Beth’s legs still felt shaky, but she no longer feared she’d burst into tears. She pushed aside thoughts of Alex’s betrayal. There’d be plenty of time in the days, weeks, and months to come to dwell on the pain he’d caused her family.
For now, she needed to focus on keeping Alex, his grandmother, and all the guests safe.
Thus far, she’d had little time to do any investigating, a matter she intended to rectify as soon as possible. But first, she would see how the dowager was faring.
Beth found her sitting on the side of the room, tapping her foot in time to the music.
“I’d wondered where you’d gone,” the duchess said, without a hint of censure. “I’d rather hoped that the handsome Mr. Coulsen would claim you for a dance.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” she said lightly. “I was merely fetching your fan.” Beth handed it to her and sat beside her.
“It has grown rather stuffy,” the dowager commented. “But then, every successful ball is.” She smiled smugly, her merry eyes crinkling behind her spectacles.
“Shall I bring you some lemonade or champagne?” Beth glanced at the refreshment table and happened to notice Lord Newton and his wife, dressed as a monk and nun, slipping out of the ballroom and into the tea room, which the footmen were using as a staging area for the drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
Odd, that. There was no reason for guests to wander in there … unless they wanted access to the food and drink before it was served. Good heavens.
“No, my dear,” the duchess said. “I’m perfectly content watching your older sister dance with her earl.” She sighed in a manner that suggested she’d be more content if Beth were dancing with a gentleman. Raising her chin, the dowager looked down her nose at Beth. “What on earth has become of your costume?”
Drat. She’d discarded her cape in the hallway. Fanning herself dramatically, she said, “You are correct—it’s far too warm. I left the cloak in my bedchamber.”
“You look rather pale, Elizabeth. Are you feeling quite well?”
“Yes, of course.” Beth kept an eye on the doorway to the tea room, waiting for Lord and Lady Newton to realize they’d wandered into an area meant for the staff and emerge red-faced.
But they did not.
“If you’re certain you don’t require anything,” Beth said, “I believe I’ll help myself to a glass of champagne.”
“Yes, please do. It will fortify you. And it would please me greatly if the next time I see you, a dashing gentleman is twirling you around the dance floor.”
“Thank you. Excuse me.” Beth dashed off as quickly as she could without appearing impolite. She needed to instruct the staff to watch over the food and make sure that no one was permitted to add anything to the glasses or food trays.
Halfway to her destination, a hand circled her upper arm, pinching her skin. She gasped and turned to see a peasant woman dressed in a low-cut blouse and short skirt. “Lady Haversham?”
“Indeed, Miss Lacey,” she said smoothly, dropping her hand. “Forgive me for detaining you.”
Rubbing her arm, Beth said, “It’s quite all right. How may I help you?”
The woman adjusted her blouse, displaying her impressive cleavage to its greatest advantage. “I happened to notice that you and the Duke of Blackshire shared a rather … meaningful look earlier tonight.”
Blast, had they been so obvious? Mr. Coulsen certainly seemed to have noticed. Heat crept up her neck, but she tossed her head defiantly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
Lady Haversham chuckled, but her eyes were cold and hard. “You needn’t be embarrassed. A look is hardly clear and damning evidence of impropriety.”
The hairs on Beth’s arms stood on end. “Is there a specific reason that you stopped me?”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Haversham pursed her lips, suddenly looking every inch a marchioness, in spite of her hoydenish attire. “I wished to warn you about the duke. You are no doubt aware of his reputation, and I urge you—do not be taken in by his handsome face and charming smile. Many a woman has tried to tame him, and none has succeeded. Don’t allow pride to persuade you that you shall be the first.”
The woman’s words cut Beth to the quick. Perhaps she was proud. But mostly she was … in love.
“I am certain your advice is well-intentioned,” she said coolly, “but let me assure you that your concern is unwarranted.”
Lady Haversham sniffed. “I only wished to spare you unnecessary heartache. The man truly is an insatiable scoundrel. Why, only moments ago, I overheard the duke entreating a shepherdess to meet him in his study at midnight.”
Beth gulped. Alex wouldn’t do that. He might have neglected to tell her he’d coined the cruel Wilting Wallflower name, but he wouldn’t be so callous as to seduce a woman right under her nose.
Not when she was leaving London the very next day.
Beth blinked away the tears that threatened. “I’m afraid I must go now.”
Lady Haversham pressed her thin lips together, her glassy eyes troubled. “I understand, dear—better than you know. Godspeed.”
