The two hovering men hooted with laughter.
"Come here, Gretta," the other man said, whipping the girl off her now thoroughly disgusted horse. Twenty-five-year-old Viscount Foxcroft hoisted her into the air, catching her in his arms. The sandy-haired man had been friend of both Drake and James since childhood.
"Weeeeee," Margueretta squealed. "Do that again, Foxth."
"Here we go, Cabbage. But watch out for Lord Horsy. He might give us a swift kick in the you know what and send us flying into the wall."
Fox, James, and Margueretta cackled with laughter.
Drake rose to greet the men while brushing the dust off his breeches. When he gave them a glare that sent most men scrambling for cover, the laughter stopped abruptly. Although the two men were by no means small, Drake hovered over them by a few extra inches.
"What in the—" Drake looked down at his smiling daughter and bit back a curse "—world are you two doing here?"
"What indeed?" James held a teasing glint in his warm brown eyes, then glanced at Fox. "Daresay, word has it around London there was a horse for sale here and we came to inspect it." He sniffed the air and moved closer to Drake. "By Jove, smells like a barn in here."
Margueretta let out a giggling snort as Fox dropped her to the floor. No sooner had James opened his mouth than both men started poking and prodding Drake from head to toe as though he were a horse for sale.
Fox cleared his throat. "Ah, this one could be sold at Tattersall's at a fair price. Do you not think so, Lord James?"
Margueretta giggled, throwing her hands to her knees as Fox attempted to check the inside of Drake's mouth. "Oh, but I see he's a stubborn one, he is. What say you, Lady Margueretta?"
The little girl nodded and laughed. "Thubborn!"
Drake clamped his mouth tight. He gave them his most contemptuous glower, knowing Margueretta was loving every second of it.
"Oh, Uncle Foxth." Margueretta pulled at the viscount's blue brocade jacket. Her big brown eyes regarded all three of them as if they were very stupid men.
"He
ith not a horth. That ith my papa. You call him... Drake."
Drake's name came out as Dwake, and his eyes twinkled as he met the amused gazes of the other two men.
Minutes later, after
Dwake
had galloped his daughter to her waiting nanny, he rejoined the two gentlemen in the library.
Drake reached for the crystal decanter and turned to them. "Not in London chasing the ladies? But the Season has begun, gentlemen. I cannot fathom the reason behind your visit, for you will have only the pleasure of my company tonight."
He raised an inquisitive brow, searching for a sarcastic reply, but there was none.
"You must know about Nightham." James stood, his fists tightening at his sides. "The story is all over London that his body was sent back from that inn. And from what I can deduce from your servants in Town, you took off in a hurry that same day he was found dead. You were there, were you not? Why the devil did you not tell us? The funeral was over before we came back from Brighton!"
Drake leaned against his desk and sipped from his glass. "True. All true. You must have seen the papers."
"True?" Fox shot up from his seat beside the fireplace. "Nightham was our friend, too! You should have sent word to us right away. Dash it all! The man was murdered!"
Sitting on the corner of the desk, Drake tipped the last of the liquid down his throat, wondering what to say.
"Drake?" James demanded. "What happened?"
Drake peered back at the men as a handful of embers snapped in the hearth. He slipped off his desk and retreated into the leather chair behind it, his mind clouding with the memories of that disturbing night. Grief still cut deep into his heart.
"Nightham was knifed. I found him behind the inn."
Grimacing, Fox leaned forward. "Thought it was something like that. Probably saw something he shouldn't have." He paused, frowning. "Rumors are flying at White's that Nightham had a special license on him. What about the woman?"
Drake's brows shot up in surprise. Rumors at White's?
Fox narrowed his gaze on Drake. "By Jove, I knew it all along. Nightham had no brains when it came to females. An inn in a small village. What else would the nodcock be doing? He was always a bit sneaky, you know. Tell us. What of this female? I demand an answer."
"You demand an answer, do you?" Drake's tone was cool as he leaned forward, glaring back at his friend. "Nightham is dead and you demand an answer!"
"Enough." James threw his hands in the air, separating the two. His brown eyes widened in surprise as Drake and Fox sank back in their seats.
Drake frowned, recalling the entire escapade with Nightham and Lady Victoria. He could still smell the rosewater from his daughter's bath lingering on his shirt. The scent made him think of the woman, and that made him think things he had no right to think.
"Nightham did not marry her," he said, avoiding their gaze and biting back a curse. The lady had slipped through his fingers as easily as oil through a crack.
"At least there's one blessing in all of this," Fox said. "Should save his mother some grief. Poor soul. But who is this mysterious woman?"
A muscle twitched in Drake's jaw. "She disappeared. Scared, I think."
"Disappeared?" both men replied.
