When he’d awoken the next morning, Alex discovered his knee had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe and turned several nasty shades of black and green. It was stiff and hurt like the devil when he moved, but damned if he’d spend the day lying around. He’d wrapped the knee, gritted his teeth, and stuffed his foot into his boot. Remaining in bed all day wasn’t an option—not while someone plotted to kill him.
And while he still limped, he found that at least he could put some weight on his leg. Unfortunately for Darby, Alex’s dining partner, the pain in his leg made him crankier than normal.
“Why in God’s name would you introduce Richard Coulsen to Miss Lacey?” Alex demanded, loud enough that several members of his club put down their newspapers and ceased their conversations. Alex glared in response. He sat across a table from Darby in the darkly paneled dining room, questioning his own judgment in having allowed his grandmother and Beth to attend the Claville ball without him.
Darby swiped his napkin across his mouth, attempting to hide a wry grin. “You said yourself he’s a decent sort. I only introduced them. It’s not as though I ushered them out onto a moonlit terrace and left them alone.”
Alex’s hackles rose even more. “I asked you to keep a watchful eye on her—not fill her bloody dance card.”
“If you want to know the truth, the dance floor was the safest place for her.” Darby speared a chunk of roast beef with his fork and popped it in his mouth. “There were too many people around for anyone to attempt criminal activity.”
“How comforting.” His appetite gone, Alex threw his napkin on the table.
“No harm came to either Miss Lacey or your grandmother. They seemed to have an enjoyable evening.”
Darby’s patronizing tone grated on Alex’s last nerve. He gripped the arms of his chair. “How enjoyable?”
Darby’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, and his eyes flashed with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the wallflower.”
Bloody hell. His head pounding, Alex lunged across the table and grabbed a fistful of Darby’s jacket. A glass tipped and china clattered. Heads turned. “Don’t call her that.”
Darby looked down at his jacket like he couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Alex cursed. What the hell was he doing, picking a fight with his best friend? He unclenched his fist and sat back, ashamed but still steaming.
Darby’s nostrils flared as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Have you lost your mind?”
Maybe he had. “I don’t care for the way you talked about Miss Lacey.”
“The way I talked about her?” Darby snorted. “That’s rich—pretending to defend her honor when you gave her the name in the first place. Bloody hypocrite.” His chair legs screeched against the floor as he pushed away from the table. “Find someone else to play guard next time.”
Shit. Alex dragged a hand down his face. “Look, I’m an ass and I know it.”
Darby called over his shoulder. “The whole world knows it.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I banged the hell out of my knee when I went to grab you?”
“It does, actually.”
“Good, then sit down and let me buy you another drink.”
“That’s a pathetic excuse for an apology.” Darby stalked back to the table and slumped into his chair. “You’re buying dinner too.”
“Fair enough.” Alex took a deep breath. “I regret giving Miss Lacey and her sisters the name. It was a stupid, offhand comment that should have been forgotten the moment I said it. But for some godforsaken reason, it spread like bloody dandelion seeds in a windstorm. No matter how much I might wish to retract the words, I can’t.”
“I see. So instead, you’ve decided you’ll throttle anyone who utters the word wallflower? An excellent plan,” Darby said drolly.
“What would you do?” Alex countered.
Darby shrugged. “You might start by apologizing to them.”
He wished to hell he could. It would ease his conscience … but now that they’d kissed, the truth would hurt her. “I can’t.”
Staring into his glass as he swirled his brandy, Darby nodded. “Because you care for her—Miss Lacey?”
Alex shot his friend a look that warned he should tread lightly. “I like her.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble charming her into your bed.” Darby tipped his glass back to drink, as though he had no idea that Alex was alarmingly close to knocking his teeth out.
“I didn’t say I wanted her in my bed. I said I like her.”
Darby raised a brow. “So you don’t want her in your bed?”
Damn it, of course he did. Ever since they’d kissed, he’d thought of little else. But if he tried to seduce her, he’d be just the sort of scoundrel she thought he was—and that wasn’t truly him.
On the other hand, maybe she preferred his rakish charade to the real person beneath. After all, he definitely hadn’t been acting like a gentleman when they kissed, and she’d seemed to like kissing. What he’d give to introduce her to passion. To watch her come apart in his arms.
But deep down, he knew she deserved more than a few nights of pleasure—and he was too heartless, too damaged to give her anything more.
“My relationship with Miss Lacey is none of your concern,” Alex said evenly. “But I would appreciate your help in keeping her—and my grandmother—safe.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Darby agreed, “but we’re fighting an invisible, unknown enemy. I wish the coward would just come forward and do the honorable thing—challenge you to a duel.”
“Believe me, so do I.”
* * *
Beth tried not to stare at the clock. Alex was out. He had not joined her and his grandmother for dinner, nor had he made an appearance in the drawing room afterward. Of course, he was permitted to spend his evenings however he liked, and he was certainly under no obligation to inform her of his whereabouts. He’d made no promises—either spoken or unspoken—about their budding relationship, and he owed her nothing.
But she did wonder where he was—and who he was with.
She told herself that her impatience stemmed from the need to consult him regarding an important element of the dowager’s redecorating plans. It had naught to do with the desire to see him—or to test whether the spark between them would ignite once again.
The duchess had retired two hours ago, but Beth still wore her dinner gown, thinking it would be more appropriate for a meeting with the duke than her night rail. But she’d passed the time reading the book on mythological creatures while sprawled on her bed, and now her slippers were off, her skirt was wrinkled, and her hair was coming undone.
