Over the last hour, the size of the crowd had doubled. The orchestra’s music floated up to the mezzanine, and dancing had commenced. Alex scanned the throng for a brilliant red cape. “Any developments on your end?” he asked Darby.
“Nothing significant. The discord between Lord and Lady Newton seems to stem from his unwillingness to invite her parents to his house party next month. He said he can’t bear her mother’s incessant chatter. She replied by saying that at least her mother doesn’t cheat at charades.” Darby shook his head in disgust. “Makes me damned grateful to be a bachelor, you know?”
“Er, I suppose.” Alex still couldn’t find Beth.
Darby leaned on the mezzanine railing. “Has Haversham fallen down yet? Or better yet, casted up his accounts?”
“No. He’s been consorting with the gypsy and another woman, who is wearing man’s breeches.”
Intrigued, Darby nodded. “My fondness for masquerade balls grows by the minute.”
Alex snorted. “Don’t let a woman in breeches make you forget the plan.” Although, even he was beginning to wonder if their machinations were necessary. The ball had been blessedly uneventful, and it seemed highly unlikely that the villain would be bold enough to attempt murder while two hundred of London’s most elite looked on.
Still, he’d feel better if he knew where Beth was.
“Newton’s heading toward the refreshment table,” Darby said. “I’d better go and make sure he doesn’t slip anything into the champagne. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
Alex gave him a grateful slap on the shoulder as he left. “See you at half past eleven.”
As he scanned the ballroom below from left to right, a glimpse of red drew his eye.
Beth.
She stood in a small circle comprised of two women in light-colored gowns—her sisters, if he had to guess—and a Templar knight.
Alex studied the man, finding something familiar about his athletic stance and confident bearing. And then he placed him—Richard Coulsen.
He recalled the conversation he’d had with Darby at the pub a week ago. Coulsen did stand to gain a dukedom if Alex died. Was Alex being naïve to think that his cousin was above suspicion?
But his gut told him Coulsen wasn’t a threat to him—at least not in a physical sense. Honorable and hard-working, his cousin presented a different sort of threat, perhaps more dangerous. Because he seemed less interested in Alex’s title and fortune than he did in Beth.
But surely Alex’s worries were unfounded. It was true that he’d been consumed with finding his would-be killer, but Beth understood that and would wait for him.
Swallowing his doubts, he flicked his gaze to Haversham. Good God. The gypsy that the marquess had been fawning over for much of the night stroked his long, fake beard, and the two were slyly making their way toward the tall doors leading out to the verandah.
The skin between Alex’s shoulder blades prickled. What if Haversham only pretended to be drunk? What if he was using the gypsy as an alibi for nefarious activities that were underway at this very moment? Alex had to follow him.
He took one last, long look at Beth, willing her to look up him so he could give her a sign that he was thinking of her. So she’d know he was counting the minutes until this godforsaken ball was over so that he could go to her and tell her what he should have told her yesterday.
That he wanted to marry her.
Haversham and the gypsy staggered toward the verandah, laughing.
Please, Beth, look at me.
Time was running out. Even now, the marquess and his companion slipped outside, disappearing from view.
Damn it. Beth couldn’t know he was up there on the mezzanine, but he desperately wanted to believe that she heard his silent plea. I’m here. Don’t give up on me. Believe in us.
Just as he was about to leave and chase after Haversham, Beth turned her face up, gazing at the chandeliers, the silk bunting draped along the mezzanine railing—and finally, at him.
He nodded his head and held his breath, waiting for some form of recognition. A signal that all was well with her—and with them.
She froze momentarily, then timidly raised her hand and waved.
Smiling, he exhaled. “This is real,” he murmured, hoping the words echoed in her heart.
He lingered one more moment before striding toward the verandah.
* * *
Beth’s belly fluttered as she watched Alex walk away. For one second, while he’d smiled at her, the music had silenced, the dancers had paused, and the revelers had stilled. In the midst of the bustling ballroom, she and Alex had found each other.
Hope blossomed in her chest.
Julie jabbed an elbow into her side.
“Ow,” she mumbled, glancing at the faces around her. Both of her sisters stared at her, eyes narrowed, as though they were starting to piece the puzzle together. Mr. Coulsen’s gaze flicked to the now empty spot where Alex had stood and back to Beth.
And she thought she’d been subtle. Blast.
“Mr. Coulsen asked you a question,” Meg whispered.
“I beg your pardon,” Beth said. “It’s difficult to hear above the orchestra.”
Julie rolled her eyes. As if Beth didn’t already know how pathetic her excuse was.
“I wondered if you might like to take a turn about the room,” he said smoothly.
In spite of herself, Beth glanced at the mezzanine again. Alex was preoccupied with his investigation—as he should be.
Mr. Coulsen was a gentleman, and she admired him—in the same way one might an older brother. Spending a few minutes in his company certainly couldn’t hurt. On the contrary, it would allow her to pass the time and to escape her sisters’ questions about the duke, which were coming just as surely as she stood there.
“I’d be delighted to.” She smiled as she took the arm Mr. Coulsen offered. He made a polite bow to her sisters, who glared at her as though she had much explaining to do. Beth made a mental note to avoid them for as long as possible.
Mr. Coulsen’s arm was solid—if not quite as hard as Alex’s—and his manners were impeccable. They strolled around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the clusters of guests and enjoying a respite from the merriment.
“It was very kind of the dowager duchess to invite me tonight,” he said, his blue eyes earnest. “I’d concluded my business here and had planned to return to Kent yesterday but couldn’t turn down the opportunity to attend such a grand event … mostly because I wished to see you.”
Oh dear. Beth swallowed and looked at the toes of her gold slippers peeking beneath the hem of her blue gown. She hated to hurt Mr. Coulsen’s feelings, but it wasn’t fair to raise his hopes.
“I am honored that you would say such a—” she began.
“It’s true.”
She stopped near the corner of the room, where they had a modicum of privacy, and sighed regretfully. “While I hold you in the highest esteem, I feel obliged to tell you that … that my affections are elsewhere engaged.”
He didn’t flinch, but his shoulders sloped ever so slightly. “I was afraid of that. I saw the look you exchanged with Blackshire. You care for him?”
Beth ignored the question. “I’m sorry. And I do hope we may remain friends.” The words seemed so inadequate—almost trite—and yet she meant them with all her heart. She had few friends beyond her sisters and the seventy-something-year-old duchess. It would be nice to count Mr. Coulsen among them.
“Of course we may,” he said sincerely. “I won’t pretend that I’m not disappointed, however I cannot say that I’m surprised. Someone as kind and beautiful as you should have a bevy of suitors.”
“It’s not like that,” she assured him. “This … attachment … well, it developed rather spontaneously, when I least expected it.” Lord help her, why was she divulging these details to Mr. Coulsen? “In any event, I have reason to believe that the, ah … gentleman returns my affections.” Heat crept up her neck. She might as well come right out and tell Mr. Coulsen that only yesterday her suitor had ravished her in his wine cellar.
“Any man who didn’t return your affections would be a fool,” he said matter-of-factly.
For some reason, his blunt declaration brought tears to her eyes, and she sniffled. “Thank you.”
“I hope that you believe me, Miss Lacey—Beth, if I may.”
“Of course.” It seemed harmless enough.
“I strongly believe that you deserve someone honorable and true,” he said. “And I suppose that’s why I feel obliged to divulge information that I’ve recently learned.”
A chill ran the length of Beth’s spine, and her stomach roiled. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something you should know about the Duke of Blackshire.”