Dying For A Duke Page 20

  Phoebe squashed a tremor of alarm. Whether or not he was guilty of any crime she didn’t trust Oliver as far as she could throw him, not now. But she didn’t believe he meant her any harm. Miss Pinchbeck’s disapproving expression floated to mind and made up her own.

  “Lead on then,” she said with a merry smile. “If you slip me a brandy in a sherry glass I shan’t complain you know.”

  Oliver laughed, delighted. “That’s the spirit! I say but you do chase the clouds away, Phoebe. Never fail but to cheer me up.”

  She smiled at him in thanks for the compliment and followed him into the library. He was quiet while he fixed them both drinks and she thought he seemed nervous all of a sudden. This was borne out when he next spoke.

  “Actually, I ... I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone,” he said, his blue eyes giving her a warm if slightly anxious look.

  “Oh?” Phoebe replied with a sinking feeling and sipping her brandy as alarm bells began to ring.

  “Yes,” he said, downing his drink and pouring another one. “The truth is I’m sick of this place,” he said with some heat. “I’m sick of all the same faces, all the same places ... I keep thinking things will change but ... they never will.”

  Phoebe watched him, seeing the emotions chase across his face and wondering where he was going with this.

  “I’m going to America,” he announced. He laughed at the shock in her eyes. “Didn’t expect that did you?”

  “I ... no!” she admitted, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t. You’ve surprised me.”

  He moved suddenly and put down his empty glass, coming to sit beside her. “Come with me!” he said, his voice urgent as he took her hand in his. He gave her a crooked smile as she gasped in shock. “No you didn’t expect that either I suppose,” he added.

  He was quiet for a moment while Phoebe tried to gather her wits and decide what to say to him. “I know I’m not Benedict,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’ve often wished I was,” he admitted. “At least until his father died perhaps,” he added with a grin. “But ... I’m not so bad, Phoebe. We could be happy you and I. My word, a woman like you in America! Think of it, Phoebe! They’re not half so stuffy over there. Think of all the things we could do if you married me, the places we could see. We’d paint the town red, I dare swear.”

  He looked back at her with expectation in her eyes but try as she might she couldn’t find a word to say to him.

  “Don’t answer me now,” he said, his voice soft again now and his expression full of hope. “But promise me you’ll think about it, won’t you? Please?”

  Phoebe nodded. She hadn’t the least intention of accepting him but her thoughts were all up in the air and she didn’t know what to think or what to say for the best.

  “Good girl,” he replied, apparently satisfied anyway. “At least if I leave it might convince that bloody runner I don’t give a damn about the dukedom,” he said with a bitter tone. “I don’t know what else I must do to convince the blasted fellow.” He sighed and got up. “Ah well, I’d better dash, I’m going to be frightfully late for dinner. See you anon,” he said, sounding far more cheerful than he had just moments earlier.

  ***

  Benedict strolled along the path that led out of the vast grounds of Grizedale with his thoughts full of the conversation with Sylvester. He had no intention of walking as far as the pretty village that lay at the end of this track but his footsteps had begun along the familiar pathway and he’d just kept going as his mind turned over the same dilemma over and again.

  The thought of subjecting Phoebe to all the scandal and gossip that such an undertaking would inevitably surround her with if Theodora made good on her promise made him feel physically sick. But he knew that Sylvester was right in his estimation of Phoebe. She was the bravest, most single-minded person he’d ever met, and he knew she wouldn’t give a damn for what anyone said about her.

  The trouble was that he did.

  Well just let them say anything in his hearing that was all ... It could well be he’d give Formby a real reason to march him to the scaffold, he thought with a wave of fury.

  Hearing footsteps behind him on the path he turned and grimaced inwardly as he saw Theodora walking the same path with a covered basket over her arm.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, keeping his tone bland as she approached.

  “Good afternoon, my Lord,” she replied, a tight smile at her lips. “Keeping an assignation?” she demanded with the lift of one imperious eyebrow.

