A Seduction at Christmas (12 page)

What had Fee said? The person who had hired the Irishmen would be the one who would gain the most from his death. Neither uncle thought Nick worthy to be duke. They’d said as much often enough.

But would they stoop to murder?

He forced himself to smile at his uncles while inside every fiber of his being recoiled from them. “Will we see you Christmas at Huntleigh?” Nick asked, already knowing the answer. His uncles never missed an opportunity to inspect the estate.

“Of course,” Brandt said. He took out his snuff box and flicked it open with his thumbnail. “I trust, Daisy,” he said to the dowager, “that all is as it should be, or will you be dependent upon our wives’ help again?”

“I can manage,” his mother said quickly. She was sensitive to the use of her given name. His uncles rarely afforded her any respect in private or public.

“Yes,” Nick said. “She has it organized already. Everything is packed and waiting for the moment she leaves.” He changed the subject. “Mother, didn’t you have a coat?” He caught the eye of a servant. “The duchess is leaving. Please see her to the door and fetch her coat. I’ll join you in a moment, Mother.”

His mother seized the opportunity to escape, made cursory farewells and went running off.

Nick faced his relatives whose faces seemingly held no guile. He knew differently. His uncles could be ruthless men.

For a moment, he debated confronting them. They would deny hiring the Irishmen or any involvement in Belkins’s death. He decided the best course would be to have them followed. Until then, he would be all that is pleasant. “It was good seeing you, Uncles, even under these circumstances.”

“We don’t see you enough, Holburn,” Brandt said. “Perhaps we should have supper together before we leave for the country? Richard has returned from India with some interesting stories to tell.”

And give them another chance at him in the city, where there were hundreds of escape routes for their assassins?

No, if they took another shot at Nick again, he wanted it to be done where the killers would be out in the open and on his own land where he was law. His cousin Richard’s stories of India would have to wait.

Inspiration struck. “I’m afraid I will be unable to dine with you before Christmas. I leave for Huntleigh on the morrow.” He’d be better able to protect himself and Fiona there.

“But Christmas is another two weeks away,” Maven said.

“I have some business to attend to on the estate,” Nick answered.

“What of Belkins’s funeral?” Brandt agreed.

“That’s why I’m here today,” Nick answered, giving them his best smile.

“Or the settlement?” Brandt said. “I was under the impression Belkins owed you a great deal of money.”

“He owed everyone,” Nick said, his suspicions being reinforced by such a callous statement. “But considering the circumstances, I will not collect upon the debt. It would not be the action of a gentleman.”

“He owed us,” Brandt said. Seeing Nick’s surprise, he said, “We had shares in a sailing venture we wished to sell. This was before we realized how deeply into the duns he was. After all, his wife had come to him with a great fortune.”

Therefore Belkins would be in a position to do as they bid.

“And will you forgive the debt?” Nick challenged them.

His uncles exchanged glances. “We shall see,” Maven answered, speaking for both.

It took all Nick’s willpower to stand his ground and not back away from these men who had disapproved of him all his life. “Well then, we shall enjoy a cup of Christmas cheer before the fire at Huntleigh when you arrive. Now, if you will excuse me. I need to see to my mother.” He turned and left his uncles without acknowledging their bows.

To his surprise, his mother wasn’t waiting for him by the door. He glanced outside. Her coach still stood by the curb, the door open, the step down.

He turned back into the house, finding it curious his mother wasn’t there. He searched for her in the receiving room.

Lady Belkins was sobbing in the arms of one of her friends as others surrounded her offering
condolences. One woman offered smelling salts; another held out a cup of tea.

Nick wandered through the room and caught a glimpse of his mother in the far corner. She was talking to a square-jawed man of average height. His steel-gray hair was close cropped to his head and he had the presence of a military man.

His mother saw him. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright. She seemed agitated. Meetings with the uncles always upset her.

She waved him over to join them. “Holburn,” she said, “this is a particular friend of mine. Colonel Harry Swanson. He was cavalry,” she added, and Nick realized she wasn’t even thinking about his uncles. Her infatuation for him was clear for all to see. “Colonel, this is my son, the Duke of Holburn.”

“Your Grace,” Swanson said, he clicked his heels like a Prussian as he made his bow.

“Colonel,” Nick acknowledged. He didn’t mind his mother having a suitor. In fact, he was rather surprised she hadn’t had
more
men in her life. She was still very attractive and rather young. But ever since his father’s death, she hadn’t taken a lover or mentioned remarriage.

