Page 62 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
“Somewhere safe where we can think about this.”
* * *
Once safely withinthe walls of his Park Lane mansion, Drago ushered Meg into the library. Having registered that it was approaching lunchtime, he’d given orders for the meal to be served as soon as it was ready. Now, he shut the door on the rest of the household and followed Meg to the armchairs grouped before the fireplace.
The day was gray and cool, and a cheery fire was burning in the grate.
Meg sat, drew off her gloves, and held her hands to the blaze.
Drago sat in the armchair opposite.
“I’ve been thinking.” Meg looked at him. “These attacks—you haven’t had anything like this happen to you before, have you?”
He shook his head. “No one’s ever come at me with a knife before.”
“Exactly. And the first attack occurred after the notice of our engagement appeared in theGazette, and the second occurred the morning after our engagement ball.” She fixed him with a solemn and serious look. “The timing has to be significant.”
Slowly, he nodded, not sure where she was heading but willing to follow.
Meg felt the talons of an emotion rather like fear close around her heart. “The motive has to be something to do with the succession, don’t you think?” When Drago blinked at her, she rushed on, “That’s the first issue that leaps to anyone’s mind when a nobleman announces he’s about to marry. Everyone assumes that once we wed, we’ll set about filling your nursery, and the corollary of that is that your current heir will soon be displaced.”
He frowned, but held her gaze. “Are you suggesting that Denton is behind these attacks?”
She flung up her hands. “I don’t know, but surely he’s the first person one has to suspect.”
Drago’s rejection of the idea was plain in his face.
Throwing caution to the winds, she reached across and gripped his hand tightly. “We might not yet have made our final decision to marry, but I don’t want to lose you before we get a chance to say our vows!”
He blinked, then studied her face, searching her eyes more intently. After several seconds, he said, “I will admit that, in the general way of such things, Denton would have a motive—if he was so inclined.”
Drago spoke carefully, feeling as if he was skating on very thin ice. From the roiling emotions clouding Meg’s eyes, it was clear that she was truly agitated over the prospect of someone attempting to murder him.
On the one hand, he felt distinctly gratified; she plainly cared for him in the same way that he cared for her, which made him feel rather better about—less exposed by—his own possessively protective instincts, all of which were currently insisting that it was she who had been the villains’ target, not he.
While he had no evidence that would prove that point, certainly not to her, inside, he was convinced that the men—all three of them—had been after her, not him.
Meg had been studying his eyes. “Are you sure he isn’t? Are you certain that Denton doesn’t secretly harbor a wish to step into your shoes?”
He was, but how to convince her? “Perhaps we should see how he reacts on finding us both alive and unharmed.”
She nodded decisively. “Yes. That’s an obvious first step.” When he didn’t say more, she prompted, “So where can we find him?”
A tap on the door heralded Prentiss.
Drago held up a silencing hand to Meg as the butler entered and announced, “Luncheon is served, Your Grace. Miss Cynster.”
Drago nodded. “Thank you, Prentiss.” He rose and held out a hand to Meg. As she laid her fingers across his palm and allowed him to raise her, he continued, “Is my brother in?”
“Lord Denton went out earlier, Your Grace, but he expected to be back in time for luncheon.”
“Excellent. When he returns, please ask him to join us.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
Drago offered Meg his arm, and together, they walked out of the room. As they crossed the front hall, he closed his hand over hers on his sleeve. “Denton’s at that age when one rarely intentionally misses a meal. If he said he’d be back for luncheon, he’ll be here soon.”
She accepted that with a dip of her head.