  “No, Theodora, just walking,” he replied, his tone as icy as his affection for her had become, if indeed it had ever existed in the first place.

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. I saw Miss Skeffington-Fox back at the house, going into the drawing room alone with Oliver,” she added with a sneer. “She doesn’t care a hoot for her reputation, I’ll give her that.”

  Benedict glared at her noting that she was very pale, her eyes heavy with shadows. “Be very careful, Theodora,” he warned her. “I will only allow you to push me so far.”

  She snorted at him, disgust in her expression as she stood taller and then winced.

  His eyes narrowed at her. “Are you unwell?”

  Giving a tight shake of her head she turned away. “A persistent headache,” she said with accusation in her tone, as if it was his fault. “A walk in the fresh air will see to it I’m sure. I’ll bid you good day, my Lord. I have letters to post in the village. No doubt I will see you at dinner.”

  Benedict merely nodded to her, which was as far as his manners would allow him to go, but he felt sure his expression must hold all the animosity he now felt for the woman and watched her walk out of sight. Damn her, why couldn’t she just let it go. Why wouldn’t she let him go? Though he knew the answer well enough. Not only was the title of duchess one she would relish, it was well known the estate was a vastly wealthy one. It appeared money and power was more than enough reason to marry a man you despised, even if he more than returned the feeling. For a considerable time he just stood staring out at the landscape that comprised a small fraction of the wealth and power of Grizedale Court. This was what his fiancée wanted, not him. But if this was to be his home, then he would share it with Phoebe and no one else.

  Theodora was in for a shock.

  With a determined set to his shoulders Benedict turned and began to retrace his steps when a shot rang out.

  Feeling a sharp pinch to his left arm, for a moment he was too surprised to think what might have happened. When his fingers came away bloody and the wound began to throb, however, he knew well enough and flung himself off the path and into the woodland. Not a moment too late as another shot rang out, the sound echoing across the estate and the thud of the bullet piercing the tree he stood behind.

  With sweat prickling down the back of his neck he took a breath to calm himself. The shot had come from higher ground, most likely in the upper part of the south wood which ran along the path. There was plenty of cover for his assailant up there or he’d have seen anyone else out in the grounds. Which meant they were a fair way off at least.

  Heart thundering in his chest he headed deeper into the woodland and took the long route back to the house. At any moment he expected his pursuer to appear from behind a tree or leap out from a bush, but by the time he arrived back at the house he knew he was safe, for the moment at least.

  Not wanting to terrify his mother or Phoebe any further, he went straight to his valet to get the wound dressed. Benedict then sent word to Formby, letting him know what had happened and requesting him to call at the house, that evening if possible.

  Once this was done, he dressed for dinner and went downstairs as if nothing had happened. If whoever was doing this hoped to frighten him, he was damned if he would let it show. Rattled he may be, but he wasn’t about to cower in his room. Deciding that his previous decision was more important than ever, he realised that he needed to marry Phoebe with all haste. At least then if something did happen ... well she
would be well provided for.

  With that rather bleak idea giving him a melancholy feeling, he went to search out the one woman who could always chase his sorrows far from his mind. The thought of seeing her was enough to cheer him, and despite his recent fright he found himself chuckling with amusement at how she was likely to react to his decision about their future.

  ***

  Phoebe had waited until Oliver left the room and let out a sigh of relief. She’d known Oliver enjoyed flirting with her, but she’d never once expected a proposal of marriage! Whatever would Benedict say about it? Setting out to find him and discover the answer she’d searched most of the house before she stumbled upon Keane. The butler smiled at her in an informal manner and told her Lord Rothay had gone for a walk but was expected back shortly. With frustration she went back to the library and picked up a book which failed to hold her attention as she sat there with impatience, until the door finally opened.

  “There you are!” she said in relief as Benedict’s large frame entered the room. It never ceased to amaze her how much room the man took up.

