One Dance with a Duke (7 page)

“I told them you’d want to see Leo.”

“Thank you. Yes, I would.” Her voice was polite and remote. Amelia knew she had entered that numb void of unreality that followed a great shock. For all Lily insisted she’d sensed the truth hours ago and had grown accustomed to the idea in the interim, Amelia knew Leo’s death would not become real to her for some time yet. And when it did, the pain would be near unbearable.

She would not press Lily to confront that grief now. Let her float in that dark nothingness as long as she could.

“Shall I come upstairs with you and help you dress?”

“No, thank you. I’ll do. My maid is awake.”

“Then I’ll wait with the gentlemen until you’re ready. May I direct your cook to have a cold supper sent in? The beasts may prove more docile after a feeding. And if you can manage it, you should take some food, too.”

“Yes, of course. Direct the servants however you think best.” Bracing both hands flat on the table, Lily pushed back her chair and slowly stood. “I’m grateful you’re here, Amelia. You are so very good.”

An hour later, the array of cold meats and cheeses laid out on a serving cart remained largely untouched. The duke sat in a winged armchair in the farthest reaches of the library, impatiently leafing through the pages of a book. If he had looked up once in the past hour, Amelia had not noticed it. And, to her frustration, she found herself watching him a great deal.

The only one of the gentlemen to eat anything had been Lord Ashworth, and he now lay reclined on the divan, eyes closed and massive boots propped on the studded leather ottoman. His attitude of repose did not strike her as disrespectful, however. She might have described it as prudent. A military trait, she assumed. Ashworth was clearly a man who did not allow death to interfere with the unceasing work of survival. He would not waste an opportunity to eat, drink, or rest when it presented itself.

By contrast, Mr. Bellamy had not ceased moving since Amelia entered the room. He’d prowled the floor so many times, she feared he would wear a groove in the parquet. When the doorbell rang, he dashed to answer it himself. The caller was an investigator, Amelia gathered through scraps of overheard conversation, charged with tracking down the footpads who’d murdered Leo.

“Some news?” the duke asked, when Bellamy reentered.

“No. Nothing we didn’t know already. He was beset in an alley, somewhere in Whitechapel. The motive appears to have been robbery. Some urchins nearby heard scuffling and shouts, but they were too frightened to investigate. It was a prostitute who found his body and called for a hack, but she’s since disappeared.”

“How did they know to bring him to you?”

“When she came upon him, he was still alive, barely. He apparently gave her my address. A fortunate thing,
too, or who knows what might have happened to his body. Sold to medical students, most likely. I’m surprised the whore didn’t think of that. She was probably hoping for a reward, saving a nobleman’s life.”

“Or maybe she simply had a conscience and a good heart,” Amelia said.

Bellamy made a sound of skepticism. “Well, no matter how pure her intentions, they weren’t enough to save him. He died en route.”

“Were you there at home, when they brought him?”

“No.” He swore under his breath. “No, they had to send for me. Damn it, if only I’d been with him. This wouldn’t have happened.”

With a sudden, savage burst of strength, he crashed his fist down on a bookshelf. Amelia jumped in her seat. Lord Ashworth’s eyes popped open.

“Don’t you see?” Bellamy said. “This is my fault. I can’t make it right, but I will do what I can—bring Leo’s murderers to justice and see Lily well settled.”

“You are unlikely to accomplish either goal tonight,” the duke said.

Bellamy started in the duke’s direction. “You will offer for her, Morland. If I have to hold a knife to your bal—”

Amelia shot to her feet. “Please,” she said, blocking Bellamy’s path. “Please, if you care for Lily—”

“I do,” he cut in impatiently. “As I would my own sister, if I had one.”

“Then I beg you, allow her some time to grieve. Her brother has died. Whether he went violently or peacefully, expected or not—what matters is, he is gone from her life, and this is a tragedy. If you care for her, offer her comfort and understanding, not promises of vengeance or proposals of marriage.”

