Must Be Magic (25 page)

He shrugged at her question. “Stirring trouble?”

“That certainly ought to let all society know you're back,” she said wryly as they reached the open glass doors.

“I don't intend to hide. I must either go about as if I've done no wrong, or hang myself from the chandelier to achieve public approbation,” he said, swinging her through the open double doors and into the humidity of the indoor jungle.

“Did that emerald belong to Celia?”

“One like it. That one's glass.” Dunstan caught a coil of her hair around his finger and drew her toward him. “I don't feel like a monkey in a suit when you're around. All I think about is you.”

She drank in his words, knowing from the tense muscle jumping over his cheekbones that he did not say them lightly. Perhaps he was feeling as light-headed and confused as she was. “Will you dance with me later?” she whispered.

His mouth relaxed into a smile when she did not laugh at his declaration. “I will, if you make it a country dance,” he agreed. “I can manage that without crushing too many feet. Did you know that your nephew frequented the same crowds as Celia?”

“No, but I should have if she dallied with the likes of Wickham and Lord John. They've been invited tonight. Who else is on your list?”

“Townsend, and I imagine anyone else in that crowd. But there is no motive that we can discern. Could she have been blackmailing someone?”

“I shall speak disparagingly of Celia and see what happens,” Leila promised. “It's one thing to know I can smell fear, and quite another to figure out how to use that knowledge. Watch closely and listen in, if you can.”

Dunstan eyed her low-cut bodice and growled. “I'll watch closely, no doubt, but not for Celia's sake. Do not smile too brightly at the louts, or I'll be hard-pressed not to tell the world you're mine alone.”

His possessiveness tugged at Leila's heart, and she would have gasped at the surprise of it had she not perceived the same startlement in Dunstan as the words emerged from his mouth.

“I think you know my smiles at any other man mean nothing,” she muttered.

“That's not been my experience with women, so don't test me on it,” he warned. “I know I have no right to place my claim on you, but I'm not strong in logic at the moment.”

She understood. Primitive feelings warred in her breast as well, feelings that neither of them dared act upon, as he had warned. “Did you love Celia?” she whispered, entirely against her will.

Dunstan froze for a moment, then leaned against a table. An orchid trailed across his forehead, and he brushed it away. “I doubt I know the meaning of love,” he answered carefully. “Celia was lovely, enchanting. She was like a beautiful butterfly that couldn't be pinned down. I had some odd notion that if I set her free, she would see the world for what it was and come back to me.”

Leila heard the self-disgust in his voice. “You loved her,” she said with conviction, having seen him with his son and understanding his enormous capacity for that emotion. “You loved her, you gave up your son for her, and she betrayed you. But those who love and respect you will never betray you as she did. Trust us.” Nervous at revealing far more than she'd intended, Leila straightened a pin in her hair and adjusted the silver butterfly adorning it. “They're preparing for the first dance. Behave, and I'll find you later.”

Dazed, Dunstan let her escape, standing at the conservatory entrance as he watched Leila's ebony hair soar past all the commonplace whites and grays around her. Even the brilliance of her midnight-blue gown seemed to outshine the pallid pinks and greens of the other guests, and something deep within his chest stirred and woke. He had very little comprehension of society's idea of female perfection, but amazingly, Leila satisfied his every definition. Pride that she had chosen him above all others suffused him with confidence.

Swallowing a large lump in his throat as he considered Leila's parting words, Dunstan stared at the brilliant chandeliers smoking with pleasant aromas in the next room. Could his guilt over letting Celia die actually be the guilt of having lost one he once loved?

He would have to be soft inside to have loved Celia, even for a short time, yet he had perceived his feelings as love. And he wasn't a soft man, was he? Leila was daft to suggest it.

No, she wasn't. Leila could see right through him, painful as that was to admit.

Joseph and David crept back to see if he'd survived his encounter with Leila unscathed, and Dunstan offered them a wry shrug. “Still have the skin on my back. Go fight over Felicity. I'll be fine.”

His illegitimate half brothers had grown up in London, and possessed the town polish of their sophisticated mother but not the advantage of marriage lines to give them names. Dunstan was grateful for the Malcolm eccentricity that had allowed them to be here. He supposed he ought to show his gratitude in other ways.

Refraining from dropping cigars on the feet of pompous asses would be a start. He was torn between wanting to stay out of sight so as not to taint the ball with the stigma of his black reputation and wanting to parade about the ballroom to show he had nothing to fear. The latter had the advantage of allowing him to keep an eye on Leila.

