Page 6 of Fit for a Duke
The dog wagged his tail and disappeared into the stables. Clio drew closer and leaned against the outside wall of the tack room, eavesdropping unashamedly.
‘It will have to happen here,’ the dominant voice said. ‘There will never be a better opportunity. All that remains to be determined is the choice of weapon.’
Clio clasped a hand over her mouth to prevent a startled cry from emerging. Someone had come to this party with the intention of doing another person harm, that much was immediately obvious to her. But who was speaking? Whom should she warn? Lady Fletcher was the dearest aunt imaginable but she was afraid of her own shadow and even the suggestion of a murderous plot would give her a fit of the vapours. Never had Clio felt the lack of a competent man’s presence so keenly. She felt panic welling up inside her and adjured herself to remain calm. No one knew what she had overheard, and that gave her an advantage of sorts. If she could just find out a few more details, she would have a better idea of how to act.
Possibly.
‘Perhaps Lord Fryer would…’
‘Leave him out of it, Godfrey!’
‘Godfrey? Wasn’t that the name of the duke’s valet that Daisy had just mentioned? Clio’s hands trembled. The person doing the talking spoke with such authority that she would have reached the conclusion that he was the duke even without Godfrey’s name pointing her in the right direction. His voice was deep, vibrant and earthy—a voice it would be hard to grow tired of listening to—were it not for the fact that he appeared to be a murderer.
Clio leaned against the wall, mindless of her delicate satin snagging against the rough wood, and pondered upon her dilemma. As far as she knew, no other male guests had yet to arrive and those that were here were either changing for dinner or socialising in the drawing room. Clio didn’t allow many things to daunt her, but an influential duke intent upon murder…She would be no match for such a person and this was none of her affair.
Except that it was. If a murder occurred at her aunt’s party then it would be Aunt Fletcher’s reputation that suffered. It seemed most unfair since her aunt was incapable of harming a fly, but that was the way these things worked. Clio told herself she would be best advisednotto stick her nose in where it had no place. She should slip away, and no one would be any the wiser.
‘A dagger seems the most feasible.’
Despite herself, a worried gasp slipped past Clio’s lips.
‘What was that?’ The duke’s voice turned sharp. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘No, your grace. Just the horses shuffling about and the grooms going about their duties. No one has time to listen to our conversation, which ought to be taking place in your chamber while you change. You are keeping everyone waiting.’
‘Let them wait. This is more important. Besides, this is not the sort of conversation to be had indoors, where there will be eyes and ears everywhere. I need to check that we really are alone before we decide what’s best to be done.’
Damnation, itwasthe duke. She heard footsteps approaching the door and frantically looked round for a means of escape. None was available to her. Curiosity and indecision had caused her to miss her opportunity. Before she could decide what to do, she sensed a presence looming behind her and then a large hand clamped down over her mouth, preventing her from screaming.
‘So,’ said a smooth voice from over her shoulder, ‘they have set a woman to spy. How desperate they must be. Am I supposed to fall for your charms, my lovely? Are you here to entice me into temptation?’ Clio felt furious with herself when her body responded to the hard feel of his as he pressed against her back—and lower. ‘In which case, you might want to rethink that gown. It isn’t nearly revealing enough.’
How dare he! Anger drove away the remnants of Clio’s fear. He loosened the hand that covered her mouth, presumably because he assumed he had nothing to fear from her. She vowed to teach him the error of his ways and bit him.
Hard.
‘Ouch!’ The hand was removed. ‘So,’ the deep rumbling voice, the seductive lure of which she fought to ignore, ‘the witch has teeth. Now that I know what sort of game you want to play, I will of course be happy to oblige.’
‘Let go of me!’
The duke still stood behind her, solid and unmoving. Clio attempted to alter that situation by depositing her elbow in his gut with considerable force. It was like colliding with a brick wall, and he didn’t even flinch.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, woman!’ He grabbed her upper arm and steered her into the tack room, where a man dressed in the uniform of a senior servant watched developments with amusement. The dog had reappeared and wagged its tail at the duke.
‘Well, Merlin,’ the duke said. ‘A fine guard dog you’re turning out to be. If you continue to neglect your duties then I shall regret adopting you. You are supposed to warn me of intruders before they get close enough to eavesdrop on private conversations.’
‘I wasnoteavesdropping.’
The duke sent her a haughty and disbelieving look—at least Clio thought it was disbelieving, considering that eavesdropping was exactly what she had been doing. Her first sight of the duke’s face had stolen away her anger and left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She already knew that the man possessed a well-toned body. It seemed unfair that he should also have the face of a god, albeit a very angry yet faintly amused god.
Amused because he didn’t think she was nearly attractive enough to seduce him, she supposed. That had not been her intention, of course, but never one to back away from a challenge, she would show him!
‘I should say I was not deliberately eavesdropping,’ she said, tossing her head in an effort to relocate her dignity and, to her dismay, feeling Daisy’s elaborate coiffure lurch to one side. ‘I found the dog, wondered who he belonged to and followed him back here, that is all.’
‘Of course it is.’ The duke executed an elegant bow that somehow managed to convey sarcasm before introducing himself. ‘I am Wickham. May I know your name?’
‘I am Clio Benton,’ she replied, elevating her chin. ‘And I will have you know that this is usually a peaceful and quiet house whose owner would not harm a fly. So who is it that you have come here to murder, your grace?’
Ezra went from anger to lazy amusement in the blink of an eye. This was no femme fatale, more’s the pity. He was long overdue a little wenching and a clash of wills. He glanced at the lady, little more than a girl in fact, in her turquoise gown with her hair askew. She had an unfashionable decoration of freckles across the bridge of her nose that created in him an inappropriate stirring of interest.
