Almost Perfect (23 page)

“Philana, what are we going to do? Bucksden will be back and I cannot believe he’ll be deterred by guns that don’t fire.”

Philana offered her a quick hug then set Cassie back from her. “What you’re going to do is go upstairs and soothe your sister,” she said. “I heard her crying when I passed the stairs. As for me I’m going to write a note to my neighbors, begging their assistance.”

“No!” Cassie cried. “How will you explain to them why you have to resist Lord Bucksden? You cannot, not without ruining Eliza for all time. What if such a show of force thwarts him and he chooses to wreak his vengeance by spilling the tale before so many eager ears?”

Philana huffed and crossed her arms, eyeing Cassie in disgust. “This is what happens when certain folk allow those ninnyhammers who reign at Almacks to do their thinking for them. Otherwise sensible people become convinced that facades and appearances are more important than reality. Why should what your father did with Lord Bucksden affect Eliza in any way?”

Pain shot through Cassie. “How can you say that to me after I just told you how my father’s behavior drove Lord Graceton from me?”

“Lord Graceton is but one man, Cassie,” Philana replied with a shake of her head. “And I say more fool he if he cannot rise above his prejudice to do the bidding of his heart. May he continue to rot in his loneliness.” Having cursed Lucien, Philana crossed the room to the delicate little desk in the corner.

“You’re right to think that Eliza won’t be courted by earls and dukes should this tale spread. However, that can’t be hardship to her,” she called over her shoulder to Cassie, opening the desk’s front. “I doubt Eliza ever expected to make a brilliant match. There are other worthy men. Why, judging from the whirlwind that made Eliza its center at the house party, I’d warrant there are at least five eligible men in this neighborhood alone who’d happily look past Sir Roland’s behavior to have her.”

Cassie stared at her aunt’s back, stunned and wanting desperately to believe. Could rescuing Eliza from Lord Bucksden really be as simple as exposing the truth of what he and Roland had done? Everything in her recoiled at the thought of people laughing at them from behind their hands or worse, forbidding their daughters from having anything to do with the Conningsby girls. Perhaps Philana was right. Perhaps all would be forgotten when the next scandal broke.

“Of course, you’d have to allow me to provide Eliza a dowry,” Philana added.

Cassie’s hopes crashed. Of course it wasn’t as simple as Philana made it sound. Her aunt’s solution was almost the same one she’d applied to Cassie and Lucien, except instead of trapping a husband for Eliza she meant to buy one. A purchased husband could be no better than a trapped and seething Lucien.

Robson opened the door. “Tea, my lady,” he announced as a footman carried the service into the chamber.

“Thanks you, Robson,” Philana said, her back still to the room. “Be a dear, Cassie and go fetch Eliza. She could use a bit of something to steady her nerves. I gave her the blue room.”

Feeling lost and hopeless, Cassie did as Philana bid, climbing the house’s central stair to the second storey. Ettrick House was a big square with a central stairway. That meant landings stretched the width of the house. The landing for the second storey gave Cassie access to four doorways, two on either side of the steps. The door to Eliza’s bedroom was ajar. The hinges creaked a little as Cassie pushed it aside to enter.

Philana’s blue room was in fact blue and white. Below the chair rail the wood paneling had been painted white. Framed Chinese panels, dark blue design painted on white silk, covered the paler blue wall above the railing. Sun streamed in through a wide deep-set window, its white painted shutters thrown wide, draperies the color of the sky pushed to the sides. The creamy carpet was woven with a dark blue pattern while the little dressing table was made of pale wood and had a top of lapis lazuli. Even the air in the close room was blue, filled with the faint scent of lavender in which all Philana’s linens were stored.

Eliza lay on the bed, staring up at the pale blue brocade canopy above her. Cassie glanced down at herself. In their blue and white attire they might as well be part of the room’s furnishings.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have begged Papa to come back for you,” Eliza said, still staring above her and sounding miserable. She shifted her clenched fingers around the ball of her sodden handkerchief.

“No, I’m wrong,” Cassie replied with a sigh and came to sit beside Eliza on the bed. The mattress supports creaked. “We should never have parted. As for you, I won’t have you contemplate for an instant sacrificing yourself to save us. It’s no longer just a matter of satisfying Papa’s debt, you know.”

Eliza caught a shaken breath and rolled onto her side to put her head in Cassie’s lap. “I know,” she whispered, then laughed. It sounded more like a hiccough. “Until he came to the door I’d been picturing myself as quite the tragic heroine, giving up my freedom to save you.”

Her words teased a quiet laugh from Cassie. “Sometimes you’re too pure for this mundane plane,” she told Eliza, brushing a few wayward golden hairs from her sister’s forehead. “It’s enough to know you’d give your life for me, sweetheart. I don’t need you to actually do it.”

