The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (13 page)

Of course, they’d blame him for their woes.

They always blamed him for their woes.

He returned to the ballroom, preferring to remain by the open doors to the terrace in the event he wished to make a quiet departure. He wasn’t enjoying the ball and had no intention of exchanging pleasantries with most of the Upper Crust in attendance. In truth, he planned on leaving shortly.

From his vantage point beside the ballroom doors, he watched his mother make her way into the Wakeford dining room for midnight sweets and other refreshments. She was escorted by his younger cousin, Edmund. Simon, the elder of his cousins, was now emerging from the card room. No doubt he’d lost a tidy sum, for he seemed angry. A desperate sort of angry. A dangerous mix of desperate and angry.

Ian had never thought much of his cousins. They were arrogant young men, and he trusted them not at all. Had one of them hired the ruffians who had tried to kill him last November? Perhaps both had been in on the plan, no doubt with his mother’s blessing. Or at her goading. It would be easy enough to find out. He simply hadn’t bothered to investigate.

In truth, he hadn’t wanted their involvement confirmed. It was one thing for his mother to detest him, but to actually undertake to kill him? The thought made his stomach churn. What would she have to gain by it? Only Simon would benefit by his death, for he was next in line to the dukedom.

Simon shot him a malevolent look and stalked across the dance floor toward him. “Good evening,
Your Grace
. Seems you’ve disgraced the family again.”

Ian caught the stale scent of whiskey on his cousin’s breath. No surprise there since his cousin had been drinking all evening.
Great
. Desperate, angry, and drunk. Should make for a lovely conversation. “I’m surprised to see you here, Simon. Can’t say I’m pleased.”

“Didn’t think you would be. I can’t stand you either.” Simon’s insult might have been more effective had he been less drunk. He’d slurred his words so that they were almost unintelligible. “Never thought you’d kill a woman.”

Ian arched an eyebrow. The man before him was falling-down drunk, had probably paid to have him killed, but
he
was the disgrace. Ah, his family was an endless font of joy. “I didn’t, as you well know. Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe the lies you’ve been spreading? I might have to do something about that.”

He returned Simon’s gaze with an icy one of his own, pleased when his cousin paled and took a small step back. Simon was a big man, built like a bull. He had the temperament of a bull, as well. Easy to rile, always stomping and angry.

Ian wasn’t in the least intimidated by him. He was almost a head taller than Simon and much stronger. A lot angrier, too. A cold, quiet anger. Far deadlier than Simon’s bluster.

“You’re a bastard, Ian.”

That’s clever.

“Been down to the docks lately, Simon? You ought to get your advance back from those wharf rats. After all, they didn’t accomplish their task. I’m still alive. Still duke.”

His cousin shot him a glower, his Markham green eyes showing no warmth. “Not for long, I hope.”

Ian put an arm around Simon’s shoulder, a gesture that might appear friendly to others who were passing by but wasn’t. Simon was desperate to inherit the dukedom. Ian wasn’t about to hand it to him on a silver platter. The man was a wastrel. He’d never worked a decent day in his life. Yet he knew how to spend. Mostly, he knew how to lose at the gaming halls. He’d destroy the Edgeware holdings within a few short years of acquiring them.

Ian tightened his grip on his cousin’s arm. “Try that little stunt again, Simon, and I’ll cut off your bullocks and stuff them down your throat. I know it was you and Edmund who planned the attack on me. He’s a little toady, always ready to do your bidding.”

Since his hand was still on Simon’s shoulder, he felt the shudder that ran through the arrogant sod.
Sniveling coward.
Edmund, without Simon to lead him astray, might have made something of himself. But he was the younger brother and worshiped his older sibling. Much as Ian had worshiped his own brother.

“You got away with it because I let you get away with it. I won’t be so generous next time.” He tightened his hold on Simon until he saw his cousin flinch. “Understand me?”

“You’re breaking my arm,” Simon said in a harsh whisper. “Let go of me.”

“Give my regards to Edmund and my mother.” Ian released his cousin and watched him scurry into the dining hall, no doubt to complain of his mistreatment. He reminded Ian of a frightened, squealing pig.

“You all right?” Gabriel asked, coming up beside him and offering him a glass of champagne.