His concern for the lady won the battle.

Marching back to the fountain room, Dunstan silenced a whispering twit by glowering down at him from his lofty height, sauntered past a gaggle of Leila's suitors with a hauteur that had them stepping out of his way, and stalked into the spinning glitter of dancers in the main room.

Leila had taught him that he had nothing to be ashamed of if he preferred pigs and sheep to society's entertainment. He was a farmer, and if society didn't like what they saw, that was their loss and none of his. Seeing the glittering company as individuals instead of objects to be despised had a freeing effect on him.

He shrugged off any lingering anxiety and waded into the crowd. Music poured around him in accompaniment with the swirl of skirts and laughter. The heavy perfumes of hundreds of people pressed into the same warm room thickened as he proceeded deeper into the crush. Powdered and bewigged men whispered behind his back. Ladies in enormous swaying panniers tittered behind their fans and followed his progress with their gazes. Towering over most of them, Dunstan would once have felt awkward. Tonight, he had only one thought—his height allowed him to find Leila in the crowd.

A slow smile curved his mouth as he located her stack of dark curls in the center of the dancing. Measuring Leila's exotic features against the classic perfection of other women, he supposed she was more striking than beautiful, but her glowing character lit her from within.

Dunstan stuck his hand in his pocket and leaned one shoulder against a fluted pillar. He smiled for Leila's sake when she flung him a laughing glance.

He had no reason to believe she wore her hair unpowdered just for him, no more than he had reason to believe she laughed more gaily or glittered more brilliantly for his benefit. But the way her gaze sought him out gave him the confidence to believe she did.

Keeping her in sight, he relaxed and turned his powers of observation on the rest of the crowd. He noted the entrance of Lord John Albemarle and the young Viscount Staines before Leila was aware of it. They escorted a woman Dunstan recognized as Lord John's sister, Lady Mary. Behind them followed Henry Wickham, looking disdainful.

Dunstan watched his elegant enemy whisper into the ear of another gentleman, observed with interest the way murmurs rippled through the crowd wherever the foursome walked—knew when he gradually became the focus of every gaze within their vicinity.

Dunstan had no quarrel with the Malcolms, and he sincerely liked shy Felicity. He didn't want to disturb the child's first ball. But hell would freeze over before he let maggots like those four malign his family and tarnish his reputation with their lies.

Grimly, he shoved away from the post and plowed straight through the crowd in the direction of the troublemakers.

No more hiding out, licking his wounds. He might not care about himself, but he was prepared to fight for those he loved.

Leila's nose for trouble twitched, but she couldn't break away from the dancing without causing concern and disruption.

Trying not to panic, searching for Dunstan through the swirl of dancers, she survived the final steps of the dance, curtsied to her partner, and instantly swung toward the entrance.

Her breath caught at the sight of Dunstan offering his arm to the insipid Lady Mary.

She'd never suffered a moment's jealousy in her life, but flaming arrows of fury shot through her breast now. At the same time, the scent of calamity rose from across the ballroom. Glancing around, she realized she wasn't the only one who sensed danger.

Aunt Stella appeared in the doorway leading to the gaming rooms. The duchess always knew what was happening and who was involved.

Leila's mother fluttered nervously toward Felicity, shooing her in the direction of the supper room.

With a sigh of resignation, Leila noted that both Joseph and David Ives had miraculously appeared from wherever they'd been hiding. Violence simmered in the air.

As Dunstan descended the stairs with Lady Mary, Wickham stared daggers after them. Lord John appeared on the verge of apoplexy, and Staines seemed slightly bewildered.

If Leila could have been certain the ballroom wouldn't burst into flames from the mounting tension, she would have watched the coming confrontation almost with anticipation.

But flames seemed the most likely result. Gathering her skirts, she sailed toward Dunstan and his companions, cursing the musicians who struck up a country dance just before she reached them. She would kick the obstinate Ives for fomenting rebellion, but the music carried him away from her. In retaliation, she caught Wickham's arm.

“You're late,” she reprimanded him. “I saved this dance for you.”

Looking startled and just enough off balance for Leila to lead him into the dance, Wickham glanced from Lady Mary to Dunstan and back to Leila. He smiled slowly. “My pleasure, my lady.”

The steps of the dance did not leave her in his company for long. She landed in the arms of young Joseph Ives for a lengthy swing. “Keep Felicity occupied,” she hissed at him as they circled together. “I'll deal with your brother.”