Now, Nick sensed it was different. Without being told he knew the colonel was his mother’s par
amour. The signs were there in the way she leaned toward him and how solicitous he was to her.

“I was thinking, Dominic,” his mother said, reverting to the informality of his given name, “that Colonel Swanson could join us at Huntleigh for the holidays.”

“That’s a capital idea,” Nick said. The colonel would keep his mother occupied under what, if Nick’s suspicions about his uncles were correct, could be a trying family visit. Besides, he needed a chance to make the officer’s acquaintance. After all, it would be up to Nick to approve or disapprove the match if his mother decided to remarry.

His mother’s smile was as giddy and excited as a young girl’s. “See? I told you my son wouldn’t mind your presence.”

“Well, then, I accept the invitation,” Colonel Swanson answered.

“Good,” Nick said. He turned to his mother. “Are you ready to leave?”

It was obvious she wasn’t anxious to depart now that Colonel Swanson had arrived but she had no choice. They had already stayed far too long.

As he was leading his mother down the front steps of the house, Nick asked, “Why hasn’t he ever come to the house?”

“He has,” she told him.

That was news. “I’ve not met him.”

She paused on the coach step. “Dominic, are you really that interested?”

Her jaded response surprised him. “Of course I am.”

His mother shook her head. “I think not. You are far too busy with your own life to consider mine.”

“That’s not true,” he countered, having heard this complaint before. “I take great interest in your welfare.”

“When you aren’t enjoying your
own
pursuits,” she charged.

“Well, it appears you have ‘pursuits’ too, Mother,” he responded.

“He’s very special,” she said, referring to Colonel Swanson.

“I’m certain,” Nick said, closing the coach door. “I will see you at home?”

“I have some errands to perform so I might not be there until much later. In fact, I am to see friends at dinner this evening.”

So that meant he and Fee would dine alone.

Nick liked the idea.

He also noticed that Colonel Swanson now stood on the front step. His mother pretended to just see him and waved. “Dominic, you don’t mind if I ask Colonel Swanson to accompany me?”

For a second, Nick debated saying no, and then realized he was being overprotective. “No, mother, I don’t mind. By the way, I’m leaving for Huntleigh tomorrow. I have some business to attend to.”

The brightness left her eyes. “Are you going to take your ‘ward’ with you?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “After all, Gillian is there.” Gillian was a distant cousin who was one of many who depended upon him for her support, but she was one he liked. She lived year round at Huntleigh.

His mother pressed her lips together, but in the end could only nod. “Have it your way.” She sat back in her coach and dropped the flap over the window. The driver flicked the reins.

Nick watched his mother’s coach leave. It stopped at the end of the street and picked up Colonel Swanson.

He turned his horse homeward, anxious to share his suspicions and his new information with Fee.

Once home, he went directly to her room. Tad was sleeping in front of her doorway, which surprised him since when he’d left the dog had been inside the room.

Tad looked up as he approached and wagged his tail. Nick took a moment to give him a pat. “It’s a good thing you are a big lad,” he told Tad,
“because I don’t believe you are much of a watch-dog.”

Tad licked his hand in response.

Nick gave a light knock on the door.

There was no answer.

He’d assumed Fee was inside, because Tad was here. He glanced up and down the hall. There was no servant to ask. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Fee
couldn’t
answer the door. Immediately a hundred scenarios leapt to his imagination from her running away to some scoundrel Irishmen being on the other side of the door with a knife at her throat.

Nick opened the door, Tad right on his heels. He slipped inside and was relieved to see Fee in deep sleep on the bed. She lay on her side, her lashes half moons on her cheeks, her body as limber as a cat’s.

Tad slipped past him and went to lay on the floor beside her. Lucky dog, Nick thought, and then, because he could no more stay away from her than a knife blade can resist the pull of a magnet, he, too, moved toward the bed.

A part of him wanted to wake her. He had much news to tell her.

Then again, she appeared so at peace, it gave him pleasure. She was under his care now. He’d not let harm come to her.

The intensity of this wave of protectiveness caught him off guard. He’d not felt this before.

No, he amended, he’d not
let
himself feel this before.

The servants had been in the room. There were toiletries on the dressing table. He assumed they had found dresses for her and had hung them in the wardrobe. He wondered what she’d think when she saw them. He hoped she’d be pleased but Fee was an independent spirit. She might not thank him.

