Must Be Magic (26 page)

Leila didn't know where the damned man thought he was going, but she didn't intend for him to go alone. She would never believe Wickham's witness over Dunstan's innocence.

But before she could run after him, she had to clean up the mess he'd left behind. “Joseph, notify Drogo at once. Have your brother follow Wickham and Lord John. Staines, unless you wish to be leg-shackled to a witch far worse than me, you'd best hie yourself back to Bath and stay out of this. For once in your life, listen to your elders, will you?”

Satisfied she'd terrified her nephew enough to make him listen and that Joseph already hastened to do as he'd been told, Leila sailed after the wretched Dunstan.

“You don't really believe that any witness Wickham has found is legitimate, do you?” she called down the stairs from the hall outside the ballroom.

Having already reached the second-floor landing, Dunstan merely glanced over his shoulder. “I intend to find out.” He continued taking the stairs down to the street two at a time.

“They're plotting something, Dunstan,” she shouted, lifting her skirts and racing after him. “Don't fall into it.” When he did not halt, Leila flung her fan at his broad back. “Unless you wish to see me tumble down these stairs, you'd better slow down!”

That brought him to a halt. He turned and planted his massive arms on either side of the stairs to prevent her passing. “Go back to your family,” he ordered. “I want you to have no part in this.”

“I
am
part of it!” Ducking beneath his elbow, she hurried out of hearing of any bystanders. “You're the father of this child I carry,” she whispered in seething anger. “Don't tell me I'm not part of you.”

“I'll not have you harmed by their trickery. I'll get to the bottom of it.” He clattered past her, blocking any fall she might take as they raced down the last stairs.

Halting in the shadows of the foyer, whispering so the waiting footmen couldn't hear, Leila smacked a fist of frustration against his broad chest. “Don't
do
this, Dunstan. Let us work together and find the truth.”

The man reeked of self-doubt and anger and a scent that she longed to believe but couldn't. Every bone in her body ached to take him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him. But if even
she
was terrified by these newly discovered emotions, what might revealing them do to this man, who seemed so bent on self-destruction?

“I will do nothing dangerous,” Dunstan promised. “I mean only to find this witness and hear his story. If I killed Celia in a drunken rage, I need to know it.”

“You would never do such a thing,” she told him. “If you truly believed in my abilities, you would trust me in this.”

He hesitated, and Leila held her breath, hoping, praying that he would have confidence in her. Despair whipped through her when he shook his head.

“We may both be sensing only what we want to believe. I cannot take the risk. I need time to figure out what to do if the witness is right.”

Fury swept through her with the force of a wildfire. Drawing back from him, Leila all but spat in his face. “What if one of them is Celia's killer? What if they lie in wait to kill
you
?”

He froze and regarded her with wariness. “Did you smell something on them that you have not told me? Have you had another vision?”

He
believed
in
her.

“The circumstances must be right for me to see anything. I do not know how to make it happen. But I know you didn't kill her. It only seems reasonable to conclude that one of her friends must have.”

“Or a common thief who broke in to steal her jewels. Stay with your family where you are safe. I'll look after myself.” His hands formed fists, and his voice was harsh, but his gaze upon her was infinitely sad.

She wanted his trust, not his regret, and he wasn't giving it to her. Furious, she backed away from him. “Go, then. But do not expect me to do as you wish, either. If we cannot act together, then I am free to act alone.”

“Leila, I'm counting on you not to do anything foolish. Your family needs you.”

“Your family will need me, too, if you insist on playing the part of braying donkey. Don't concern yourself over your son,” she added scornfully. “Griffith will only be devastated if you insist on sacrificing yourself on the altar of self-pity. I'll see that my family gives him a little more guidance than yours has.”

She watched Dunstan's big body jerk as if she'd truly pierced him, but he wasn't a man to bow to a woman's words. His long, dark queue fell over his shoulder as he bent his head and brushed his hand against her cheek. She prayed he didn't find the tear streaking toward her chin.