“He frightened me, Cassie,” Eliza whispered, then drew another shaken breath. New tears glistened in her eyes. “Can’t we turn back time?” she begged softly. “I want to return to Ryecroft Castle. I want to dance and laugh, and eat wondrous meals. I want Mr. Percy and Colonel Egremont to pretend to fight over me.”

She turned her head in Cassie’s lap to look up at her. “That will all end for me now, won’t it?”

Still wanting more than anything to save her sister, Cassie lifted Eliza to embrace her, avoiding the question at the same time.

Eliza laid her head on Cassie’s shoulder. “If only you’d been at that card table with Lord Bucksden, Cassie. You wouldn’t have lost that game,” she whispered. Then, wiping her face with her handkerchief, she pushed free of Cassie’s hold to touch a strand of her sister’s loosened hair and gave a watery smile.

“Good heavens, look at you all atangle. Come to the dressing table and I’ll make something a little neater of this for you.”

Cassie hesitated, having experienced Eliza’s handiwork in the past.

“Please, it will give me something to do,” Eliza pleaded.

Mud spattered and sweat-stained, Lucien drew his foaming mount to a halt before Ryecroft Castle’s main doorway. His rage hadn’t abated in spite of his reckless ride. At least he knew Cassie was safe, if only for the moment. Thank God for that meddling old woman and her three menservants. That was manpower enough to make Bucksden cautious about approaching them during their short ride to Ettrick House. He hoped.

Dismounting, he climbed the few steps to the front door and threw it open without knocking. The startled footman danced back from him, gawking, his face framed by his wig’s powered curls. “My lord?”

“Where is he?” Lucien demanded. It took all his will not to bellow.

The footman blinked rapidly as if trying to make sense of the question. “I believe Lord Ryecroft is still in his chamber, my lord,” the servant stuttered.

Of course Devanney was still in his chamber. It wasn’t yet noon and his cousin hadn’t had the pleasure of being caressed awake just after dawn. Remembering this morning brought with it another reminder, one of how much it would hurt to lose Cassie, and how much more it would hurt if he somehow lost her to Bucksden’s violence.

“See to my horse,” Lucien commanded then strode into Devanney’s home, spewing muck with every step as he made his way to the stairs leading to the residential wing.

Lady Barbara and the duchess were just descending. Wearing a cream dress with a narrow red stripe, Eleanor had left off her ostentatious diamonds to make do with rubies at her throat, breast, wrist and fingers. She even wore a gaudy ornament of the same bloody-colored stones on her pink turban; it was a dragonfly rising out of a great spray of gems. The insect, set on a tiny spring, quivered and danced with her every movement.

Barbara, descending ahead of her mother, wore blushing pink, the color complementing her dark hair and eyes. She drew a quick breath as she saw him, and immediately pressed herself to the banister to let him pass. Her worried gaze never left his face. Not so Eleanor. The duchess stood her ground as if she expected Lucien to stand aside.

Incapable of playing the game of pleasantries at the moment, he merely shifted on the step to push past her, giving her a sidelong glance as he went. Eleanor’s eyes widened in outrage. She turned on the stairs to face him.

“What sort of arrogance is this, my lord? Going about filthy and half dressed, showing no respect to your betters? Did you learn nothing from your first brush with scandal three years ago? I suppose you cannot have, or you would have known better than to sniff after riffraff. I hope you’ll take a lesson from the catastrophe your inattention to class caused.”

Lucien froze as the noblewoman again denigrated Cassie. Rage exploded beyond any hope of containment. He turned to face the disdainful duchess, who still stood on the step below him.

Barbara gasped. She slipped down another step, grabbing her mother’s arm as she went. “Come Mama,” she whispered, “let him be.”

Eleanor shook free of her daughter’s grasp. “We aren’t going anywhere until Lord Graceton awards me the show of respect that is my due,” she trumpeted.

“And what sort of respect do you believe your due, madam?” Lucien demanded. His words almost cut his tongue as they left it.

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. Her chin lifted. “I am a duchess. You will bow to me.”

Sneering, Lucien bent slightly, offering her the barest show of respect possible. “This I do in honor of your station, madam, but not you.”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Bright color washed her face. Not so Barbara. She blanched and again tugged on her mother’s arm.

“He’s bowed, Mama. Come,” she urged. “Let’s be on to breakfast.”

“I will not!” Eleanor almost shouted. “He will beg my pardon, or I vow I’ll--”.

