborate arrangement.

"It's all… all…" His hands waved in the air. "All up and pinned." He shook his head. "I liked it better before. Or rather
after
."

She tapped his sleeve with her fan. "You wicked, wretched man." What she didn't tell him was that she'd be more than willing to unpin it right this very moment if it would tempt him to take her away from the crush of society forever more.

"Are you going to ask me to dance?" she asked. "I saved the first waltz for you."

He turned and looked at her, his eyes so dark and black that they looked fathomless. She could well imagine he would sweep her away, as he had her heart.

But to her dismay, he shook his head. "No."

She sucked in a deep breath. "No? Just like that, 'No'?"

He leaned even closer and whispered into her ear. "Have you forgotten our quarry? I must get back outside and keep watch."

"What about your brothers?" she asked. Suddenly having him hold her, even in the confines of a dance, was so very necessary.

"They are out there this very minute fighting over a watch schedule. Colin is citing naval regulations and Robert wants to post scouts at regular intervals." He shook his head. "I'm about to declare war with France again, just to get them out of the way."

Rebecca laughed. "I doubt the situation calls for anything that drastic."

"You haven't met my brothers. Yet."

"It sounds to me like they are as stubborn, and opinionated, and resourceful as their brother."

"They are—mostly the stubborn and opinionated parts. That's why I left them for a time, so I could come inside and see that you were safe."

Safe?
With him Beside her? She slanted a glance into his dark eyes. Most certainly not.

"And I see I came just in time," he was saying, tipping his head toward the entrance where Viscount Pease had just been announced and stood in the doorway. "Your beau has arrived. Looks the type who would keep you in silks and satins for the rest of your days. More so than your very impressive vicar."

It was just on the tip of her tongue to deny her affinity for the viscount or poor Mr. Brown, but there was something in Rafe's voice, in the tension lining his jaw that said something else.

"You're jealous," she gasped, before she could stop herself.

He glanced over in the direction of the vicar. "Of him?" he scoffed. "I think not."

She whacked him with her fan again. "Not the vicar." She nodded toward Pease. "Him."

Rafe shook his head. "Do I have reason to be?"

"He's quite handsome," Rebecca said, easing a little closer to Rafe so her gown brushed against the solid muscled strength of his hip.

He glanced down at her, his gaze hungry and teasing.

But not so handsome as you
, she wanted to tell him.

He reached over and plucked a strand of her hair free from her elaborate coiffure. "Lady Tottley says this viscount of yours is one of the
ton
's biggest catches of the Season."

Biggest catch? Biggest pompous nitwit, Rebecca wanted to tell him, but she was enjoying this game too much. Reveling in the undercurrent of passion flowing between them. "True, a fine catch. Do you think I should accept?"

"Do wha-a-at?" Rafe sputtered. Then he realized she was teasing, but still he shot a measuring glance at her soon-to-be former swain. "He hasn't tried anything, has he?"

"Nary even a kiss," she replied, her nose tipped at a lofty angle. "He's been a
perfect
gentleman. Quite exemplary."

She watched with some satisfaction as Rafe shifted from one foot to another under the vast umbrella of Pease's supposed nobility.

Just then the viscount spotted her and smiled widely.

"There you are, Miss Tate," Lord Pease said as he made his way through the last of the crowd separating them. "I was having a terrible time finding you in this crush." He took her hand and planted a kiss on her gloved fingertips.

Rebecca made a note to lose her gloves before the end of the evening. Most likely in the nearest fireplace. "How kind of you to seek me out, my lord," she managed to say from behind a forced smile.

"Now none of that," he said, not relinquishing her hand and instead, wrapping it into the crook of his arm and pulling her out from Rafe's shadow. "We are old friends, Rebecca. There was a time you didn't mind calling me by my given name."

Rebecca glanced not at Pease but at Rafe and could see the murderous intent in his eyes. She eased out of the viscount's grasp, on the pretense of making introductions but more so because his cloying cologne was making her nauseous.

How had she ever thought this popinjay the romantic hero of her heart?

"Viscount Pease, may I introduce Mr. Danvers," she offered.

Rafe nodded, but didn't smile, looking the fellow up and down as if seeking something to dislike about him. Apparently he decided just to limit it to everything about the haughty lord.

"Ah, yes, the ruffian fellow," Pease said, casting a sidelong wink at Rebecca as if they shared some private jest on the matter. "You break arms or some other nasty business. Isn't that what that Kitling fellow was saying the other day at Lady Tottley's, Rebecca?"

Rafe decided he wasn't just going to wring Sydney's neck, he was going to give him a demonstration of his supposed arm breaking skills.

Pease turned his back to Rafe, all but dismissing him, while his complete attention showered upon Rebecca. "I was bereft this afternoon when you weren't at Lady Tottley's."

"My apologies, Lord Pease, but an unexpected errand arose," she said, trying to glance around him at Rafe.