“Very well.” Bellamy released his breath. “I will speak
no further of murder and retribution. But he”—he pointed toward the duke—“had better do his duty by Lily. If he wants to hold on to his share in Osiris, he has no choice.”

Morland put aside his book. “No choice? I am a duke. I always have a choice. And I do not respond favorably to threats.”

“Oh, I’m not threatening you,” Bellamy said. “I’m merely reminding you of the Stud Club code. Any member who fails to adhere to the Code of Good Breeding must surrender his interest in the horse.”

A thought occurred to Amelia. “But Leo’s dead. Doesn’t this horse pass to his heir, as the rest of his possessions do?”

Bellamy gave the duke a cold smile before turning to Amelia. “No, my lady. Leo designed the club very cleverly. Had his solicitor draw it all up. Osiris is held in trust, and any breeding rights are contingent on two conditions: possession of a token and adherence to the code. If His Grace fails to fulfill his obligations, he forfeits any rights to the horse.”

“That’s absurd,” Morland said.

Amelia thought the entire enterprise was absurd. She was heartily sick of hearing about this Stud Club and the vagaries of its code.

The duke continued, “This code of yours … in the coach, you said members must provide for the dependents of the deceased. I don’t recall any mention of marriage.”

“I don’t see how else you
could
provide for her. She will lose this house, and everything in it. Even with whatever income she may have, she cannot live independently. As much would be true for any well-bred gentlewoman, but when one takes into consideration her condition …” He shook his head. “There are no alternatives.”

“But of course there are!” Amelia cried, increasingly desperate to save Lily from this ill-conceived plan, which was proving to be nothing but a product of Mr. Bellamy’s guilty conscience and the Duke of Morland’s greed for horseflesh. “It will take time for the will to be executed. Lily is not in danger of being forced out onto the street tomorrow. And gentlewomen of means
do
live independently. I don’t see why Lily’s deafness should preclude it, if such is her desire. She could always engage the services of a companion. Some widow or unmarried lady of good breeding but little fortune, to provide her with companionship and assist her in managing the household. Such arrangements are made all the time.”

“A paid companion,” the duke said thoughtfully. His hazel eyes trained on Amelia. “That would solve matters nicely. If a suitable candidate presented herself.”

Cocking his head a fraction, he raised one eyebrow and continued to regard her with that intense, scrutinizing gaze. A meaningful gaze.

She went hot and prickly all over.

Oh, no. No, you don’t
.

How dare he suggest, even tacitly, that Amelia would make a suitable paid companion? Such employment was for destitute widows and hopeless spinsters. Women with no prospects whatsoever, and no family or fortune of their own. That wasn’t her!

At least, not yet.

There he sat, so smugly handsome. She could practically hear the arrogant words echoing in his skull:
I am a duke. I always have a choice. And you may as well abandon all dreams for your future and become a paid companion, because a man like me would never choose a woman like you
.

Yes, well. She’d absorbed that point already, hadn’t she? Dozens of midnight snubs had taught her that
lesson. But earlier that evening, when she’d taken
his
hand, forced him to listen, given him her opinions—not to mention her handkerchief—Amelia had felt she’d clawed her way to equal footing with the man.

Evidently not. Swiftly, surely, with a ruthless economy of words and those devastating eyes, he had put Amelia back in her place. What was it about this man that made her react so strongly? Despite his fine looks and obvious intelligence—or perhaps because of them—he, more than any man of her acquaintance, had the power to make her feel so vulnerable, lacking, and most decidedly
unwanted
.

Breaking eye contact with the Duke of Morland was not something Amelia wished to do. It was something she
needed
to do, as an act of sheer self-preservation.

For the love of God, why couldn’t she?

From the doorway, Lily cleared her throat. “Thank you all for waiting. I am ready now.”

