Truth about Leo (28 page)

“But she's in there for killing Louisa, not Louisa's son.”

Leo shrugged one shoulder. “Does it matter whose death she is imprisoned for, so long as she pays the price of her actions?”

“I suppose not, although I am not easy in my mind about it. Leo, are all your missions going to be as sad as this? Because I feel as if I've lost a dear friend, and I don't know if I could go through this on a regular basis.”

He pulled her forward onto his naked lap, his penis (now in repose), nestled warmly against her hip. “I'm sorry that this had to happen, darling. I know you feel nothing but affection for your companion, but the truth is that she has taken part in the murder of an innocent young man and attempted to attack three other people. Think of her as she was, if it helps. Think of all the years you had together in happiness, and not the sad creature she's become.”

“Is there any way we could get her released? Can we tell the police what you have deduced?”

“We can try, but without Louisa Hayes, they may not believe us.”

“Mr. Dalton—”

“Is convinced that his actions are just, and will do nothing to aid the release of Julia Deworthy.”

“I don't like her being in prison for a crime she didn't commit.”

“She did have a hand in the death of the young Dalton boy.”

“But she didn't kill Louisa.” Dagmar thought for a moment. “Although she would have killed you if we weren't there to save you. Oh, I don't know what to think. My emotions are so confused.”

“I understand your dilemma, and I assure you that I will tell the authorities what I know about Louisa.”

Dagmar kissed him on the very corner of his mouth and leaned against him, drawing strength from the warm solidness of him. “Thank you. I suppose there is nothing more we can do for her than stand by her. Which means I may now seduce you.”

“I believe it's my turn to seduce you.”

“Perhaps, but I am a princess.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, the noise rumbling around in his chest in a way that made Dagmar feel warm and tingly. “That doesn't mean you are always going to get your way.”

“Of course it does. What is the good in being a princess otherwise? Besides, I wish very much to try out this connubial calisthenic that Plum describes on page seventy-three of her book.”

“The princess and the jouster?”

“That's the one. I believe that desk over there would be suitable as a balcony.”

He glanced down at his lap. “I'm afraid that my lance is no longer couched.”

She gave him a dazzling smile, one that had every ounce of love she felt for him. “There are instructions on how to equip the lance. I believe it begins like this…”

Vienna

12 August 1801

Dearest Thom,

I pen these words in a great hurry, as Leo and I have to make a quick escape from Vienna. It appears that the grand duke who we were quite covertly investigating has discovered our identities via a very stupid distant Prussian cousin who wandered into the ball where we were expertly grilling the grand duke about something I can't possibly mention here because Leo says that the mails aren't safe and someone might read it. But you can assume it was on a subject of Great Importance and Much Delicacy, and possibly involving a certain Frenchman who I think really should be taken down a peg or two. But I will say no more on that subject lest prying eyes were to fall upon this letter.

Fritz, the stupid cousin, recognized me as soon as he saw me at the ball, and the grand duke made a huge fuss about us being spies who were determined to engineer his downfall, as well as that of the emperor, and indeed, the Austro-Hungarian empire itself, which is simply ridiculous, but that's how these people think. The grand duke demanded that we be imprisoned, which of course meant that Leo had to fight him off as well as the guards that came running when the grand duke created such a big scene, but luckily, Leo had reconnoitered the palace beforehand, and we were able to escape by climbing down some ivy, which isn't nearly as easy as you might think it is. Regardless of that, we made it back to our lodgings, where even now Leo is hastily thrusting our belongings into a carriage for our hurried leave.

So don't plan on meeting us in Vienna for your honeymoon trip; we simply won't be here. I can't say where we're going, but I'll write once we've reached safety. Oh, and many congratulations on the wedding. I wish we could have been with you for it, but we'll celebrate properly when we see you again. Best wishes to Plum, Harry, and Nick's parents as well, and thank Harry for doing what he could to get Julia free. I'm saddened beyond words that no one will believe Leo's statements and conjectures, but perhaps, with time, we can convince Mr. Dalton to admit the truth. Or Louisa might return to England. We can hope. Until then, pass along my appreciation for your aunt's visits to Julia in my stead. I'm sure Julia is deeply grateful for her visits, as am I.

No, I haven't met any goatherds, but really, I don't think Nick is being unreasonable by demanding that you leave at least some of the thirty-six dogs at home. They can't all fit into one carriage, and besides, you won't be able to indulge yourself in Rocking Horse Derby if the carriage is laden with dogs. Leo and I tried it on a very well-sprung carriage in Paris, and it's definitely one of your aunt's better calisthenics. Just make sure the carriage blinds are drawn before you begin the Derby. Also, a riding crop can be used very effectively if you gently apply it to…oh, there's Leo. Must dash. Much love to you both.