“You’ll what?” Lucien snarled. “Destroy my repute? Didn’t you just tell me it was too late for my repute? Nor will I beg your pardon for speaking the truth. You, madam, are a sorry excuse for a woman. You demand respect from those around you, giving them nothing but your scorn and rudeness in return. How one such as you wrought so much sweetness in a daughter is beyond my comprehension.”

Eleanor jerked as if he’d struck her. The color left her face, leaving her looking grayed and old. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she spoke. No sound emitted.

“Lucien!” Devanney bellowed, using his cousin’s given name, an intimacy they’d given up when they went off to school, thus leaving behind boyhood notions to become men.

Lucien turned his back on the duchess. Adam Devanney stood on the second storey landing, looking every inch the country gentleman this morning in his brown waistcoat, fawn trousers and sturdy shoes. His shirt collar lay open, yet awaiting his neckcloth. His cuffs still lacked their closing studs.

“I need a second, Devanney,” Lucien said, climbing the last few stairs to join him. “Will you serve?”

Rather than reply, his cousin caught him by the arm. Devanney’s grip was tight enough to bruise. “Pardon Your Grace,” he said to the still gaping Eleanor. “My cousin isn’t himself at the moment. If you’ll excuse?”

Devanney gave the duchess no chance to respond, only dragged Lucien the few steps it took to reach his bedchamber then shoved him through the doorway. Growling, Lucien whirled on his cousin. Devanney gave him another shove, driving him deeper into the room.

“Out, Watson,” he shouted to his valet.

Watson beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind him. Yet another of Devanney’s shoves propelled Lucien into the center of the room. Lucien’s boot heel caught on the edge of the green and gold carpet. Stumbling a little, he pivoted, only to be blinded by the way mid morning light reflected off the many gilded and silken surfaces in the room.

“What the hell was that, Lucien?” Devanney demanded angrily, standing between Lucien and the door. “You don’t come into my house and insult my family no matter how much Eleanor might have deserved that speech of yours.”

Lucien’s anger soared to new heights as Devanney again spoke to him as if he were a child. “A second, Adam,” he retorted, using Devanney’s given name in return. “Either you’ll serve me or you won’t. Answer now. If you refuse, I mean to go to Percy.”

Adam threw his arms wide in frustration. “For what duel? What are you talking about?”

“I mean to kill Bucksden,” Lucien replied as cold satisfaction washed over him.

It couldn’t happen soon enough. Rapiers. He wanted to feel the blade enter Bucksden’s flesh. He wanted the warmth of the earl’s blood on his hands and to feel the man’s shudder as he perished beneath Lucien’s death blow.

“My second, Adam,” he said again. It was a command, not a request. Percy would serve but not as well as Devanney.

Adam’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. “Talk to me, Lucien. Tell me how you met Bucksden and what happened to put you on course for this duel. What happened to your need for a son to carry on your name?”

The instant his cousin spoke the words Lucien’s heritage wrapped itself around him like a rope. He had no right to risk his life before he’d done his duty to Graceton’s line. Siring a son to follow him was the only unrelenting requirement of his title.

As duty again bound Lucien’s hands and restricted his ability to protect the woman he loved, he threw back his head. “I don’t care about my godforsaken title. Bucksden dies today before he has a chance to hurt Cassie,” he shouted.

Raising his voice was the wrong thing to do. Some of what boiled in him eased. That left room for calmer thoughts. Damn Adam. He was going to talk him out of this when a duel to the death was the only way to make Cassie safe.

“Sit and tell me everything,” his cousin commanded, giving Lucien another push, this time toward the settee at the end of his bed.

Lucien collided with the cushioned bench then sidestepped it. “I’ve waited three years to do this, Adam. I’m done waiting. If you don’t wish to be my second, so be it. Let me leave so I may ask elsewhere.”

He took a step toward the door. Adam shifted to block his path and lifted his fists, a boxer’s stance. “If you want to leave you’ll have to knock me senseless. That will be no mean feat, even for you. Think about it, Lucien. What if battling me leaves you too injured to face Bucksden? Ten minutes. The earl won’t disappear. Now, tell me what’s happened or hit me!”

For one insane moment Lucien closed his fists. In the next, he opened them again. Adam knew very well that the act of striking out would restore Lucien’s control of what raged in him.

“This is the thanks I get for risking my life to drag you, half-dead, out of France?” Lucien snarled, attacking with words since he didn’t dare use his fists.

His cousin’s expression froze. “A low blow, cuz, inexcusable even when you’re like this. I didn’t ask you to come for me, or to force Lord Candlestone to release me from his service any more than I asked for the burden of this godbedamned title I have to wear.”

Regret tore a great hole in Lucien’s anger. He hadn’t meant to hurt Adam. And with his regret, the rage that had been solid and unmovable in the previous moment dissolved, turning into smoke and slipping through his fingers when Lucien wanted to remain blindingly angry until Bucksden was dead and Cassie was safe.