“Never better.” He wanted to step outside to cool down, but Gabriel would know he was rattled and ask questions that Ian had no desire to answer. He drank the offered champagne and turned away, pretending to watch the dancers as the orchestra struck up a lively gavotte.

Hellfire.

He saw Dillie amid the dancers, stepping and twirling to the music in the arms of Charles Ealing. The bastard had claimed her for a second dance. “Bloody great ball. So glad I came. Having a wonderful time.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “Surlier than usual, aren’t we? It’s those stupid rumors. What can I do to help?”

“Get lost, Gabriel.” His gaze remained on Dillie, who appeared to be having a glorious time. Damn the girl. Damn him that he cared. “Who appointed you my nursemaid?”

“No one, you ass. But you look like hell. I thought I’d offer my help.”

Ian sighed and turned to face his friend. “Sorry. I appreciate the offer. No need to help. I have it under control.”

He drained the contents of his glass, set it on the tray of a passing servant, and started for the terrace once again. He was in need of cooling down before he did something stupid like flatten Simon, Edmund, and Charles Ealing. Not that Ealing was doing anything wrong. He wasn’t. But Ian didn’t like the way he had his hands on Dillie.

He didn’t like the hungry way Ealing was eyeing Dillie.

Until this moment he hadn’t considered Ealing the sort to take a step out of line, but the clunch had been drinking, and Dillie looked breathtakingly beautiful. Innocent and beautiful.

Any man would want to put his hands all over her.

Of course, he’d have to kill Charles Ealing if he tried.

He knew he was being surly, just as Gabriel had said.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ian. Not a good idea.”

He turned to face Gabriel, only now realizing that his friend had followed him outdoors. He frowned. In truth, he was out of sorts and thinking the worst of everyone, whether or not deserved. Still, Ealing was in his cups and obviously feeling randy. His hands kept sliding down Dillie’s back. Dillie wasn’t liking it. She kept easing out of his grasp.

Ian suddenly felt possessive.

He knew he was being unreasonable. Behaving as though Dillie was his. Not that he planned to do anything about it. Still, he didn’t want anyone else touching her.
Dog in the manger again.
He couldn’t have her. Didn’t want anyone else to have her. Didn’t like that Ealing had her. He wanted to flatten Ealing. One punch. That’s all it would take.

“Ian?” Gabriel’s hand was now on his shoulder.

He shook his head and sighed. His family hated him, had tried to kill him, yet he was mad as a hornet because Ealing was dancing with Dillie.
Damn.
He’d earlier told Gabriel that he had matters under control.

It wasn’t true.

He was a shambles. He didn’t have anything under control.

***

Dillie realized that she ought to have been paying more attention to the gavotte. She’d stepped on Charles’ feet at least twice so far, but he’d forgiven her each time. He was a little drunk and probably feeling pleasantly numb, which was a good thing since he hadn’t noticed that she’d just stepped on his foot again.

His hand slipped a little lower on her waist so she moved it back up. He apologized, obviously doing his best to concentrate, though the champagne and whiskey he’d imbibed throughout the evening had obviously fogged his brain.

He must have knocked back quite a bit more than a few drinks.

She’d had three or four glasses of champagne herself, which explained her inability to concentrate on Charles or their dance. Her gaze constantly flew to Ian, who was standing against the wall, arms still folded across his chest, looking quite daunting. He stood alone, stiff as a crossbeam, as though propping up the wall.

He unfolded his arms as Gabriel approached and handed him a drink.

Charles let out a yelp.

Dillie returned her attention to him. She really had to be more careful. “I’m so sorry! I’ve stepped on your toes again.”

“You’re forgiven. I think you’re tired,” he said gently.

She nodded. “I’m not used to all the dancing and excitement.”

Charles held her a little too closely as they continued the gavotte. “The London season can be quite overwhelming, even to those of us who have experienced it over the years. This is your first. You’ll get through it.”

“Actually, this is my second season.”

He shot her a blank stare. “You were in town last year?”

“Yes, I’m certain we discussed it.” No matter, most society conversations were vapid and easily forgotten. “But I am quite spent,” she admitted. “We country girls aren’t used to these late hours.”

His eyes brightened and he cast her an odd, rakish smile. “Ah, I’ve heard that country girls quite enjoy their beds at night.”