Gratefully, Amelia turned away from the duke to face her friend. Lily’s long black hair had been replaited, and she’d changed into a dark blue day dress that was elegant in its simplicity. Or perhaps it was elegant simply because Lily wore it. Nearing thirty now, she still had the willowy figure of her youth, and the same dark, doelike eyes Amelia had always envied. Even in grief, she was stunning. And had she not been so opposed to the idea of her friend marrying any of the gentlemen in this room, Amelia would have taken umbrage on behalf of Lily, and indeed the entire female sex, that any man would have so much as a moment’s hesitation when offered the chance to apply for her hand.

With her entrance, both Lord Ashworth and the duke rose to their feet, as etiquette dictated. But then, to Amelia’s surprise—to
everyone’s
surprise—the Duke of Morland did more than stand.

He came forward.

“Lady Lily,” he began. “May I express my deepest sympathies for your loss.”

His “deepest sympathies?” Amelia suspected this man’s deepest sympathies would not fill a thimble.

“Let me assure you,” Morland continued, “that as a friend of Harcliffe’s, a fellow peer, and an associate in his club, my honor as a gentleman compels me to offer you any assistance you may require.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lily replied. She flicked a distressed glance in Amelia’s direction, as it became clear the duke was not yet finished speaking.

“In addition, it is my intention to make you an offer,” he said.

The room held its breath.

“I should like to make you a substantial offer for your brother’s share in the stallion Osiris.”

His words skated on the thin, tense surface of quiet. Until they crashed under a resounding chorus from every corner of the room:
“What?”

“I mean to purchase his token,” the duke said.

Ashworth’s boots thunked to the floor. “You can’t purchase his token. They can only be won in a game of chance.”

Morland said coolly, “Was his not a random killing? Bad luck, in its purest form.”

That did it. Amelia’s impression of the Duke of Morland was now cemented. Not only cemented—cast in bronze. He was the most arrogant, self-absorbed, unfeeling man she’d ever had the misfortune to waltz with, bar none.

“You are supposed to offer her marriage,” Bellamy growled.

“I am duty-bound to offer her assistance. And so I have done.” He addressed Lily once again. “Madam, tomorrow I will direct my secretary to call. He will be at your disposal in any regard, whether it be making
burial arrangements or securing new housing. He will also bring a bank draft constituting my offer for Leo’s share in the Stud Club, which you may review and accept or decline as you wish.”

Bellamy said, “You bastard. This is a matter of honor, and all you can think of is the damned horse.”

“All any of you can think of is the damned horse!” Amelia went to Lily’s side. “Lily’s future is her own to decide. Stop puffing up your chests and playing at this childish imitation of chivalry. All this going on about honor and duty … you own shares in an
animal
, for God’s sake. You are not the Knights of the Round Table. By your own admission, Leo devised this club as a joke. Don’t you have real duties to tend to, actual human relationships worth your efforts and attention? Or is this all you have in your lives, a bit of play-acting nonsense centered on a horse?”

All three fell quiet, diverting their gaze to various features of the room’s décor—tassels, fringes, lacquered trays that had probably never suffered such intense male scrutiny. Perhaps these men truly didn’t have anything in their lives worth caring about, aside from this horse and this club. It would certainly explain their pathetic silence.

It was really … quite sad.

“It’s all right, Amelia,” said Lily. She drew a deep breath and addressed the men. “Your Grace, my lord”—she turned to Bellamy—“Julian. I know you are all acting from honorable motives, and I do appreciate your concern. Leo would be heartened to see such evidence of your friendship.”

At the sound of Leo’s name from her lips, and the slight waver in her tone, the men softened in both posture and expression.

“His death leaves me bereft and grieving, but not penniless. I have means, and I have friends of my own.” She
squeezed Amelia’s hand. “Even if I did wish to marry, I must complete a year of mourning first.”

“Those rules don’t apply,” Bellamy said. “Not in an extreme situation such as—”