Dagmar

In case you missed them, read on for excerpts from the first three books in the series that launched Katie MacAlister's career:

Noble Intentions

Noble Destiny

The Trouble with Harry

Now available from Sourcebooks Casablanca

Gillian Leigh's first social event of the Season began with what many in the
ton
later labeled as an uncanny warning of Things To Come.

“Well, bloody hell. This isn't going to endear me to the duchess.”

Gillian watched with dismay as flames licked up the gold velvet curtains despite her attempts to beat them out with a tasseled silk cushion. Shrieks of horror and shrill voices behind her indicated that others had spotted her activities, which she had hoped would escape their notice until she had the fire under control.

Two footmen raced past her with buckets of water and soon had the fire extinguished, but it was too late, the damage was done. The duchess's acclaimed Gold Drawing Room would never be the same again. Gillian stood clutching the sooty cushion to her chest and watched mournfully as the blackened curtains were hastily bundled past the small clutches of people who stood talking intently, looking everywhere but at her.

“Sealing my fate as a social pariah, no doubt,” she muttered to herself.

“Who is? And what on earth happened in here? Lady Dell said something about you burning down the house, but you know how she exag…oh, my!”

Gillian heaved a deep sigh and turned to smile ruefully as her cousin, and dearest friend, caught sight of the damp, smoke-stained wall.

“I'm afraid it's true, Charlotte, although I wasn't trying to burn down the house. It was just another of my Unfortunate Accidents.”

Charlotte gave the formerly gilt-paneled wall a considering look, pursed her lips, then turned her gaze on her cousin. “Mmm. Well, you have certainly made sure everyone will be talking about your debut. Just look at you! You've got soot all over—your gloves are a complete loss, but I think you can brush the worst off your bodice.”

Gillian gave in to the urge and snorted while Charlotte effected repairs to the sooty green muslin gown. “My debut—as if I wanted one. The only reason I'm here is because your mother insisted it would look odd if I remained at home while you had your Season. I'm five and twenty, Charlotte, not a young girl like you. And as for setting the
ton
talking—I'm sure they are, but it will no doubt be to label me a clumsy Colonial who can't even be a wallflower without wreaking havoc.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she clasped her hand around her cousin's wrist and dragged her past the excited groups of people and out the door. “You're only half American and not clumsy. You're…well, you're just enthusiastic. And slightly prone to Unfortunate Accidents. But all's well that ends happily, as Mama always says. The curtains can be replaced, and I'm sure the duchess will realize the fire was simply one of those unavoidable events. Come, you must return to the ballroom. The most exciting thing has happened—the Black Earl is here.”

“The black who?”

“The Black Earl. Lord Weston. It's rumored he's going to take a bride again.”

“No, truly? And this is an event we must not fail to witness? Is he going to take her right there in the ballroom?”

“Gillian!” Charlotte stopped dead in the hallway, blocking people from either direction. Her china-blue eyes were round and sparkling with faux horror. “You really cannot say such things in polite company! It's shocking, simply shocking, and I cannot allow you to sully my delicate, maidenly ears in such a manner!”

Gillian grinned at her cousin and gave her a little push to get her moving again. “Honestly, Charlotte, I don't see how you can tell such awful whoppers without being struck down with shame.”

“Practice, Gilly, it's because I pay the proper attention to perfecting a shy, demure look for an hour each morning. If you would do the same, it would do wonders for your personality. You might even catch a husband, which you certainly won't do if you continue to be so…so…”

“Honest?”

“No.”

“Forthright?”

“No.”

Gillian chewed on her lip for a moment. “Unassuming? Unpretentious? Veracious?”

“No, no, no. Green, that's what you are. Utterly green and without any sense of
ton
whatsoever. You simply cannot continue to say what you think. It's just not done in polite circles.”

“Some people like honesty.”

“Not in society, they don't. Now stop dawdling and fix a pleasant expression on your face.”

Gillian heaved a little sigh and tried to adopt the demure look that spinsters of her age were expected to wear.

“Now you're looking mulish,” Charlotte pointed out with a frown, then gave in to a sudden impish grin. She linked her arm through her cousin's and tugged her along the hall. “Never mind, your face doesn't matter in the least. Come, we don't want to miss Lord Weston. Mama says he is a terrible rake and isn't welcomed into polite circles anymore. I can't wait to see how depraved he looks.”