Beth frowned as she left the marchioness. Her husband was one of the men suspected of trying to kill Alex. But why, in heaven’s name, had the woman felt the need to issue a warning and reveal Alex’s plans for an assignation?
Beth wasn’t inclined to believe her, but then, where Alex was concerned, her judgment had proven fallible. Still, she had no time to dissect Lady Haversham’s words.
For Lord and Lady Newton could be poisoning the guests at that very moment. She headed in the direction of the tea room, praying she was not too late.
* * *
Alex reached for the black scarf draped over the back staircase’s railing, stuffed it in his pocket, and raced down the stairs. At the bottom, he peered into the butler’s room and the dining room—and found both eerily dark and empty.
As he turned to check the kitchen, someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.
Alex spun around and hauled his fist back, itching to hit someone.
Darby held up his palms. “Jesus, what are you trying to do?” he said in a loud whisper.
Unclenching his fist, Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“I was trying to avoid alerting our suspect.” He inclined his head toward the door to the pantry. “Newton’s in there.”
“By himself?”
“No. His wife’s with him. And if their moans are any indication, I’d say she’s forgiven him for slighting his mother-in-law.”
Alex dragged a hand down his face. “Let’s leave them.”
Darby’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “You’re ready to abandon the plan, then?”
“They seem far too preoccupied with each other to be plotting anything nefarious.” Alex started walking toward the staircase, with Darby on his heels. “Haversham was similarly engaged on the verandah.”
Darby snorted. “With Lady Haversham?”
Shaking his head, Alex said, “The gypsy. When I left them, they were horizontal behind the hedges. And he’s still too drunk to present a danger to anyone but himself.”
“Either one of our suspects could still be the culprit. Maybe they’ve guessed they’re under surveillance.” As he and Alex emerged from the back stairs into the ballroom, Darby waved an arm at the barely contained mayhem. “Or they’ve calculated that in a crowd this size, the risk of discovery is too great to attempt murder.”
“That’s true.” But Alex’s gut told him neither Newton nor Haversham presented a genuine threat. He and Darby were on the wrong track. “I’ve been considering what you said about Coulsen—about him having the most to gain from my death.”
“I had no idea that you actually listened to a word I said.”
“Occasionally. I’ve been watching him tonight too.” It was hard to ignore the lovesick expression on the knight’s face when he looked at Beth.
And Alex hadn’t seen her in some time. His stomach clenched. It would be just like her to ignore his request for her to stay in the ballroom and, instead, try to take matters into her own hands.
Cursing under his breath, he said to Darby. “Stay alert, but try to enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m going to return to the mezzanine where I can watch Coulsen’s movements.” And look for Beth.
“Suit yourself,” Darby said with a shrug. As though another thought suddenly occurred to him, he frowned. “Speaking of Coulsen, he asked me an odd question earlier.”
Alex tensed. “What question?”
“He wanted to know if it was true that you’d originally labeled the Lacey sisters the Wilting Wallflowers.”
Shit. “And I presume that you told him to mind his own goddamn business?”
“Er … in hindsight, I guess I should have.” Darby scratched his head guiltily. “But you seemed to hold him in high regard, so I told him the truth. That you had, and that you weren’t proud of it.”
Alex dropped his forehead into his hand. “Christ.”
“I’m sorry. If you’d like, I can hunt him down and threaten him within an inch of his life, should he tell anyone.”
Sighing, Alex shook his head. “No. This isn’t your fault or Coulsen’s. I only have myself to blame, and it will be up to me to undo the damage. If it even can be undone.”
“Good luck. For what it’s worth, I think your wallfl—that is, Miss Lacey—is worth it,” Darby said, deviously weaving his way into the crowd before Alex could throttle him.
More determined than ever to find her, Alex headed for the mezzanine stairs, located on the opposite side of the room.
But he was intercepted halfway there by a trident-wielding Poseidon. “Pardon, your grace,” he said. “I was asked to deliver a message to you.” He reached behind his beard into his shirt and withdrew a small folded note.
Alex snatched it from his hand and read it:
Meet me in the study at midnight.–B
Poseidon had already started a conversation with an Egyptian queen, but Alex yanked him aside, waving the note. “Who gave you this?”
“I don’t know.” He tilted his head and adjusted his crown, thoughtful. “But she wore a red cape,” he said, brightening. “She was dressed in scarlet—like Red Riding Hood.”
“Thank you.” Alex spun the ocean god toward his Cleopatra, shoved the message in his pocket, and checked his watch.
In ten minutes, he’d meet Beth.
And beg forgiveness.