Page 94 of The Duke of Seduction
Chapter 17
Sweet lady of science, you temper the fire,
And tame my wild heart that churns on the pyre.
Love lost in wonder where words and song dwell,
Don thy sweet brightness and break this black spell.
With warmth and passion, you bless this poor knave
My soul and future, you surely have saved.
-Beck’s writings
Beck jumped from his phaeton, his mood darker than it had been before he’d gone to church, which he’d never imagined possible. The groom took charge of the vehicle as Beck stormed to the door, which Gage opened with considerable haste.
“You’re in a hurry, my lord.”
He grunted in response and hastened to his office, slamming the door behind him. Divesting himself of his hat, gloves, coat, cravat, and waistcoat, he picked up a guitar and began to play. Loudly. Discordantly. With vengeance and hatred and despair.
Then he did the unthinkable. He slammed the instrument into the hearth. Wood splintered—some flying and some falling into the coals. He held the ruined guitar and sank to the floor, where he sat for an indeterminate amount of time.
He tossed the guitar aside and lay down across the carpet, stretching his legs out as he stared at the ceiling. Somewhere inside, a small piece of him worried she was right—that killing Haywood would wreck him. But he couldn’t let it go.
He heard voices in the next room and sat up a moment before there was a knock on his door. “Come.”
Gage stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “My lord, a Bow Street Runner is here to see you.”
Fuck.
Gage offered his hand, which Beck clasped, and the butler pulled him to his feet. “He’s in the sitting room.”
Beck went looking for his discarded clothing, but Gage came up with the waistcoat and cravat first. His gaze drifted to the ruined guitar as Beck donned his waistcoat. “Was there a problem with your instrument?” Gage asked.
“No.”
Taking the cravat, Beck wound it around his neck, not particularly caring if it was tied well. Gage stepped forward and took over, tying the silk with expert flicks of his fingers. When he was finished, he retrieved Beck’s coat and brought it around for Beck to shrug into.
“Better,” Gage said softly before opening the door.
Beck went into the sitting room, where a stocky fellow with a thick head of dark red hair was waiting near the window. He turned and bowed. “Good afternoon, my lord. I’ve come to speak with you about Lord Haywood.”
There was no surprise, just severe disappointment. He wanted to ask who had turned Haywood in to Bow Street, but was certain he knew. Beck said nothing. He just stood and waited for the Runner to continue.
“Name’s Mason,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“No.”
The Runner eyed the settee but rested his uncertain gaze on Beck and ultimately didn’t move. “I understand Lord Haywood confessed a crime to you.”
He couldn’t deny it. Just as he couldn’t kill the man—not now. “A murder.”
“Yes.” The Runner shifted uncomfortably, his neck coloring a bit. “Your sister, I gather. That must have been a shock. I can see why you didn’t immediately come forward.” It was an obvious fiction, and they both knew it. But the Runner couldn’t mention the duel.
“How did you find out?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but the question leapt from his mouth.
“Several people, actually. Lord Balcombe and his daughter paid a visit, as did Lord Ware.”