So, Fiona was a magistrate’s daughter, which explained why she was intelligent and well-spoken. Nick was discovering that when it came to his Fee, he wanted every one of her secrets.

No, he wanted something more. He wanted her to trust. He wanted to be her hero.

He almost laughed out loud at the whimsy of his thoughts. Who was he fooling? He was a far cry from the sort of man a woman like her could love.

But for the first time, he discovered he wanted to be.

He backed away from the bed, his gaze never leaving the sleeping woman.

The Oracle had warned him—
Beware innocence.
He’d avoided it for years.

But now, his Fee had found him…and as he
closed the door to let her sleep, he realized they had been fated to meet from the moment they were born.

The question now was, had she come to help him? Or destroy him?

The answer was, it no longer mattered. The tides of fate were in motion.

F
iona woke to the sensation of Tad’s cold black nose nudging her hand.

Slowly she opened her eyes and was momentarily confused by her surroundings in the early morning light. She realized she’d been dreaming. It has been over a year since she could recall dreaming.

She lay with her head resting on the soft counterpane, able to feel her heart beating as memories came rolling back to her.

Her mother had been in her dream. They’d sat in this very bedroom with its yellow walls and plush blue upholstery and bed curtains. They’d
talked the way they always had. Her mother had been her closest friend. Her confidante. Her advisor.

She’d sat by the dressing table wearing the green high-necked gown that had been her favorite. Fiona had been on the bed where she lay now. They’d talked…laughed, and yet, Fiona could not recall one word that had been said no matter how hard she strained her memory.

All that remained of the dream was the fleeting sense of her mother’s presence and that she was not unhappy where she was—and that was something precious.

In fact, the love in her mother’s smile had been genuine. Her skin had been radiant with health.

Fiona’s last memories of her mother in life had been far different. She’d wasted away, lost in the pain of humiliation and disappointment. She’d been unable to go on without her husband or the prestige that had once been theirs.

This hadn’t been just a dream, it had been a blessing…and Fiona wondered why it had come at this moment in time? In the days and months after her mother’s death, she’d prayed for such a dream without solace.

Again, Tad pushed her hand again with his nose, wanting her to rise. That’s when Fiona remembered
where she was. She gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.

“Have you gone out?” she asked him. “Or run over to that park?”

The dog panted his answer and nudged her for more pets.

“Give me a moment to wake,” Fiona said, stretching her arms. She yawned, feeling completely lazy and relishing it. The room was toasty warm. A servant had come in and laid a fire in the hearth that lacked the soot and smoke of the one in Fiona’s old rooms.

Perhaps
this
was the dream, she wondered, and she’d wake to all her old worries. Her stomach would be empty, her feet cold, and she’d be anxious over whether or not she’d have money to make it through the week.

At that moment, the door to the room opened and a maid with a mob cap carrying a newly pressed dress of periwinkle wool over her arm quietly entered the room. She walked over to a changing screen and hung the dress.

Fiona feigned sleep.
Was the dress for her?
She’d been so tired she’d slept in her blue one, which was now hopelessly wrinkled.

Tad wagged his tail. Apparently the maid wasn’t a stranger to him. She wore the ducal blue
uniform with a huge apron tied around her waist and a mobcap over her frizzy brown and gray curls. Her cheeks were as rosy as cherries and her mouth appeared always ready to smile.

She gave one of those smiles to Tad and it was in looking in his direction that she realized Fiona was awake.

“I beg pardon, miss. You surprised me. It is time for you to wake but you’ve been sleeping so soundly, I’d not had the heart to disturb you.”

“What time is it?” Fiona asked.

“Why, half past seven. You slept right through the afternoon yesterday and into the night. It’s early but His Grace is hoping to be on the road for Huntleigh after breakfast. My name is Sarah. I’ve been with the family a long time and His Grace asked that I look after you.”

Fiona frowned at the news that Holburn expected her to travel with him. What was he up to now? She pushed the tangled mess of her hair back over her shoulder. Her makeshift braid had come undone and now her hair was a sign of how hard she had slept. She sat up.

“Where is Huntleigh?” she said and then paused as she realized her silver brush was in the bed with her.

She picked it up. She didn’t remember using it the night before. However, in her dream, her
mother had held it in her hand. Her mother had always handled the brush when she’d come into Fiona’s room. She’d said she liked the weight of it. That’s the reason she had purchased it as a gift for Fiona.

