The Marquess Meets His Match Read online

  Alice lay on the terrace looking up at the sky she’d admired earlier, trying to regain her breath. Had someone just taken a shot at her?

  Lord Wolverton’s face hovered over hers as his eyes raked over her form. “Are you all right? Are you hit?”

  She looked up at him, trying to gather her wits. “I’m fine.” Her hip hurt, but other than that, she was unscathed. Pushing against his chest, she noted that he smelled of bergamot and mint. Resisting the urge to press into his warmth to stave off the cold seeping from the terrace stones through her silk gown, she slowly moved to a sitting position, peering into the shadows. Was the gunman still there?

  He stood and reached down to help her stand. "We should get you inside. Quickly now."

  She barely heard him. A shadow was moving toward the back garden gate. “You’re not getting away that easily," she murmured. Without a backward glance, she lifted the hem of her skirt and ran after him. The shadow must have heard her footsteps, because he began to run as well. Alice heard the clank of the back gate that led into the mews. If only she weren’t wearing slippers!

  She slowed and finally stopped just before the gate. It was too late. He was gone.

  Wolverton appeared at her side, his breath coming fast. He took her elbow and pulled her around to face him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? We need to get you inside. Now.” He spoke as if she were a recalcitrant child escaping from her lessons.

  “Go back inside, my lord,” she said, her tone icy. “I know my way.”

  He stared down at her, his jaw clenched. “I can’t leave you out here alone. You were nearly killed a moment ago.”

  “Not likely. He shot wide. It’s a wonder he even hit the house,” she scoffed. “Nearly killed is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  “No.” He tugged her toward the house. “And I certainly never thought to be dodging bullets at a ball in London. We’re going inside.”

  With one last look over her shoulder at the shadowy path that led to the mews, Alice allowed him to escort her back to the terrace. They walked in silence, his long strides shortened to keep pace with hers.

  “You don't seem surprised," he said, staring at the terrace doors in front of them.

  Alice glanced over at him. She probably owed him an explanation, but there wasn’t one she was authorized to give. “I’m very surprised, actually.” Surprised that someone had gotten through her father’s security measures. Surprised that a gunman had been in the garden at all.

  He gave her a brief nod before he opened the terrace door. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Lady Alice. I'm sorry if I put you in any danger.”

  “Do you think the shot was meant for you, then?” Alice said, quietly, as she discreetly rubbed her now-throbbing hip. “Why would someone try to kill you?” She could be a target because of her work for the Falcon group. But why would anyone want Wolverton dead?

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Ah, remember my advice about curiosity and questions, my lady.”

  She stared into his blue eyes, their depths serious and secretive. Who was he, really?

  Before she could ask anything else, he released her hand. Once she was safely inside, he melted into the crowd surrounding the dance floor. Alice patted her hair and smoothed back the loose strands.

  Someone had taken a shot tonight. But had it been meant for her as an agent, or Lord Wolverton, as he suspected?

  She meant to find out. Immediately.

  Chapter Two

  CHRISTIAN STOOD ON the fringes of the ballroom, arms folded, watching Lady Alice move into position across from the Earl of Pembroke. She was smiling and seemed poised, even though she’d been shot at mere minutes before. Any other woman would have gone into hysterics, but Lady Alice had not only taken it in stride, but had also run after the blackguard. Combined with trying to wheedle information out of Huntley earlier, she was plainly investigating Thomas’s death. But who was she working for?

  Christian moved closer to the dance floor, staying out of her line of sight. She was the epitome of an English miss with wheat-blonde hair and creamy, pale skin. But a thread of steel ran through her. Seeing her run toward a man who had taken a shot in her direction had made his blood run cold. What if she had given the gunman a second chance to shoot her? Christian had caught up to her, but it hadn’t been easy. There was no doubt that if she hadn’t been in ballroom slippers, she would have overtaken the gunman. What would she have done if she’d caught him? That thought was disconcerting.