“You'll be the first one who could deal with him, then,” Joseph warned. “Rampaging bulls have more restraint than Dunstan when his temper rises.”

“It's not aroused yet,” she assured him, before swirling away to her next partner.

She linked arms with Dunstan in the allemande—just long enough to catch a strong whiff of his jealousy. She shot him a warning look, which he ignored with a smirk.

The man was
jealous.
Over her? Simply because she danced with Wickham as he danced with Lady Mary?

She'd stirred an Ives to an irrational emotion! Dunstan's proprietary attitude made her feel—desired? Powerful? And deuced annoyed that he still thought her no better than Celia.

The music brought her back to Wickham before she could think of any magic spells with which to cast all men to Hades.

“Perhaps we should retreat to the balcony for fresh air after this invigorating dance?” Wickham inquired as the musicians plucked the last note.

She could better smell his intentions in the open air. Or drive Dunstan from mischievous to dangerous in a matter of seconds.

“No, thank you,” she answered, trying not to glance around too obviously. Where
was
the damned man? She still sniffed danger. “I must see to our other guests.”

With a gesture of dismissal, she turned away, only to bump directly into Lord John. Foreboding permeated the air around him. “I did not expect you to show your face, sir,” she said coldly, sweeping her skirts away from him.

“I am the innocent here, my lady,” he protested. “You are the one who invites murderers to accost my sister.”

Damn Dunstan. Just what was he up to? And where?

Raising her chin so she must look down on the arrogant young lord, Leila regarded him with hauteur. “If there is a murderer here, sir, I wish you would point him out to me. I've seen no evidence of one.” Lifting her heavy silk, she nodded regally at a lady beyond his shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests.”

Lord John grabbed her elbow and whispered in her ear before she could escape. “I'd suggest you strive to find my company more to your liking, my lady. Your nephew may soon become part of my family, and I can make both your lives exceedingly unpleasant if you do not act with a tad less condescension.”

She gifted the puppy with a look of scorn. “I believe you mistake me for Celia Ives,” she said, startling even herself with the comparison. “I suggest you find someone who is more your kind to terrorize. I'll not let you blackmail the boy into marrying just so you might live off him like the leech you are.”

Now that Staines had been brought to her attention, Leila searched the room for him. Instead, she discovered Dunstan bearing down on them with menace written across his taut jaw. She almost laughed at the odor of cowardice emanating from the young lord, who abruptly released her elbow.

Dunstan halted in front of them before Lord John could escape. Although he clasped his big fists behind his elegantly garbed back, the set of his jaw alone was menacing. “Her grace commands your presence, my lady,” he intoned without inflection. His gaze fixed challengingly upon Lord John even as he spoke to Leila.

“I daresay if she did, she also commanded yours,” Leila replied wryly. “So which battle do you wish to commence first, hers or yours?”

With a wicked gleam, Dunstan offered his arm. “Malcolm women frighten me far more than this insect.” He didn't even glance back at Lord John as he added, “We'll meet another time, sir. Your sister awaits you on the balcony.”

Covering her hand with his own, Dunstan dragged Leila through the crowd of curious onlookers and toward the anteroom where her aunt waited.

Dunstan's large stature provided an easy target for slanderous tongues, but he shielded her from them as he escorted her through the throng. Leila had no doubt that he would defend her with his last breath, should it come to that.

She patted his arm. “You are a very admirable man, Dunstan Ives. I do not have your courage and fortitude, but I shall attempt to learn them. I'm certain those qualities would benefit our daughter.”

Unwilling to admit any more than that, Leila sailed forward to greet her aunt, leaving Dunstan stunned. He couldn't dismiss the pride she'd instilled in him with her words. He'd always had some inkling of his own worth, but Celia had called him cold, and his mother had recommended humility.

Lady Leila apparently wished to imitate him.

He didn't think that a wise resolve. Rather than ponder her meaning, he concentrated on the ladies' argument.

“You endanger yourself and all around you with this investigation, Leila,” Stella admonished her niece. “Take your Ives and his ways back to the country where they belong, and let us find the villain on our own.”

“Lord John has some hold over Staines. I could smell it on him,” Leila argued. “I can't leave now. They're all part of the crowd Celia frequented. One of them could have killed her, and they could harm Staines as well.”

“Nonsense. Your nephew is busy preening and playing the gallant. He's perfectly safe. Go back to your gardens.”

“Until we clear Dunstan's name, I will go nowhere.”