“The family home is in Lynsted in Kent. The title is an old one and has gone through several changes,” the maid talked as she bustled around the room opening the drapes and setting things right. “They were once the Earls of Lynsted, but when they were made dukes, the king decided to change the surname. Who knows why? Kings do as they please.”

Fiona managed a quiet, “Yes,” to Sarah’s tale of family history. The brush brought out a superstitious chill in her.

“I’ll have hot water sent up for a bath, miss,” Sarah said. “However, until then, this water in the basin is warm. I’ve set out tooth powder and a cake of the finest soap you will find anywhere.” She walked over to the dressing screen. “I also took the liberty of pressing a dress for you to wear today. If it isn’t to your liking, I can always bring another.”

“That dress is for me?” Fiona repeated, wondering if her still sleep-addled brains were letting her hear correctly. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and went over to the dressing screen to
investigate. Tad came along with her as if he’d had a hand in the surprise.

The dress was marine blue and made of the softest wool Fiona had ever touched. Pleats had been sewn across a bodice trimmed in snowy white lace. “It’s lovely,” Fiona said.

“Well, if you don’t like it,” Sarah answered, “you may take a look at the ones in the wardrobe and choose something different.”

“The wardrobe?” Fiona repeated. She hurried over to it, flinging open the doors to find at least a half dozen dresses hanging there. There were several as warm and serviceable as the marine wool, but there were also dresses of finer materials. Dresses that could be worn to dinner or church or anywhere there was good company. There were also three pairs of slippers on the wardrobe floor and several shawls hanging from a peg.

“Where did these come from?” Fiona asked, turning to Sarah. She knew first-hand how long it would take to make dresses of this quality.

“His Grace had his man Gannon see to the matter,” Sarah answered, smiling as if she was pleased by Fiona’s reaction. “Between he and Docket, there isn’t anything that can’t be done if His Grace wants it. There’s all the frillies us women so like in the dresser drawers as well. I’ll be back to lay
them out once I’ve given the word to send the hot water up for your bath.” She left the room.

Fiona looked at Tad, who regarded her with bright, shiny eyes. “Yes, I know,” Fiona said. “We have landed in a field of clover.” She knelt beside the dog, putting her arm around him. “But what will he expect in return?” Still, she couldn’t resist a happy sigh. “Did you notice that one of the dresses is a riding habit?”

Tad cocked his head, and Fiona laughed. It had been a long time since she’d ridden. Another lifetime ago.

She rose to her feet, catching her image in the mirror. She shouldn’t accept the dresses…“But then, what would I have to wear?” she asked the image, and the image smiled, knowing she was going to adore wearing such fine materials.

Fiona walked to the basin and began washing her face.

Once again, Sarah had been right.

The soap
was
the finest she’d ever seen.

By the time she was bathed, coiffed, and dressed, Fiona felt like a new woman. She went down the stairs to the dining room. Tad followed at her heels.

Sarah had proved a godsend. She had a supply
of creams and lotions that made Fiona’s skin feel smooth again. She was also talented with a brush and had styled Fiona’s hair up high on her head. Between Sarah’s ministrations and the marine-blue dress, Fiona felt like a lady again.

Docket met her at the stairs with the information that the duke was enjoying his breakfast in the dining room. Fiona took a moment to quell a new nervousness.

Holburn’s generosity had opened her heart. Yes, he was an attractive man, and a duke! But in her experience, not many men would demonstrate such consideration. Or be so generous.

His kindness raised the stakes. It made that attraction between them more than simple lust.

He could not have been so thoughtful if he didn’t care about her.

And she was beginning to care about him. Deeply.

Common sense warned her to be careful, but this morning, she didn’t want such warnings. This morning she wanted to bask in the glow of her happiness. She wanted to believe anything could happen, including falling in love.

She walked into the dining room.

Holburn sat at the end of the table with the morning papers in front of him and his custom
ary mug of cider. The light of a winter dawn came through the window overlooking the small back garden and framed his broad shoulders and dark hair. He appeared confident, roguely handsome, and every inch the duke in his riding clothes.

He looked up at the sound of her entrance and his surprised reaction to the “new” her was everything she could have wished. A slow, approving grin spread across his face.

He rose from the table and came around to her. “Fee,” he said, the heat in the one word of her nickname saying volumes. And then he laughed at his own awkwardness and she could only smile happily.