Dillie agreed, for the cool breezes and outdoor activities had a way of tiring one out. “Quite so. Nothing better.”

“I love country girls. They’re lots of fun. Lots of fun indeed.”

She nodded, not sure why his eyes were suddenly gleaming like two bright lanterns and his smile was now an open-mouthed, toothy grin.

“Perhaps we should end this torture and take a stroll on the terrace,” he suggested. “My cousin is out there and will be grateful for the company.”

Dillie agreed without hesitation. The scent of hot, sweating bodies now permeated the ballroom and left an unpleasant tickle in her nose. Charles had a pungent air about him as well. The promise of a lilac-scented walk in the cool of the evening sounded perfect. There was nothing untoward about a casual stroll since they’d be joining Lady Mary. He’d mentioned her several times during their dance, obviously concerned for her welfare.

The torch-lit terrace was crowded as they stepped out onto it, but Dillie enjoyed the pleasant breeze. At least thirty guests stood about in small groups, the ladies fanning themselves while some gentlemen smoked cigars. Others held drinks in their hands. “I don’t see Lady Mary,” Dillie remarked, craning her head to search beyond the immediate crowd. She leaned over the balustrade to look across the flower beds. It was early spring and only the lilacs, primroses, and bluebells were in bloom.

Charles also looked around. “She may have walked to the fountain. She mentioned earlier that she might. Let’s have a look.”

“It’s awfully dark back there. Do you think she would have strayed so far on her own?” In truth, the garden wasn’t very large and most of it could be seen from the terrace, but there were a few dark nooks, no doubt where lovers hid to do all the naughty things she had been warned never to do.

“This is her first ball since her husband’s death. I’m worried about her. Will you help me find her?”

Dillie hesitated. She trusted Charles, but didn’t wish to walk into one of those dark places with him. Yet he seemed genuinely concerned for his cousin.

He took her hand and pressed it lightly. His fingers felt hot and clammy. “She might be feeling lonely. I wouldn’t know what to say to comfort her. I’d be most grateful if you stayed with me.”

She agreed for several reasons. First, he truly appeared concerned. Second, he wasn’t likely to make it down the steps on his own, for he was swaying and in danger of falling flat on his face. She placed her other hand under his arm, bracing his weight against her shoulder. “Of course. I’ll be glad to help.”

Charles smiled that odd, drunken smile again.

She managed to guide him down the terrace steps and endure his overly enthusiastic gratitude. He leaned close. He still felt clammy and smelled pungent. He reached for her hand again, and missed when she hastily stepped back.

He tried again and wound up giving her hand a sloppy, wet kiss.

Ugh!
She felt as though Jasper, her brother-in-law’s enormous sheepdog, had slobbered over her fingers, for Charles’ tongue was that wet and sticky. She extricated her hand from his grasp. “Stand still. You keep falling on me.”

He giggled.

Crumpets, perhaps he’s a little more drunk than I realized.
She sighed. “Come on, let’s find Mary.”

They made their way onto the pebble pathway between the flower beds and yew shrubs, and he began to call out his cousin’s name. Then he made a lewd rhyme out of Mary’s name.

Dillie frowned. “Be quiet, Charles.”

“Why should I?” Another giggle. “You’re a country girl. You’ve said so yourself.”

What did that mean? A little prickle ran up her spine. Being out here alone with him suddenly didn’t seem quite so sensible. “Why don’t you stay right here while I look for her? I think it will be easier if I search on my own.”

“Can’t let you do that. It isn’t safe. I must protect you.” He swayed as he spoke, back and forth like a tree branch on a stiff breeze. His speech was slurred, and his grin was little more than an unattractive leer. He hiccupped. Lily had once explained to her the intensifying effect of cold air on an inebriated person. Something about the fermentation process within one’s body. She hadn’t paid attention at the time. Her mistake.

Charles still had that odd glint in his eyes.

“Don’t move,” she commanded. “I’ll find her. Wait right here.”

He nodded. “Right here,” he said, pointing to his toes.

She rolled her eyes. Would this evening never end? For the most part, Charles was an amiable fellow. She tolerated him when he was sober. She didn’t like him nearly so much when he was drunk, for he was far cruder and more... uninhibited than she’d realized. He also believed himself to be irresistible to women.