A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (12 page)

Henrietta rushed him down the corridor and into the kitchen. He leaned against a table while she quickly fumbled through the cabinets and found a glass and a tin of salt. She scooped about half a cup of salt into the glass and then filled it with water and quickly stirred.

“Drink this,” she said

“I can’t,” he said, gasping for breath.

His stomach was already churning like a swollen river about to crest its banks. Had he been one to panic, this might have been the time for it. But panic had never been his weakness.

“You must drink it, Your Grace. Mushrooms can be deadly. Do it now.”

He saw terror in her bright eyes. She was frightened for him, and truth be told, he had no choice but to drink it.

He took the glass from her hand and said, “Don’t follow me.”

Blake threw open the back door and stumbled down the steps. On shaky legs he made it to the side of the house, where he fell to his knees and drained the glass in one swallow. Within seconds the salty water came back up, and everything else in his stomach as well.

He fell back onto the cold, damp grass, too weak to move. He didn’t know how long he lay in the darkness, waiting for the worst of the pain to go away.

After a few minutes of being completely still, he was stronger. What a hellish thing to endure. His insides felt as if they had been burned.

On steadying feet, he rose and headed for the back door. Henrietta sat on the steps waiting for him. It made him feel better just seeing her there with her arms wrapped around her knees. He didn’t know what to think about this young lady who didn’t wilt in the face of a crisis. She knew exactly what to do and took charge of the situation. His admiration for her was growing.

He cleared his throat and sat down on the step just below her.

“I told you to stay inside,” he said

“I don’t follow orders very well.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, even though the cramps had only just subsided, not gone away.

“Now do you believe me about the curse?”

“Curse?” Blake chuckled lightly, and then grimaced at a remnant flash of pain. “Please, Henrietta, don’t make me laugh. My stomach is too sore. I ate a poisonous mushroom, and it made me sick. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m not dead or dying. Anyone could have picked up that bad mushroom at the ball tonight.”

“But it was you. Have you ever eaten a poisonous mushroom before?”

He sighed. “No, but Morgan has, and I don’t believe he’s ever been cursed.”

“You are teasing me again.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m not up to that. Would you do me a favor?”

She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. Her touch stilled him.

“I’ll do anything for you, Your Grace.”

He looked up at her. “Good. Say good night to me and go to bed.”

All sympathy left her face and Henrietta huffed. “That’s a fine thing to say to me after I saved your life.”

“Perhaps it is, but you did say you would do anything for me, and that is my request.”

Her expression turned serious, and her eyes glimmered through the darkness. “I’m reluctant to leave you. I feel I should stay longer and make sure you are going to be all right.”

“Thanks to your quick thinking, I am fine, now. Good night, Henrietta.”

“Very well, Your Grace, good night.” She reached down and kissed him softly on the top of his head, and then quietly slipped back into the house.

Eight

Dearest Lucien,

Lord Chesterfield once said, “Mind not only what people
say, but how they say it; and, if you have any sagacity, you
may discover more truth by your eyes than by your ears.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

AT THE APPOINTED HOUR ON SATURDAY MORNING, Henrietta was dressed and waiting below stairs by the front door with cape, gloves, and bonnet in hand. She heard talking and the tinkling of pots and pans coming from the kitchen at the back of the house, but she didn’t venture to see which servant was up at this uncivilized hour to prepare the food basket for their journey.

She had been too excited about the balloon ride to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. And not even the intriguing book with the ghost in it could take her mind off Blakewell. She could not forget the emotions that had stirred inside her when his lips had touched hers two nights ago. During her wakefulness, she had relived his kiss, his touch, and his words over and over in her mind, willing all those new, wonderful, and astonishing feelings to resurface and fill her senses once again with inexplicable pleasure.

Henrietta had never expected to have a guardian as young, as handsome, and as pleasing as Blakewell. And she had never expected that the first man to awaken her womanly desires would be not only her guardian, but a duke! But then fate had always seemed to deal unsympathetically with her, starting with her parents’ deaths when she was seven, and then to the curse Mrs. Goolsby spoke of coming true over and over again.

She understood perfectly why Blakewell was keeping a safe distance between them after their lapse in good judgment when he kissed her. She knew he was committed to protecting her, and that included shielding her from himself.

She had seen the duke only once since the night he had eaten the bad mushroom. He had looked as fit and handsome as ever when she met him coming out of his book room the next afternoon.

“How are you feeling, Your Grace?”

“I am well, thank you,” he had replied coolly. He pulled a sheet of folded newsprint from under his arm. “Have you seen this?”