  “Hello,” he said, a rather animated twinkle in his eyes at seeing her.

  She beamed at him, feeling her heart give an uncharacteristic flutter in her chest. Good Lord, if this kept up she’d have to start reading dreadful love poetry or some such nonsense.

  “Hello yourself,” she replied as he ducked his head and stole a kiss. He lingered a moment, their mouths almost but not quite touching. “You’re being very daring,” she teased.

  “Well,” he said, his voice low. “If we’re going to let Theodora sue me for breach of promise I suppose I’ll have to get used to gossip and scandal.”

  She just stared at him for a moment, not entirely sure she was understanding his meaning but in the end it sank in. “Benedict!” she cried, leaping to her feet so quickly he only just moved before their heads cracked together.

  “Have a care, love,” he said, laughing at her as she flung her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses. “I haven’t even proposed yet,” he added with a scolding tone which she completely ignored, just as she was supposed to.

  “I don’t care!” she crowed, practically bouncing on the spot with delight. “Oh, I’m so happy.”

  “Yes,” he said, his expression wry. “I can quite imagine how you’ll enjoy Theodora’s fury. You’ll be the only one,” he added with a grimace. “However I’ve been told not to be so damned hen-hearted.”

  “Sylvester!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with glee.

  He nodded, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Apparently it’s de rigueur for a duke to have at least one scandal under his belt so I may as well get my hand in,” he muttered with a grin.

  “Oh, Ben!” she laughed, shaking her head. “How funny you are. But what a dear old fellow Sylvester is. I must find a special way to thank him.”

  Benedict gave a huff of amusement and went to fix himself a drink. His powerful frame was lit up by the sunshine glittering through the window behind him and she felt a rush of happiness that she would finally be able to call him her own. “You might look a bit more anxious about the fact your reputation is about to go to hell, young lady,” he scolded. “Once your father finds out I have every expectation of being hunted down like a dog.”

  “Oh, no,” Phoebe replied with perfect equanimity. “I wrote to papa days ago to tell him everything. He’ll understand perfectly I assure you.”

  Benedict froze, glass in hand and turned a quite startling shade of white as dust motes danced in the sunbeams illuminating his still figure. “You ... you told him ... everything?”

  Phoebe pursed her lips and gave him a teasing look. “Well almost.”

  “Good Lord,” he said with a groan, downing his drink in one large swallow. “You’ll be the death of me yet, woman.”

  “Oh don’t say it!” Phoebe cried, a stab of fear piercing her heart. “Don’t even joke about it.” Her heart squeezed in her chest as she remembered the dreadful glimpse of a figure bending over his bed, knife in hand and tears prickled behind her eyes.

  “There now, love,” Benedict murmured, his voice soft as he set the glass down and pulled her to him once more. “Don’t go getting yourself all in a fluster. I’m fine, and I’m not so very easy to kill you know. Have a little faith, eh?”

  Phoebe sniffed and nodded, telling herself off for being so emotional. The last thing the poor man needed was her going to pieces and weeping on his sleeve. She clung to him hard though and he held her tight in return. Looking up she saw him wince as if he was in pain.

  “What is it?” she asked in alarm. “Are you hurt?”

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment before smiling at her and shaking his head. “No, love,” he said with a chuckle. “You just don’t know your own strength.”

  She huffed at him, knowing he was teasing but still a little unsure if he was telling the truth. But she had news of her own which she needed to tell him and so she let it pass.

  “Oh, Ben, I must tell you,” she said, clutching at his hand as he released her. “Oliver came to see me and ... well you’ll never guess!” she exclaimed, looking at him and feeling shocked all over again.

  “What?” Benedict demanded, his green eyes darkening with suspicion.

  “He’s going to America!”

  “Really?” he said, frowning and looking sceptical.

  “Yes! But that’s the least of it,” she added, wondering just how he would react to the next piece of news. “Ben, he proposed to me! He wants me to go with him.”