“Thank you,” she said, her throat threatening to close with the pent-up emotion behind the words. “The dresses are lovely. Everything is lovely.”

“It’s my honor.” There was so much warmth in his gaze as he spoke, heat rushed to her cheeks.

If she had her way, they would stand here forever, the two of them in perfect accord.

“Come, sit down,” he said. “You must meet my Aunt Agatha.” He stepped back and Fiona saw a petite woman in turban and shawls sitting at the table. Fiona’s attention had been so focused on Holburn she’d completely overlooked the tiny woman’s presence.

The duke led Fiona over to the table. Aunt Agatha was crumbling toast. She didn’t look up but concentrated on her task.

“Aunt Agatha,” the duke said in a loud voice. “This is Miss Fiona Lachlan. Miss Lachlan,” he said with formality, “this is my great aunt, Lady Kensett.”

Fiona was beginning to think the woman senile, when Aunt Agatha turned remarkably sharp eyes up to her. Fiona curtseyed. Lady Kensett smiled her approval. “Pretty manners. Pretty girl. I can see why you like her, Holburn.”

The duke laughed. “Aunt Agatha seems sweet,” he said to Fiona, raising his voice loud enough for his aunt to hear, “but she’s as sharp as a tartar. Keeps me in line.”

Lady Kensett snorted her thoughts and began chewing her toast. Tad moved over to her chair and laid down at her feet, waiting for crumbs. Fiona would have called him off but the duke waved her objection aside.

Instead, he leaned close. “Your night’s sleep agreed with you.”

“I haven’t slept so well in years,” she confessed. “And thank you, thank you,
thank you
for this dress. I know I shouldn’t accept it—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a duke, you know.” He drawled his words like a pink of the
ton
. “My
household has a certain image it must maintain. At least, that’s what all my relatives tell me.”

“I’m not a relative—”

He cut her off. “No more objections, Fee. A few dresses are a small payment for your saving my life. And for right now, you are my ward. Aunt Agatha will be our chaperone on the trip so rest easy. By the way, our Irish friends seem to have disappeared.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her attention diverted from his use of the words, “for right now.”

The duke drew her over to the sideboard and handed her a plate. In a low voice he said, “One of them was watching us yesterday. He was hiding in the park. I had a groomsman keep an eye on him and follow him if he left.”

“And?” Fiona prompted.

Holburn speared a slice of beef and put it on her plate before saying, “And nothing. According to Peter, the Irishman followed me to Belkins’s house. Peter kept an eye on him but there was a crush of callers yesterday. The man slipped away and has not returned. He’s vanished. I sent other men to watch your building, but no Irishmen there either.”

“Did you see Grace?”

“Yes, I warned her.”

“What did you learn from Lady Belkins?” Fiona asked, wanting to know everything.

Holburn brought his head closer to hers. “I know Belkins didn’t die from a simple fall off his horse. Everyone can say what they wish but I saw his head. Someone bashed it in.”

Fiona’s appetite fled. “What are we going to do?”

“We are leaving today for the country.”

“That’s what the maid said.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. How will that help?”

“Because they can’t hide from us out there the way they can here. We’re going to draw them out, Fee. Don’t worry. You will be safe. I’ll have good men riding with us in the coach. Of course, once we are in Kent, we’ll be on my land and I’ll control the battle.” He carried her plate over to the breakfast table and set it down beside where he was seated. “But I’ve been thinking about the question you asked—who has the most to gain?”

He glanced over at Aunt Agatha. She was still eating toast and sipping tea. Fiona noted there were no servants in the room.

Holburn swung his gaze to meet hers. “I suspect my uncles,” he said.

“Family members?” she repeated, stunned by the thought.

“They are the only ones who gain since they are next in line for the title.”

“But members of your own family…” She let her voice drift off, troubled by the implications. “What of this Spaniard?”

“You’ve made me reconsider this matter. It is too simple to blame Ramigio. His name was on the letter Belkins received the afternoon before he died, but the truth is, Andres hasn’t been heard from for years. I’ve sent men in search of him and they have returned without any information. For all I know, Ramigio could be dead. Certainly there were a number of men who have probably wanted to kill him.”

“Good heavens, why?” she asked, startled by the pronouncement.

“He was a charming scoundrel. A good drinking companion but not someone who could be trusted. He proved that to me…back in the days when I was much the same way. Those are the sorts of men who usually find themselves in the worst trouble. To be honest, there have been many times I could have throttled him over the ring.”