“What has he done to make him unacceptable to the jades, rakes, and rogues who populate the
ton
?”

Charlotte's eyes sparkled with excitement. “Lady Dell says he murdered his first wife after he found her in the arms of her true love. He is said to have shot her in the head, but missed when he tried to murder her lover.”

“Truly? How fascinating! He must be a terribly emotional and uncontrolled man if he didn't tolerate his wife having an
inamorato
. I thought that sort of behavior was
de
rigueur
in the
ton
.”

Gillian and Charlotte slipped past small groups of elegantly clad people and paused before the double doors leading to the ballroom. The heat generated by so many people inhabiting the confined space left the room stifling and airless.

Charlotte fanned herself vigorously as she continued to tell Gillian what she knew of the infamous earl. “He doesn't wear anything but black—'tis said to be a sign of his guilt that he's never been out of mourning even though he killed his wife more than five years ago. She cursed him, you know, and that's another reason he wears black. And then there are rumors of a child…”

Charlotte's voice dropped to an intimate whisper that Gillian had a hard time hearing above the noise of several chattering matrons standing nearby. “…and was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“Someone is a bastard?” Gillian asked, confused.

“Gillian!” Charlotte shrieked and, with an appalled look toward the matrons, pulled her cousin closer to the ballroom doors. “God's teeth, you're as uncivilized as a Red Indian. It must be living among them as you did that makes you so unconventional. Do try to curb your tongue!”

Gillian muttered an insincere apology and prodded her cousin. “Who is illegitimate? The earl?”

“Gilly, really! Don't be such an idiot. How can he be illegitimate and an earl? Make an effort to pay attention, do—I was just telling you how Lord Weston murdered his first wife because she refused to bear him a son and turned to her lover for comfort. Isn't that thrilling? It's said she pleaded with him to give her a divorce so she could marry her lover, but he told her that if he could not have her, no man would. Then he shot her while her lover looked on.” She sighed. “It's so romantic.”

“Your idea of romantic and mine are most definitely not the same,” Gillian said, looking around at the dandies, macaronis, fops, elderly gentlemen in silk breeches, and other assorted members of that small, elite group who possessed the combination of fortune, rank, and reputation to admit them as members of the
ton.
“And this man is here tonight? Which one is he? Does he look evil? Does he have a hump on his back and a squint and walk with a limp? Will he ogle the ladies?”

Charlotte frowned. “Don't be ridiculous, Gilly. The earl is not a monster; at least, not to look at. He is quite handsome if you like large, brooding men, which I most definitely do. When they're earls, of course. And perhaps viscounts. But nothing lower than a viscount, you understand.” She forestalled Gillian's questions by turning toward the doors. “Come stand with me and we will watch to see if the rumor is true.”

“Which rumor—that the earl killed his wife or that he is looking for a new one?”

“The latter. I will know soon enough if he is—men cannot keep a thing like that secret for very long.”

“Mmm, no, I imagine not. If their intentions are not clear in the speculative gazes they impart on every marriageable female who can still draw breath, it's in the way they check the bride-to-be's teeth and make sure her movement is sound.”

Charlotte tried to stifle a giggle. “Mama says I am not to listen to a thing you say, that you are incorrigible and a bad influence.”

Gillian laughed with her cousin as they entered the ballroom arm-in-arm. “It's a good thing she doesn't know I've learned it all from you, my dear Char. Now, after we view this rogue of the first water, tell me who has caught your fancy. As I told Aunt Honoria, I'm determined you will end your Season with a stunning match, but I cannot help you become deliriously happy if you do not tell me who your intended victim is.”

“Oh, that's simple,” Charlotte replied with a beatific expression of innocence that was spoiled only by a perfectly wicked smile. “Everyone knows rakes make the best husbands. I shall simply pick out the worst of the bunch—one riddled with vices, bad habits, and a reputation that will make Mama swoon and Papa rail—then I shall reform him.”

“That seems like a terrible amount of work to go to just to find a suitable husband.”

“Not really.” Charlotte whipped open her fan and adopted a coy look. “After all, you know what they say.”

“No, what do they say?”

“Necessity is the mother of intention.”

Gillian stopped. “Invention, Charlotte.”

“What?”

“Necessity is the mother of
invention
.”

Charlotte stared at her for a moment, then rapped her cousin on the wrist with her fan. “Don't be ridiculous, where would I come up with an invention? Intentions I have aplenty, and that's quite enough for me, thank you. Now let's go find this delicious rake of an earl. If he's as bad as Mama says, he might just suit.”