“Thank you.”

Without another word of warning or explanation, he strode past the footman at the door and into the street.

Desperate to follow him but knowing she mustn't do so without aid, she turned back to glance up the stairs and discovered her whole blue-eyed, blond-haired family hovering on the landing above.

Interfering, manipulative witches they might be, but she loved the way they banded together in times of need.

With joy, she understood that they banded together for
her
, because they accepted and loved her just the way she was. Flying up the stairs and into her mother's arms, she poured out the problem while the music of Felicity's ball soared above them.

***

“Staines and Lord John left with Lady Mary,” Christina reported, rushing into the family parlor where everyone waited.

Crashing past a footman who was attempting to prevent his entrance into the parlor, Joseph Ives shoved his way into the family conclave. “I can't find Viscount Handel or Henry Wickham,” he announced, “but David is following Lord John.”

Behind him sauntered Joseph's older half brother, Ewen, accompanied by Dunstan's son. Leila wished she could reach out and reassure the worried boy, but Griffith's expression was as closed as Dunstan's at his worst.

Even Ewen's normally charming mien looked grim as he took in the gathering of Malcolms in one glance. “Drogo isn't home. No one knows where he is.”

Leila uttered a foul curse under her breath. As magistrate over Baden, the Earl of Ives was Dunstan's best hope of staying out of prison. “Find him,” she ordered.

“He'll find us,” Ewen countered. “Griffith and I are riding out to Baden tonight.” He turned to meet Leila's gaze. “Is there any message you wish me to carry?”

“That I'll have Dunstan's head on a platter for shutting me out,” she answered with mocking sweetness. “Wickham and his dastardly tricks do not alarm me, but tell your noble brother I'll personally rip all his turnips out of the ground if he thinks to desert me.”

“Please, Mr. Ives.”

To Leila's surprise, Felicity interrupted them. Even Ewen looked startled as he turned his full attention on her younger sister.

“I'm certain the secret lies in Celia's jewels.” Felicity twisted her gloved hands together and regarded him with an earnest expression. “If you could find the green jewel, it would help tremendously.”

Her offer produced a genuine look of concern from the normally careless Ives. “We're making every effort, Lady Felicity. And I almost forgot, I brought you a gift in honor of your come-out.” From the capacious pocket of his coat, Ewen produced a miniature mechanical toy and held it out for her.

Leila held her breath as her sensitive sister gazed on the tiny bouquet of enameled roses with longing. With one gentle finger, Felicity reached out to caress the toy. Then, smiling rapturously, she accepted the gift, touching off a pin that produced a tinkling cascade of music.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, holding the roses in the palm of her hand. “It's marvelous. Thank you so very much. How does it play?”

Watching the roses dance on her glove with fascination, Ewen shrugged and tore his gaze away. “Bits of metal turning around. I need to work on the gears some more. But the flowers last longer than real ones.”

Leila doubted if the heedless Ives had any idea how unusual is was for her sister to accept objects from virtual strangers. She would ponder the oddity another time. Dunstan occupied her thoughts too fully now.

Admiring her unusual gift, Felicity looked dazed, but Ewen merely nodded at Leila, bowed his farewell to her mother, and strode out, accompanied by his brothers.

Leila frowned as Christina slipped out with the Ives men, but the younger ones apparently knew each other well. She glanced apologetically to Felicity. “I'm sorry, dear, but I have to leave you on your own. I can't lose to stupidity the best, most boneheaded agronomist who ever lived!”

The duchess managed to look both imperious and uncertain. “There is no chance that he is truly a wife murderer?” she demanded.

“None, Aunt Stella. You have my word and Ninian's. Both of us cannot be wrong.”

“Then we must go on as if nothing has happened.” Stella tugged her sister's lace neckerchief back into place. “Come along, Hermione, Felicity, we will be missed.” Frowning, she glanced about. “Where is Christina? Lord Harry will be looking for her.”