Damn his cousin. Adam was going to win, whether by action or by speech. “No more distractions. I have to meet Bucksden, Devanney,” Lucien said, only to realize all was already lost if he’d reverted to using his cousin’s family name.

“They’re not my distractions, they’re yours,” Devanney snarled back, dropping his fists.

Lucien took a step toward him and the door behind him. Devanney knew him well enough not to hit him. Instead, he gave Lucien another, far gentler shove, sending him again toward the settee.

“Listen to me, Hollier, you pigheaded idiot,” he growled. “If you truly considered the wrong Bucksden did you as heinous as you protest then you’d have called him out three years ago. You didn’t. You might be able to fool yourself but you can’t fool me. All you ever expected to accomplish with your threat was to keep Bucksden worried and on edge. Now damn you, tell me what’s changed!” he roared.

The truth in Devanney’s words drove Lucien down onto the settee. The last of his rage evaporated, leaving only fear for Cassie in its wake. That left Lucien looking at what had driven him into rage in the first place, that he didn’t know any other way to protect Cassie except to kill Bucksden. But, killing Bucksden meant risking his own life, a luxury tradition wouldn’t allow him.

“Bucksden intends to harm Cassie and her sister,” Lucien said, shaken by the thought of his life ending and never again waking in a bed next to Cassie.

Across the room Devanney exhaled in noisy relief. The tension drained from his shoulders. His hands opened then he scrubbed his fingers through his hair, destroying the results of Watson’s careful combing.

“Better,” he said, coming to stand in front of Lucien. “Now the rest of it. Why would Bucksden want to harm Mrs. Marston or her sister?”

Lucien laughed, the sound short and harsh. “Imagine this if you will, Devanney,” he said. “Bucksden, the arrogant, cold slayer of men, felled by a slender little beauty armed only with pottery.”

Devanney cocked his head, waiting for more explanation than that. When he didn’t get it right away, he dropped to sit next to Lucien on the settee. Lucien offered him a wry smile. Now that anger was ebbing he could afford to indulge himself in perverse pleasure as he imagined the scene.

“Mrs. Marston knocked the earl senseless with an urn when he threatened her sister. Don’t ask me for the why of it. That’s a tale only she has the right to tell.”

Devanney released another long slow breath. He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “Well now, that’s quite a scenario. You’re right to think Mrs. Marston and Miss Elizabeth in danger. Bucksden’s pride must be writhing. That he’s come so far to find them suggests he has no intention of stopping until he’s revenged himself upon them.”

“Which is why he has to die,” Lucien said, forcing himself to lean back into the settee’s corner and giving thanks that he and his cousin understood each other so well. That Lucien had come here rather than allow rage to send him to Hawick to find Bucksden was proof of that. He couldn’t afford to face Bucksden in a duel while raging. A single breach of the rigid rules that governed such meetings made the difference between murder and the satisfaction of honor with a result that happened to be death.

Devanney nodded. “Huh, I can see how you’d come to that conclusion. Let me ponder for a moment.”

Lucien was content to let his cousin think, and to ponder the situation along with him. There had to be a better way to resolve this debacle. Cassie needed to be safe while Lucien needed to spend the rest of a long life enjoying her touch.

After a silent moment Devanney shot him a smiling, sidelong look. “May I assume that it was Mrs. Marston who kept you from returning last night?”

“You may,” Lucien replied with a half smile.

Devanney tsked and shook his head. “Poor Hastings. He was almost beside himself at the thought of you without fresh clothing. I had to command him to remain here when he wanted to rush off to your lodge.”

Lucien laughed at that, feeling easy in his own skin again. He and Devanney did, indeed, know each other well. He put an elbow on the settee’s arm and bent his smuggest look upon his cousin.

“By the by, you owe me the full three sixty. She was on the road to Edinburgh when I found her.”

“No!” Devanney sat up in surprise. “I vow to you, Lucien. I saw nothing untoward in her play the other night.”

Lucien laughed. “Of course you saw nothing wrong. You and Percy were right. Cassie simply outplayed me.”

Devanney’s brows lowered. He looked like a man who feared he was about to be taken but didn’t know how to stop it. “Then how can I owe you the full amount?”

Lucien grinned. “Because, my dear Devanney, Cassie’s status as a sharp was never a condition of our wager. It was only if I found her anywhere but at Ettrick House. The three sixty is no more than my rightful due after this prank of your. You knew from the start she was no sharp.”

Rather than complain that Lucien had cheated him, a slow smile played across Devanney’s mouth. “I knew nothing of the sort. I didn’t even know she played cards.”