  Christian eyed Pembroke, who was looking at Lady Alice as if she were a dessert to devour. The sight sent a possessive jolt through him. Lady Alice wasn’t his, however. He’d presented himself at this ball to provide an opportunity to speak with the Duke of Huntingdon, though finding him had been deuced hard, since he was the host. Christian’s eyes roved over the ballroom once again. The duke wasn’t anywhere to be found, but every other peer of the realm seemed to be in attendance. His gaze settled on Alice once more as she danced. Taking her to the garden in order to keep his eye on Pembroke had been an unforeseen mistake, but the fact that someone had taken a shot made his business with Alice’s father even more urgent.

  He loosened the neckcloth that felt too tight around his throat. It was strange to be back in English society. He’d been dedicated to the war effort―executing battle plans on the fields of Spain, then in France, cultivating contacts and strengthening the fragile peace they’d achieved after Waterloo. But when he’d received word that he was needed at home, Christian had sold his commission and returned to England. Doing so felt like leaving his life behind, in a way, since the army had been where he’d found his place in the world. But his family needed him, and that was enough. He was going to put all other matters to rest.

  At least that had been his plan until one of his French contacts had gotten a message through with information that the duke needed to hear right away. By the time Christian had reached London and presented himself at Huntingdon House, the ball had already started. It was a crush and Christian had been searching in vain for the duke. Unable to sit idly by, he’d used the scant bit of information he had and tracked Lord Pembroke, but the moment he’d gotten close, shots had been fired.

  He leaned against a pillar and watched Pembroke and Lady Alice moving across the dance floor. They really were an attractive couple, both blonde and the embodiment of everything noble and good about Britain. And yet, Christian didn’t want her in Pembroke’s arms. Or anywhere near the man, really, especially if he had participated in Thomas’s death.

  He straightened. The duke wasn’t in the ballroom or the card room, but someone had to know where he was. He’d get some reinforcements, or at least a footman, to help him search and deliver a message that Christian was requesting an audience. The only problem was that the moment Christian’s name had been announced at the ball, people had surrounded him, wanting an introduction or hoping he would dance with any of the debutantes in attendance tonight. He hadn’t realized what a sensation it would be to see him out in society, and the attention was a nuisance. All he wanted was to find the duke.

  Eyeing the doorway and his position in the ballroom, he hadn’t much hope of escape without having to talk to anyone. Taking a deep breath, he came out from behind the tall, decorative potted plant. Several mothers with eligible daughters pointed at him with their fans, but he lengthened his stride before they could approach. He didn’t have time for young ladies and their marriage-minded mamas tonight. Or anything else, beyond an audience with the duke.

  The moment Christian gained the doors to the ballroom, he quickened his step down the long, portrait-filled corridor. His best bet would be to find the butler and inquire after the duke. There wasn’t anything a butler didn’t know about his household.

  Turning a corner, he spied a smartly dressed butler standing nearby. Heading toward him, Christian nearly bowled over a gentleman who stepped in his way.

  “Pardon me,” the man said, t
hen looked closer at Christian, his eyes widening in recognition. “Well, upon my word, if it’s not Major Wolverton. You cannot be leaving so soon! The commander I knew would never have called a retreat.” Edward Rutledge, Viscount Carlisle and a former lieutenant under Christian, held up his champagne flute, which was nearly empty, as if in a silent toast. “Had enough of this season’s debutantes already, Major?”

  Christian grinned at his old comrade-in-arms. They were nearly the same height with a similar build, but Edward’s hair was nearly black, contrasting with Christian’s dark blonde. The last time they’d seen each other was while celebrating the victory at Waterloo. Christian hadn’t seen any of his men since he'd returned to England. “Well, at least I faced them instead of cowering in the foyer.” He slapped Edward on the back. “How have you been?”

  “Coming home has been an . . . adjustment,” he said slowly, raising his glass in Christian’s direction. “You seem to have done all right for yourself.”