“No, what is it?” She took the paper from him and opened it. The headline read “Poisonous mushrooms at the Great Hall: More than fifty people taken ill.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him. “So it wasn’t just one mushroom?”

“Apparently a whole tray of them was bad. Happily, there have been no deaths reported.” A quirky grin lifted one corner of his lips. “Do you still think a curse was responsible, or was this simply a careless scullery worker who doesn’t know a good mushroom from a bad one?”

“I think you are a formidable opponent, no matter what you are up against, and I’m glad you are suffering no ill effects. May I keep this and read it?”

He nodded. “I hope this puts your mind at rest.”

Perhaps the fact that the duke was not the only person to become ill from the mushrooms left the incident open to interpretation, but it was not enough to persuade Henrietta that the curse did not exist. She could not escape her conviction that His Grace was in constant danger.

The sound of a door shutting above her roused Henrietta from her reverie, and a few moments later she saw Blakewell descending the stairs. He wore a black wool coat over a white ruffled shirt and a white-and- red striped waistcoat. His neckcloth was tied in a simple bow, and the legs of his fawn-colored riding breeches were stuffed into shiny, black knee boots. He was dashing. For a fleeting moment, she had the feeling that he might rush down, grab her up tightly in his strong arms, and swing her around while kissing her madly.

But that thought quickly faded when he failed to give her an enthusiastic smile after seeing her waiting by the door for him.

Henrietta swallowed the disappointment, gave him a hesitant smile, and said, “Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well.”

He mumbled something that sounded like a greeting and hurried down the rest of the stairs.

“Very well, Henrietta. How about you?”

“The same,” she answered, not wanting him to know the truth of her restless hours in the bed. “I trust you are feeling well with no lasting effects from the bad mushroom.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I feel fine.” He looked down at her hands and, in a more formal tone than she would have liked, he said, “Is your wrap heavy enough? The ride will be long and cold.”

“Yes,” she said, placing her bonnet on her head and tying the ribbon under her chin. “It’s quite warm. I should be fine.”

The butler must have heard the duke come below stairs, because he suddenly appeared from the kitchen holding a basket and Blakewell’s cloak.

“Good morning, Ashby,” Henrietta said.

“Good morning, Miss Tweed,” the perfectly dressed butler answered politely, but like his master, he had no early morning smile for her.

After she pulled on her gloves, Blakewell took her cape from her hands, and she turned her back to him so he could help her with it. The heat from his body, as he stood behind her, calmed her. His fingers briefly caressed the back of her neck as he fitted the cape around her shoulders. His warm touch soothed her. She was sure she felt him hesitate before stepping away from her.

“Would you like me to take the basket to the carriage, Your Grace?”

“That’s not necessary, Ashby. I will do it,” the duke said, putting on his long black cloak and then taking the basket from his servant.

Blakewell turned to Henrietta. “If you are all set,” he said, “the carriage is waiting for us.”

Their gazes caught and held as she pulled her gloves up farther on her arms.

“I’m ready.”

He opened the front door, and they stepped out into the darkness of the early morning chill. A footman dressed in fashionable red and black livery opened the carriage door, and His Grace took her hand and helped her step into the plush cab. Through his gloves and hers, she could feel the strength and the heat of his fingers. The warmth stayed with her like hot coals from a banked fire as she settled onto the upholstered seat.

“Keep your feet and skirts away from the iron pot on the floor by the far door,” he said as he climbed in behind her. “It has hot coals in it that will help keep your feet warm on the ride.”

“Yes, I feel the heat from it already,” she said, though in truth she knew the heat she felt came from being so close to the duke, not from the container of hot coals sitting beside her feet.

His Grace sat on the velvet-covered seat opposite her, and the carriage took off with a jerk and a clank. The thick brown curtains that hung over the small windows were tied back, and a yellow glow from the lanterns attached to the outside of the carriage gave a little slice of light inside the cab. She could see half of Blakewell’s chiseled, cleanly shaven face, and she tried to discern from his expression if he wanted to talk or if he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Perhaps the best way to find out was to see if he frowned when she spoke to him. “How often do you take these early-morning balloon rides?” she asked.

“Not often at all. This will be only the second time I’ve been up in one.”

He answered and he didn’t frown. Henrietta’s confidence grew.

“You must have enjoyed it to want to go again.”

“I’m going because of Gibby.”

“Oh, the gentleman you mentioned the other night just before you became so ill,” she said. “I’m sure I shall enjoy meeting him. Is he a relative, friend, or business acquaintance?”

