What the Marquess Sees (23 page)

Dansbury jerked his eyes down to her and smiled. “What’s so funny?”

She felt his smile to her toes. “Nothing. Let’s just say I have an overactive imagination and leave it at that.”

“Whatever the lady wishes.” And he twirled her in a circle. Fast. So fast, she couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. It was marvelous. Too much so. Thus, she was disappointed when the dance was over. Like waking up from a delicious dream before you are ready.

They walked the perimeter of the room now, making sure to be seen. Beatryce looked ahead, and then jerked to a stop. Ugh. Lady Esther Weatherby. She nearly groaned out loud at the sight. Oh Lord, this girl was vicious. Made
her
behavior seem saint-like.

In London, they had pretended to be the best of friends. Now, Beatryce just wanted to crawl beneath the floor. She did not want to speak to her old “friend” at all. This woman was a part of her past. A past she was desperately attempting to leave behind.

Alas, any thought of escaping undetected died before she could take action. “Lady Beatryce! What a surprise? I had no idea you were in Bath. Have you been here long?” Beatryce could only assume that either they weren’t being snubbed because Dansbury carried too much clout, or society was too eager to find out what was going on to want to snub her…yet. Probably a bit of both.

“No. Not long. You know how much I detest anything that isn’t London. La, this is a short stay, if you must know. I hope to return home very, very soon. Yesterday would not be soon enough.” Beatryce adopted a put upon air. A look she had perfected in crowds much like this one.

She felt Dansbury stiffen beside her and studiously tried to ignore it.

“Don’t I know what you mean. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Father. He made us take a break from London. Thought it would do our standing good to appear in high demand and unavailable for a spell.” Lady Weatherby tittered behind her fan like a juvenile making Beatryce wonder how she’d ever put up with this woman for as long as she had without slapping her at least once. Every day.

“Now. I simply must ask. Is it true your cousin married the Duke of Stonebridge?” Beatryce could only nod her head in reply. Rude, yes. But she was dreading what she knew this girl would say next.

“Well, I declare I am surprised. And after all the trouble you went through to have her discredited. What a pity. To lose a man like that to the likes of her.”

“La, tell me truly. Isn’t that just…”

She never got to finish that thought. Dansbury grabbed her by the arm and effectively dragged her back out of the room and into the street. No goodbyes. No explanations. No see you next times.

Well, they’d certainly created a stir. An understatement to be sure. And what was one more nail in her social coffin? It’s not like she’d had plans to be a part of society in the future, anyway.

But Dansbury was clearly furious. He’d dropped her hand the moment they stepped outside and stood stiff next to her; his hands clenched into fists.

They stood in silence while a footman went to fetch the driver and carriage. Dansbury all but radiating his wrath in great heaping waves.

Humph.
C’est la vie. She was who she was, and if he didn’t like it, he could go hang. She held onto that attitude as she tried to ignore her thundering heart and the sunken feeling in her gut.

*

Just when he’d started to like her. Damn her eyes. Now, he just wanted to kill her. Again.

All right, maybe he didn’t quite want to kill her anymore, just throttle her.

Or at least rage at her in a stern manner.

He simply couldn’t make sense of her snide remarks in the Pump Room, so reminiscent of the Beatryce of old, the witch he’d hated with righteous fury for the past year and a half.

He thought she’d changed, that it had all been an act to get away from her father. But her father was gone now, yet she’d reverted to form the minute they stepped out in society. It infuriated him. Not only because she was speaking against Grace, her cousin, whom he respected a great deal. But also because he’d begun to like her, dammit. Or at least admire her strength.

Their coach pulled up just in time. Thank, God. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand there in silence before he snapped and started yelling at her. Right there on the public pavement. Or throttling her. Something. But he really didn’t want to do it in public, more than he had already.

He helped her inside without saying a word.

Why?

He just wanted to make sense of it all, but she refused to fit into any specific mold he’d formed in his mind of how a lady should behave. Of how she should behave.