  Christian stepped back and scrutinized Edward more closely. The smell of alcohol emanated from him, and though he was standing, he wasn’t steady. The man was clearly foxed. “Edward, I—”

  But Edward cut him off. “Come have a drink with me. We can reminisce about the good times we had together in Spain.” He drained the rest of the drink in his hand. “Except that there weren’t any good times in Spain.” He stared down into his empty glass.

  At first glance, Edward seemed well turned out, but Christian noted his mussed hair, the wrinkles in his cravat, and the haunted eyes of a man using liquor to mask pain. Though Christian had seen the same scenes of blood and death, chaos and destruction, a ball wasn’t the place to have a conversation about the war’s lasting effects. He jerked his thumb behind him toward the long corridor. “Maybe we could go outside and get some air.”

  Edward laughed softly without humor. “I’m not one of your women, Major. I don’t need a turn in the garden.” He pulled away, a little unsteady. “What I need is another drink.”

  Christian dipped his head. He wasn’t responsible for Edward any longer, but he still felt a pull to call the man back, to try and help him deal with his demons somehow. Though he obviously didn’t need a commanding officer anymore, Edward could use a friend. With a sigh, Christian followed Edward back into the ballroom.

  “Wait,” he called out, but Edward picked up his pace, headed for a footman holding more champagne glasses. Snatching one off of the tray, Edward turned to Christian with a grin and saluted him with the glass. “No more rules, Major. No limits on wine or women.”

  Christian took the last few steps and stood beside Edward and the footman. “Maybe there should be.”

  Edward took another long pull of his drink, nearly finishing it off. “We aren’t readying for battle any longer, my lord.”

  “And I’m grateful every day for that.” He gave his former officer a side glance. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

  “I’m fine.” Edward gave the footman his nearly empty glass and took another drink from the tray. “I lived, didn’t I? More than I can say for most everyone else we served with.”

  “Edward.” Christian had so much he wanted to say, things he’d learned since coming back to England himself, but Pembroke was leading Lady Alice from the dance floor and heading straight toward them.

  He stopped in front of Edward. “I’m surprised to see you here, Carlisle. When did you arrive in Town?” Pembroke said trying to hide his disdain, while eyeing the glass in the viscount’s hand. “Lady Alice, may I make known to you Edward Rutledge, Viscount Carlisle.”

  Lady Alice curtsied prettily. “I’m pleased to know you, Viscount Carlisle.”

  Edward bowed and nearly toppled over, but caught himself. “I’m pleased to know you as well, my lady.” He drained his champagne glass and looked around. “Your mother can count her ball a success, I’d wager.”

  “I agree.” Lady Alice looked between the men and settled on Pembroke. “It’s nearly time to go in to supper, my lord.”

  Edward raised his eyebrows at Pembroke. “May I steal your supper partner away for a moment, my lady? I have some pressing business to discuss that really can’t wait, but I shall return him to you directly.”

  Christian narrowed his eyes. What business would Edward have with Pembroke? “Is there anything I can help with? I know I had unending estate business to attend to after I first arrived home,” he asked cordially.

  “It’s nothing you can help with, Lord Wolverton.” Edward smirked at him, drawing out Christian’s title. “But perhaps I’ll consider your offer in the future.”

  Lord Pembroke turned to Lady Alice, an apologetic grimace on his face. “I’m sorry to leave you alone even for a moment, but our business might take longer than is prudent to make you wait. I’ll make it up to you, however. Perhaps at the house party?” His mouth quickly turned up in the same grin he’d given Alice earlier, the one that had been accompanied by a very forward wink.

  Christian barely contained his frown. His gaze darted to Alice. What house party?

  “Of course, my lord. I understand. Though your presence will be missed.” She lowered her eyes demurely. “And I look forward to seeing you at Langdon Park.”