"Disappeared," Drake said, shifting his gaze toward the dying fire. He had told them too much already, and as much as he hated to confess the rest, it was almost impossible to stop now. He owed that much to Nightham.
Fox leaned back in his chair. "Man always had an eye for the pretty ones. He had a downright gem on his hands, did he?"
"I say," James replied thoughtfully. "The woman didn't just disappear. She gave you the slip, didn't she?"
Drake glared at his brother.
James stared back, a teasing glint in his brown eyes. "Well, who would have known? You wanted the woman for yourself, but she didn't want you. Isn't that so, big brother?"
"Shut up, James. You go too far."
"Do I? Your latest flirts have been beautiful, yet they have all gone after you. But what of this mysterious lady? Did she love Nightham then?"
Drake clenched his teeth. Did she love Nightham? He was wondering the same thing himself. "It was not that way at all. I made a promise to Nightham."
As the night progressed Drake eventually furnished the details to the two gentlemen about Nightham's death and the promise he made. He knew James and Fox would keep the information in confidence. They knew the lady involved was comely in her own right, but that was as far as Drake went on her description, conveniently leaving out the lady's hair color. Fox had a fetish for reddish-brown locks.
When the men stood up to leave, James turned to his brother. "Ah, almost forgot."
"What now?" Thoroughly exhausted, Drake frowned as they made their way to the front door.
"Father's to be in London next week."
"And that is supposed to thrill me?" As if he wanted to know where his father was all the time?
"So ..." James whisked his hat off the hall table.
"So?" Drake stepped toward the door.
Miles, the butler, handed them their cloaks. Fox sidestepped the brothers, but Drake had distinctly heard the man's muted chuckle.
"So," James threw one foot over the threshold and glanced over his shoulder, "I did come here to find out about Nightham, but I daresay, thought you would like to see who your stepmother is going to be." Without any further explanation, James turned around and closed the door behind him.
Drake whipped open the door. "What the blazes are you talking about?"
James looked up. "The new duchess-to-be. She stayed here at Percy Hall while you were gallivanting about Town. Grandmother knows all about her."
"The devil, you say?"
James threw back his head and laughed. "No, but she is a beautiful, well-bred widow, if my sources are correct."
"And who are your sources?"
"Father, of course."
When James finally took his leave, Drake mounted the oak staircase, retreating to his bedchambers. "A blasted widow!"
"Jonathan."
Drake's gaze shifted down the hall. The Dowager Duchess of Glenshire emerged from her bedchambers. She was a small woman dressed in a pristine white robe buttoned to her neck.
Drake met his grandmother's stern glare. At seventy, she could still see through a brick wall, and she was the only person who called him by his first name. Even his father called him Drake.
"Jonathan? Do I smell trouble?"
Gray eyes met gray in a battle of wills.
Drake lifted a knowing brow. "I will leave the situation alone, unless it needs tending. Good night, Grandmother."
"Good night, Jonathan."
Drake stomped into his bedchamber with the lady's infernal gaze attached to his back. First, Nightham's death, and now, his father was engaged to someone Drake didn't even know. Probably a pauper, too!
Drake pulled the tie from his hair, recalling a pair of aquamarine eyes. Haunting eyes. Innocent eyes. Enchanting eyes that had bewitched him.
With an oath, he pulled out his pocket watch and slipped it into the gilded bronze stand on his night table, setting it in place so the watch now served as a clock.
He stared at the stand and felt as if the time for finding that red-haired siren was running out like the sands of an hourglass.
Nevertheless, he would do something about that promise to Nightham, or he would die trying.
Chapter
Four
F
rowning, Sarah rested the candle on the nightstand next to Victoria's bed. "I have it from Mrs. Dorling that no sooner had we left than you were out visiting a sick friend. Yet it seems strange that you could not venture with us into the country with a cold in your head?"
Victoria let out a shuddering sigh as a drizzling rain tapped against the windowpane of the bedchamber. Sarah's long-white nightgown glowed eerily against the candlelight.
"Come now, Victoria, you must tell me what happened. I know all your friends. None are that ill that you would have to be gone from the house for almost twenty-four hours. Even Mother suspects something is wrong. Mrs. Dorling is not about to worry her with your absence, but I am a different story altogether."
From her bed, Victoria took hold of Sarah's hand. "Oh, Sarah. It is so wretched, I don't think I can tell you."
"Goodness, you know you can trust me."
Victoria bit her lip and regarded Sarah with a wary gaze. She could trust Sarah with anything, even her life. But she could never trust a man again. The men in her life had failed her all too often.
"Does Aunt Phoebe know I left the townhouse that day?"
"No. Only Mrs. Dorling and me."
Victoria closed her eyes. "It's such a mess. I don't know where to start."
"Start anywhere, dearest. It cannot be that bad."
Victoria shook her head in disgust. "But it was a madcap thing to do. I have made a mess of it all."