Once he was seated, he decided to ask her. To put it all out there and damn the consequences. “Why? Why did you say those absurd things?”

She didn’t respond at first.

“Bea…”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I couldn’t seem to stop myself. As soon as the words passed my lips, I regretted saying them.” She shook her head and looked out the window.

“That’s not good enough. You have no reason to be that way anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t know how to be any other way…”

“No. That’s not an acceptable answer. Bea, look at me. Think about it. Why say things you don’t mean? What purpose do such words serve? Especially now.”

“I don’t know! All right? Old habits? I just don’t know. Maybe I’m just made that way…Maybe it’s just too late for me.” She looked at him earnestly then, tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice softened, a tenor in which he’d never heard her speak. “Before, I’d always justified my actions to myself. Every waking thought, everything I said or did, was by design toward self-preservation. Now, the reason behind such a need is gone, yet my thoughts still seem to run in the same direction, like a bad habit I cannot seem to change. One minute I’m feeling happy and carefree, and I think, ‘I can do this. I can let it all go and just be me.’ And the next minute I’m worried and angry and all my old thoughts reappear like a crutch. Plans to ensure I’m safe. Bad thoughts, even though they’re geared toward self-preservation, to ensure my future. Maybe I just lean toward being wicked.”

“Aw, love.” He touched her cheek and wiped away a lone tear. “We all have a bit of both churning around inside. Good and bad. You have to choose which side to embrace. It’s all a matter of choice.”

She laughed at that, and he hated the way it sounded. A sort of self-deprecating humor. But not funny in the least. She looked up at him again, a resigned smile graced her face. “Even you?”

He closed his eyes and said, “Especially me. Can you imagine, for just a moment, the things I’ve seen? The things I’ve had to do? I would not pollute your mind with the details, but I’m sure you can imagine. If I let them, those things would tear me down. I beat it by feeding the good in me.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, expecting to see shock written on her face. Instead, she looked thoughtful.

“Do you know, I wake up every single day with the fear that my father is still alive and going to hurt me for all of this?” She waved her hands around as if to encompass everything around them, the entire world even. “For running away. For ruining my wedding. Not to mention ruining the family name.” She laughed again, and again it didn’t sound the least bit humorous. “My every day starts off in a state of panic until I recall what’s happened, until I can get my emotions back under control. And this madman chasing after us doesn’t help matters. I don’t know how long this will last. How long will it be before I can finally wake up and not be afraid…to finally feel well and truly safe?”

“Actually, you have to admit, the madman, as you appropriately call him, seems more interested in me than you at the moment.”

“That really doesn’t help.”

He laughed. “I know; it was a stupid thing to say.” He reached for her then. “Aw, love, would that I could take that fear away…”

She pushed against his chest, not to push him away but to make him pause a moment. “But you can’t. And I know that. This change has to come from within me. It’s just not going to be so easy. Or quick. But I do realize it will come. Eventually.”

“Now, that’s my girl.”

“Ha! Your girl, Dansbury?”

* * * *

Meanwhile…

Crack.
Nearby, a flock of birds took flight.

Crack.
A squirrel barked its displeasure.

Crack.

Three shots, three different guns. Three targets destroyed. Dead center. The cloaked man didn’t need to go look to know this. He never missed. Still, he practiced every single day. Luckily, Himself enabled him to do so. It was the one thing Himself was useful for, he kept his best assassin loaded with pistols and shot. Too bad he was too frugal to provide enough money for better accommodations while carrying out the man’s dirtier deeds. The man would understand the consequences of that oversight all too soon. He smiled with pleasure. Oh yes, all too soon.

The cloaked man set his third gun on the tree stump before him. Then rolled his head to stretch out the knots in his neck. He’d slept in a hayloft last night. It was most uncomfortable. He’d burned two marks on his arm as part of a growing tally of things to hold Dansbury and Himself responsible for…his arm was now littered with little scars, a dozen at least. The new burns still itched this afternoon.

Thankfully, he would be exacting payment from them both soon enough.

Now, to practice his swordsmanship.