  “Are you sure I can’t help you with something?” Christian asked, needing more information, especially if it concerned Lady Alice Huntingdon being in proximity to Lord Pembroke. “I am a man of many talents. I’d also like to renew our acquaintance, Edward.”

  Edward raised his eyebrows in Pembroke’s direction and received an unmistakable shake of the head in return. “Thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but I’ll have to decline. For now.”

  Christian dipped his head. “Of course. If you change your mind, I stand ready to help.”

  “I’ll remember that. I think. But maybe not.” Edward laughed at his own joke. “I’ll have to write myself a note.”

  No one seemed to know what to say to his obvious inebriation and it was a relief when supper was announced. The crowd started to move toward the food, and Pembroke offered his arm to Alice. “I’ll just escort the lady to her chair.”

  Christian and Edward bowed and watched them walk away.

  “Pretty bit o’ muslin,” Edward said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Careful.” Christian’s hands clenched and unclenched. “She’s a lady and as such, is owed respect.”

  Edward didn’t even acknowledge that Christian had spoken. “Looks cozy with Pembroke.”

  Christian thought so, too. But was it an act on her part for information? He’d seen one or two female spies in France and Spain. Knowing the Duke of Huntingdon’s position in the Falcon Group, he had to wonder: could his daughter be a spy? It seemed unlikely that the duke would put his only daughter in that position, but what other explanation was there?

  He didn’t have time to puzzle on it further. Finding the duke was his priority, but the woman walking away was quickly moving up on his list.

  Chapter Three

  LADY ALICE WAS MAKING polite conversation with her dinner partner, Lord Sutherland, silently cursing Viscount Carlisle for taking Pembroke away just when she had the chance to question him. Taking another spoonful of her turtle soup, she noticed a footman handing her father a folded note. He read it, his eyes traveling down the table to meet hers before he leaned over and whispered something to her mother and excused himself. Had he been informed of the incident with the gunman on the terrace? If so, she needed to report to him what had happened.

  “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” she said to Lord Sutherland, who’d been seated to her right.

  Lord Sutherland rose with her, holding his cloth napkin in his hand. “I hope all is well, my lady.”

  “Quite well, thank you. I’ll return momentarily,” she assured him. Hurrying away from the dining room, she walked quickly down the hall to her father’s study. With a brief knock, she entered. “Papa, I saw you receive a note. I must tell you . . .”

 
Her voice trailed off when she realized her father was not alone. Lord Wolverton’s eyes fastened on hers, and she couldn’t look away for a moment. He must have been a remarkable leader during the war, making his men think he could see into their souls.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Lord Wolverton was just telling me how you chased a gunman in the garden this evening.” His expression didn’t change, the duke merely gave her a questioning glance. “Is that what you were coming to tell me?”

  “That’s not entirely what happened,” she said, annoyed that Wolverton had gotten to her father first. “He shot in our general direction, and I wanted to know why. I was merely going to ask him a few questions.”

  Lord Wolverton snorted. “You make it sound as if you were about to invite him for afternoon tea. He shot at you. You could have received a second chance to end your life had you gotten any closer.”

  Alice shook her head. “He had a single-shot flintlock pistol, if I’m not mistaken. There wasn’t any danger.”

  Wolverton took a step toward her. “He could have had another gun or an accomplice. Any number of things could have happened to you,” he bit out. “It was reckless of you to go after him.”

  Alice pushed back the anger that rushed over her. She had to present a calm demeanor, as if he was merely discussing the weather. “I assure you, I did not require your assistance then or your opinion now.” She moved toward her father’s desk. “I don’t take unnecessary risks.”

  Her father inclined his head, his shrewd eyes moving between her and Wolverton. “I’m sure with Thomas’s death, everyone is a little on edge. And with the information Lord Wolverton has imparted to me this evening, I’m inclined to believe that tonight’s incident may be connected to Thomas’s murder.”

  Wolverton’s jaw clenched, and he took a step forward. “Your Grace, that information is confidential.”