“Lord Harry left earlier,” Felicity whispered, throwing Leila a glance, then following her aunt toward the door. “Perhaps Christina has gone to find him.”

Leila sighed in relief as her shy sister diverted the attention of their mother and aunt, and they returned to the safety of the ballroom.

Sweeping past the footman at the door, seeing no sign of either Ives or Christina in the hall, she fled to her chamber to change from her ball gown into traveling clothes.

***

Leila slipped down the back hall, away from the laughing, chattering guests departing at the front. She'd donned her blacks again, to better hide in shadows.

She couldn't wait until the ball ended, not if Dunstan and the others were already on the road to Baden.

She knew that this so-called witness must be part of an evil plot. She simply could not imagine how the villains planned to perpetrate it, or why. Or even who the villains
were.
Wickham might have become deranged with grief over the loss of his brother, but he'd had no reason to murder Celia.

Leila gasped as a shadow darted out of a gateway and fell into step beside her. She would have thought it another young Ives were it not for the scent. “Christina! What on earth are you wearing?”

“Breeches,” her sister replied. “It is the safest way to travel. You really ought to try it. The freedom is wonderful.”

“I do not have the time or presence of mind to reprimand you and explain why you're mad to go about like that. Go home, where you belong.” Reaching the side street, Leila gathered her skirts and hastened toward the waiting carriage.

“I'll ride beside the driver. Moonlight isn't enough for him, but I can see even better at night. Lots of things have auras.”

“Only living things have auras,” Leila argued, but her sister was already stopping to talk with a gentleman who was opening the carriage door. She squinted in the darkness to discern the man's identity. “Lord Handel?” she asked in surprise.

He bowed. “Lady Leila. I tried to catch Dunstan before he departed, but he was too far ahead of me. Would you know how I might get a message to him tonight?”

The man's heady perfume covered a scent of anxiety and concern. She was learning to sort scents and pay more attention. Biting her lip against her fear, Leila nodded. “I am following him to Baden. What may I tell him?”

Handel studied her, then apparently concluded she meant well. “Sir Barton Townsend argued with young David Ives over a rather large gem he wore in his cravat this evening. The baron then spoke with Henry Wickham and Lord John. I could hear only part of the conversation, but it seems the stone greatly resembles one that Celia Ives flaunted frequently. Sir Barton seemed to be accusing the other two of lying to him, but I could not catch more than that.”

“And what has this to do with Dunstan?” she asked.

“I cannot say for certain, but I followed Wickham to a pawnshop not far from here. The shopkeeper would not let me in after Wickham left, so I could not question him. I'll do so in the morning. If you would just relay the message?”

“I shall.”

If, that is, she caught up with the wretched Ives before he got himself killed.

***

Still in his fashionable evening clothes, Dunstan arrived in Baden-on-Lyme just before dawn. Cursing the haste that prevented him from changing into more suitable attire, he swung down off the horse he'd borrowed from Drogo's stable and handed the reins over to a sleepy groom.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stared up at the aging inn where Celia had been found with her neck snapped. Once upon a time he had come here regularly to drown his sorrows in the tavern. They knew him here. The innkeeper's livelihood depended on Drogo and the Ives estate. That alone should keep them silent.

But did their silence hide an ugly truth?

Striding up the stairs into the inn, he prepared to face the consequences of whatever had occurred the night of Celia's death.

He found the lobby empty and unlit. Taking a bench in the tavern that most suited his breadth, he found a hollow in the wall that fit his shoulders, sprawled his legs across the wooden bench to a chair beyond, and closed his eyes.

He woke to a slash of sunlight across his eyelids, a cock crowing, and the unsettling sensation of people staring at him. A crick in his neck told him he wasn't in his bed, and the nervous twisting of his stomach reminded him of the night past. Setting his jaw, Dunstan donned his most stubborn expression and opened his eyes.

He recognized the local constable first. Gray-haired and portly, the man twisted his hat between his fingers.