“There’s no blood relationship between us, though it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. I’ve known him all my life. He was my grandmother’s devoted friend for many years. They met when she was widowed from her first marriage. He loved her and wanted to marry her. She rejected him but married three more times.”

Blakewell seemed to be more than willing to talk, so she said, “My goodness, that seems like a lot of husbands. But you say she never married Sir Randolph?”

“I don’t think she ever even considered marrying him.”

“That must have been hard for him—to see her marry three times when he loved her. I’ve read in books about unrequited love.”

“He coped. He always thought she’d marry him one day, but she never did.”

“According to most of the poetry I’ve read, we can’t make ourselves love someone or make anyone love us.”

Blakewell half-laughed under his breath. “Love was not the problem, believe me. My grandmother loved him madly, but a mere knight was not impressive enough for her social passions. All she ever wanted was to be the wife of a titled gentleman. With her fourth husband, she managed that and became the Countess of Elder.”

“It’s wonderful that your grandmother realized her dream of marrying well, but how sad for Sir Randolph.”

Blakewell laughed, and Henrietta loved the pure, genuine sound of his laughter. She was enjoying their easy conversation and being alone with him in the chilly but cozy carriage.

“Take my word for it, you have no reason to feel sorry for Sir Randolph Gibson. He can be an ornery old man. He would be much easier to look after if we had some legal claim to him. I’m convinced he has more friends than anyone in London. Right now, there are more than half a dozen women who would marry him immediately if he would just offer for their hand. Besides that, he thrives on getting himself in trouble, as with this balloon venture, just so my cousins and I will have to spend extra time with him.”

“What do you mean by ‘balloon venture?’” she asked as the carriage rolled to a stop.

“I’ll have to save that explanation for another time. We’ve arrived at his house. I’m going to move over and sit by you to give Gibby more room.”

“All right,” she said and gathered her skirts closer to give him more room beside her.

Sir Randolph appeared in the doorway of the darkened cab and climbed inside with a grunt and a groan. He was a distinguished, older gentleman with a head full of beautiful silver hair. His chest had the robust filled-out look of a much younger man, but as soon as he sat down and faced her, Henrietta saw the telltale signs of advanced age around his eyes and mouth.

He spotted her as he settled into the cushioned seat, and his surprised gaze darted between her and His Grace a couple of times before his attention settled on the duke.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a young lady with you, Blake,” he said as the carriage started its bumpy rolling once again. “You always were the sly one of the three cousins.”

“Really? Is that how you see me? Sly?”

“As a fox.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Blakewell smiled craftily at the ageing dandy. “Let me see, what is it you’ve always said to me in similar situations as this: ‘I’m sorry, ole chap, there wasn’t time to send a note and let you know about that.’”

Sir Randolph chuckled. “You should have better manners than to use an old man’s words against him. Besides, what’s there to be sorry for? I’d much rather look at her pretty face than yours.”

“I do like it when, on the rare occasion, I do something that pleases you. Sir Randolph Gibson, may I present Miss Henrietta Tweed, my ward? Miss Tweed, my oldest and dearest friend, Sir Randolph Gibson.”

The old gentleman smiled broadly at her and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Miss Tweed.”

Henrietta nodded and said, “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Randolph.”

“Perhaps you are the only person in London who hasn’t heard about my new ward.”

He looked at Blakewell again and said, “No, I’ve been hearing rumors for almost a week now that you were given guardianship over a young lady. I am constantly questioned about the ward of the duke. But luckily I didn’t know anything to tell anyone. I guess when we were talking a few days ago, you forgot to mention Miss Tweed to me.”

Blakewell leaned back comfortably in the seat and confidently folded his arms across his chest. With a wry grin, he said, “Forgive me. I had other things on my mind when we spoke.”

“I know. You were too obsessed with my business to think about your own.”

Blakewell took off his gloves and tossed them to the seat beside Sir Randolph. “At the time, I thought yours was more pressing.”

“You always do, but that doesn’t say much for your abilities as a guardian, does it? Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

“I’m not sure at all, but for the time being, I’m prepared to do what I can.”

Henrietta felt a pang of envy. She could see in their faces and hear in their voices that these two men had a long-standing and comfortable relationship. She had never had a close friend with whom she could be so carefree.

“Sir Randolph,” Henrietta said. “So far, His Grace has taken excellent care of me.”

“I can see that.”

“And nothing else needs to be said about that subject,” Blakewell injected. “I suggest that the two of you get acquainted while I see what Cook put in the basket for us to eat.”

“Did you remember to tell her about the fruit tarts?”

“Yes, because I knew you would send me back to get them if I forgot.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”