While admiring Leila's willingness to stand up to her powerful aunt, Dunstan preferred she didn't go so far in his defense. Gently catching her elbow, he steered her out of the path of her aunt's ire. He did not fully understand the duchess's Malcolm power, but he did not trust any Malcolm in a temper. Sometimes they did not know the full extent of their own abilities and came to grief for it. He'd not have anyone harmed because of him.

“You owe me a dance, my lady, but nothing more,” he said. “My brothers and I will conduct our own search without endangering others.”

“Your brothers!” Leila whirled around, not heeding his warning. “Find them at once. I need them to watch Wickham and Lord John.”

Dunstan groaned as the duchess ruffled her regal feathers and looked prepared to bite. She would turn them all into peacocks in a moment.

“Your grace, I'll take care of this,” he assured the older woman. “I believe the lady is my responsibility now.”

He thought the duchess looked approving as he directed Leila out of the room. Unfortunately, the termagant on his arm wasn't quite so understanding.

“I am
not
your responsibility,” she insisted, even as she followed him. “If anything, we are equals in this. I can certainly deal with my aunt far better than you.”

“No, you can't. The two of you will soon be fighting like cocks over who's in charge of the henhouse. Take a lesson from Ninian, and let the duchess believe she is.”

She eyed him with disfavor. “An astute observation from a man who talks to plants.”

“At least the plants have the sense not to talk back. There's Joseph. Where are Wickham and Lord John now?”

She halted, forcing him to do the same. Patiently, Dunstan waited while she glanced around, although he suspected she wasn't looking so much as smelling what the air carried. The back of his neck prickled at that realization. He was involved with a woman who could smell a thief at a hundred yards. Maybe farther. He would have to test the theory.

“Wickham and Lord John have not left. I daresay they're in one of the anterooms, fomenting trouble. I do not at all understand what they're about—”

“I've talked to Lady Mary,” Dunstan interrupted. “She and her brother will hold their gossiping tongues from here on out.” Looking elegant and unconcerned, Dunstan shoved his hand in his pocket and scanned the crowd in search of his brothers.

“
You've
talked to Lady Mary?” Leila could almost summon a vision of the scene from his scent of satisfaction. “What did you do, threaten to tar and feather her?”

“I simply reminded her that I have not called in her gaming debts to Celia.”

“What gaming debts?” Leila asked in astonishment, then understanding the depth of his scent of satisfaction, she cried, “You didn't
know
she had gaming debts! You bluffed.”

“That crowd gambles,” he said with a shrug, focusing on the approach of an unpowdered dark head. “Celia always cheated. It was a reasonable assumption.”

Before Leila could respond, Joseph arrived, dragging a terrified Viscount Staines with him. “Tell him what you told me,” Joseph demanded, shaking the lordling's arm.

“I… It's W-Wickham,” the young viscount stuttered. “And Lord John. They have a witness.”

Dunstan fought a surge of panic by crossing his arms and waiting, staring the boy down with what he hoped was a formidable glare.

Staines shot a pleading gaze at Leila. “I only wanted you to marry so I could have my estate back,” he muttered. “And Henry Wickham is a good sort. He would make you a far better husband than this murderer.” He shot Dunstan a bitter look.

“Wickham is a nasty toad, and you'll get warts just breathing the air around him,” Leila retorted. “And if you marry Lord John's witch of a sister, she'll bake you in her oven and turn you into a gingerbread boy.”

Beneath his powdered wig, the young viscount paled, but tearing his arm from Joseph's grip, he straightened his spine and glared back. “At least I do not consort with known killers. Wickham has located a witness to Celia's murder, just as he said he would. He and Lord John are to meet him at the inn in Baden-on-Lyme in the morning. They mean to see Dunstan hang.”

Dunstan fought to keep his hands to himself rather than wring the truth from the boy. “If this is another of your practical jokes, Staines, I'll dangle you from the Tower wall.”

“It's not a joke.” The viscount looked terrified again, and his gaze darted about, searching for his friends. Then, confident no one could overhear, he continued. “I'm to go with them. Wickham says that your brother is the magistrate there, and he will never arrest you, so I am to act as witness and come back here to have you arrested.”

Although music flowed and the voices of a hundred people filled the air, Dunstan heard the tolling bells of doom. For Leila's sake, he blocked them out. “Use your wits, Staines. Until you do, Wickham will use
you.
If you'll excuse me, I mean to find out what they're up to for myself.”

Nodding at his stunned audience, Dunstan swung around and stalked toward the door.