Snap.

The cloaked man pulled his sword out of its sheath and turned to look where someone had stepped on a fallen branch. His useful traitor stepped out of the shadows and into the clearing. This was most unexpected.

“What is it?” He snapped at the newcomer.

“I thought you should know that Dansbury and Lady Beatryce were seen at the Pump Room in Bath today.”

“What!?”

“I said…”

“I don’t actually need you to repeat it. Give me a moment.”

He turned his back on the man. To think. He rubbed at one of the burn marks on his arm to direct his thoughts and set a target for his ire.

The nerve of Dansbury. Taunting him that way. Making him look foolish, for Himself would surely hear of this as well. Damn Dansbury for having the money to attend a place like the Pump Room in the first place. It wasn’t fair!

It was time this ended, to hell with waiting. Yes. It was time. He couldn’t go another day living in haunted shadows. Dansbury’s end would bring him back out into the light. Into society’s welcoming embrace. He knew it. His mind told him it was true; thus, it was.

He turned back around to face his unwanted assistant and the bearer of frustrating news. “Follow me. I’ve a note for you to deliver. You will need to make sure Dansbury sees it. Today.”

So Dansbury thought he could show his face without fear, did he? Well, it was time to end all this. For good.

“True friendship can afford true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance.”

―Henry David Thoreau

The Library at Bloomfield Place…

“My first instinct is to throttle you, but due to our long history together, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now talk.”

It was all the warning Dansbury gave Ambrose as he walked through the library door. According to the butler, Grace and Ambrose had arrived just after he and Beatryce had left for the Pump Room earlier that morning.

Now, the duke was comfortably relaxed on a sofa in the library. Reading. Seemingly at ease without a care in the world, while Dansbury’s world was upended.

And the man wore spectacles. He didn’t even know Ambrose wore glasses. God, did he even know this man at all?

Ambrose marked his spot in his book with his finger and looked up at Dansbury, his infernal brow raised in silent query. At the moment, Dansbury hated that particular habit of his.

Dammit. Ambrose had a lot of explaining to do. He had every right to be angry with the duke, his so-called best friend. Dansbury walked over to a side table, which held all manner of liquid fortification. He poured himself a whisky. He was sure he would need it to survive this conversation. Particularly if he wanted to get to the end without punching Ambrose in his face.

Ambrose set his book on a nearby table, rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “I suppose I deserved that.”

Cliff didn’t answer, just glared at the man he called a friend. Even though the man wasn’t looking and couldn’t appreciate the full effect of his scowl. He tossed his head back and drank the entire contents of his glass in one swallow. Then refilled his glass with more whisky.

“Yes. I knew about your family’s connection with the Society, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. At least, I assume that’s what this is about.” He turned to look at Dansbury then.

Cliff kept his frown firmly in place. Though he set down his untouched second drink and began to pace. “Go on.”

“You’re a good man, Dansbury.”

He stopped and slashed his hand at the duke. “Oh spare me the ‘You’re a good man’ bullshit. Let’s get to the point. Did you not think I could handle it? Did you doubt me?” He continued his frustrated stroll about the room as he spoke.

“No! It wasn’t like that at all. First of all…Hold. Could you stop circling the room? I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

“No. Stand if you don’t like it, but keep talking.”

Ambrose stood. He walked over to the window and leaned against the sill. He crossed his arms, his posture somewhat defensive. Understandable. “I wasn’t at liberty to tell you all. Then. And whether you want to hear it or not…whether you like it or not…then, yes, I admit that a part of my decision was me not wanting to disillusion you. What was the point? Your family, those that were involved, were, as far as we knew at the time, dead.”

Dansbury nearly pulled his hair out in frustration. He gripped the back of a nearby chair, his knuckles turning white. It was that or throttle his friend. “What was the point? What was the point!? How about my ability to do my job. Knowing all the facts so I know where to look.” He threw up his hands. “And what about my sister? I could have been looking for her! All this time.” He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. “Christ, Ambrose, I might have found her. I might have known her.”