Midnight was her deadline, she decided. If he wasn’t home by then, she would lock her door, undress, and climb into bed.
And in the morning, she’d advise the duchess to pick the wallpaper adorned with pink roses and turtledoves—the duke’s masculinity be damned.
Two minutes left. Sighing, she sprang off her bed, loosened the laces of her gown, and threw open the doors of her armoire with considerably more force than was necessary.
And then she heard the duke come in the front door.
Blast. She wanted to intercept him before he secluded himself in his study so she could avoid returning to The Scene of the Ravishment. Or ravishments, as the case may be.
With no time to tighten her laces, she plucked a shawl off of her chair, grabbed the dowager’s wallpaper samples, and dashed out of her bedchamber. As she glided down the staircase, she spotted the duke in the foyer limping toward his study—a lion retreating to his den.
But she would not feel sorry for him. Wounded or no, he was still a lion.
“Your grace,” she called.
His head snapped up, and he looked around, making sure they were alone. “Beth. Why are you awake?” At the sight of his disheveled hair, broad shoulders, and lean hips, her traitorous heart beat faster.
“I require a moment of your time. I’ve a question regarding your study.”
“So late?” His words felt like a slap to the face. Naively, she’d thought he might be happy to see her. Or that he might want to pick things up where they’d left off the day before. Pure foolishness.
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “You forget, I am all that stands between you and a study fit for a nine-year-old princess.”
He shot her a weary smile. “Fine. We’ll discuss the decorating crisis in my study.”
“I thought that perhaps we could meet in the drawing room,” she said.
He glanced down the corridor like it was a five-mile stretch of highway. “If we must.” Stoically, he began walking, dragging his left leg with each step.
“Very well.” Beth heaved a sigh. “The study will suffice.”
She followed him there and waited impatiently as he lit the lamp.
“Here we are,” he said, facing her and leaning a hip on the edge of his desk. “I am at your disposal, ready to deal with the emergency at hand.”
Scowling at his sarcasm, she handed him three samples and plopped into his leather chair. “Your grandmother has narrowed the wallpaper choices to these three.”
He shuffled through them, holding each at arm’s length. “I think we can rule out the roses and doves.” Recklessly, he tossed the sample over his shoulder.
Beth huffed in protest. “Have a care! I need to return those to the dowager’s escritoire in the morning—before she discovers they’re missing.”
He arched a dark brow. “I did not realize that this project would involve so much subterfuge.”
Pressing her fingertips to a temple, she asked, “I already knew that the floral wouldn’t pass muster. Which of the other two choices do you like?”
He shrugged. “Either is fine with me. You decide.”
Oh no. She’d waited for hours in order to solicit his opinion—and she would have it. “Surely you have a preference.”
Shaking his head, he tried handing them back to her. “They look the same to me.”
“Look again.” She shoved herself out of the chair, incredulous. “One of these will cover your walls from chair rail to cornice. It will determine the palette and set the mood for the entire room for at least a decade to come.”
He scratched his head as though thoroughly perplexed. “You really want me to choose one?”
“Why do I feel like I’m speaking in a foreign tongue? Yes, you must choose. The whole point of this foolish exercise is for you to maintain a modicum of control over your surroundings. You may not abdicate the decision.”
“But I trust you. And I confess that I don’t really care about the wallpaper … as long as you’re near.” He laid the samples on his desk, as if to signal the conversation was over.
Well, it wasn’t.
She snatched up one of the papers and waved it in front of his face. “The blue-gray scrollwork on a cream background is elegant and understated.”
He crossed his arms and smiled, clearly enjoying himself. “If you like it, it’s fine.”
“We’re aiming for something better than fine.” She waved the other paper—a subtle silver and white brocade. “This one would provide more of a blank canvas, allowing your artwork to make more of a statement.”
She’d no sooner uttered the words than they both turned their heads to gaze at the painting of Phyllis.
“So,” she said, still staring at the freakishly large-headed horse, “the blue-gray scrollwork it is.”
“That was shockingly easy. I told you that you didn’t need me,” he teased.
“Indeed.” Exasperated, she gathered the samples and collected her shawl from the chair. “In the future I shall endeavor to refrain from bothering you with such trivial concerns. Good night.”
But before she could manage to take two steps toward the door, he tugged on the laces dangling at the side of her gown, halting her in her tracks. “What if I told you that I like it when you bother me? That I live for the moments when you bother me? That the last quarter of an hour has been the best part of my entire day?”
Beth’s breath hitched in her throat. “You have an odd way of showing it, your grace.”
“Alex,” he reminded her, winding her laces around his fist. As he slowly pulled her closer, his brown eyes promised all sorts of wicked delights. Her belly did a cartwheel in response.
“Tell me,” he said, “did anything more than wallpaper bring us together this evening?”
This was the flirtation she’d craved—but she’d sooner die than admit it. “The dowager did mention a new carpet. I thought it best not to overwhelm you.”
“Thank you for taking pity. The wallpaper almost did me in.”
He continued to hold her captive, looking at her mouth very much like he wanted to kiss her. Much to her relief—or was it disappointment?—he didn’t.
It would be so easy to lean into him and let desire take over. But as much as she longed to kiss him, she didn’t want to be one more conquest. For all she knew, Alex could have spent the entire evening in the arms of a beautiful widow or skilled courtesan. He could have come directly from another woman’s bed—and the thought was more than Beth could stomach.
“I should go,” she said firmly.
Reluctantly, he released the laces. “I understand.” Surprise and hurt flickered across his face. “But before you leave, I have a favor to ask.”