  “He did what!” Ben exploded, looking utterly furious. “Do you mean to say he’s been in here, trying to make love to you and seduce you in to running away with him?”

  “Oh, Ben,” Phoebe said, quite unable to keep her laughter in check. “There’s really no need to fly into the boughs. It’s not as if I accepted him.”

  “By God I should think not!” he raged, his fists clenched.

  “No of course not,” she added, her contrary nature finding his fury quite irresistible. “I told him I’d think about it.” Somehow she managed to keep her face perfectly placid whilst she watched the incredulous play of emotions across his face.

  “You did what!”

  Unable to contain herself any longer Phoebe went off into peals of laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling but your face is a picture. No, don’t eat me!” she begged, holding out her hand as he looked ever more indignant. “I only said it to buy time. I simply didn’t know what to say to him. There’s me spending half the morning trying to convince Formby he’s our man, and the next minute he’s wanting to run away with me and leave it all behind. I swear I didn’t know where to put myself, let alone how to answer him.”

  “Well I take it you have your answer now?” Benedict demanded, not sounding the least bit mollified.

  “Yes, darling,” she whispered, standing on tip toes to give him a kiss. “Of course I do.”

  “Hmph,” was all the reply she was granted but he kissed her again so she assumed she’d been forgiven. He pulled back as the dinner gong sounded.

  “Oh well,” he said, gloomily. “Another family ordeal to get through. At least mother had the sense to send Cecily and the twins to escape to cousin Edith’s for a while until after the funeral. Pity she wouldn’t have Jessamy too. What a summer the poor children have had.” He gave a heavy sigh and looked at her with longing. “I wish we could run away from it all too.”

  “Oh it’s not so bad now surely?” Phoebe asked smiling at him. “With the funeral tomorrow Lady Rutland will go home after, and she never comes down in any case. So there’s only Miss Pinchbeck to upset you, oh and Oliver now, I guess,” she added with a smirk. “Well alright, but if we could get rid of those two it would be a perfectly cosy evening.”

  “True,” Benedict replied with a snort of amusement. “But for God’s sake don’t let old Formby hear you say so or he’ll have you clapped in irons before you can say Jack Robinson.” />
  She laughed at that but then she remembered the other niggling suspicion that had been eating away at her peace of mind.

  “Ben,” she said, her voice hesitant, wondering if he’d just think she was being vindictive. “You know I said how poison is a woman’s weapon?”

  Benedict narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes, love, I remember. Why?”

  “You don’t think ... Miss Pinchbeck?”

  To her surprise he didn’t immediately shrug the idea off. “A few days ago I’d have said you were way off the mark,” he admitted, his face troubled. “But now ... I simply don’t know. I think she really does want that title,” he added and then sighed, shaking his head. “But stabbing Harold, disabling Tony’s curricle? No,” he said, his voice decisive. “I could believe her guilty of all manner of things now, but not either of those crimes. They involve getting your hands dirty and Theodora would never sully herself.”

  Phoebe shrugged, acknowledging the truth of his argument but he still looked grave.

  “Phoebe,” he said, concern in his green eyes. “How long ago was Oliver here?”

  “Oh,” she said, trying to remember how long she’d been looking for Ben. “I’ve really no idea. At least an hour, perhaps more? Why?”

  He smiled at her, a bit too suddenly perhaps and the serious look fell away. “No reason love,” he said, and followed her out of the room to dinner.

  Chapter 25

  To see a world in a grain of sand

  And a heaven in a wild flower,

  Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

  And eternity in an hour. - William Blake

  Benedict thought he survived the ordeal of another family meal with remarkable fortitude. Though he did drink rather more wine than was usual. He told himself it was for medicinal purposes as his arm was throbbing like the devil.

  His valet, who had a little skill in wounds, had seen to arranging a discreet visit from the doctor for later that night. But he spent much of the evening casting dark looks in Oliver’s direction when the man wasn’t looking. Benedict thought he seemed quiet tonight and not quite himself.