Chapter Three

“A duel?” Amelia cried. “Whatever for? So we will have two deaths tonight, instead of one?”

Ignoring her, the duke said icily, “Just try it, Bellamy. I will take pleasure in prying that token from your cold, dead hands.”

Really, these men were impossible.

When the carriage door swung open, Amelia rose from her seat and bustled between Bellamy and Morland, who sat trading murderous glares. As she exited the coach, the men followed her.

Rushing up to claim the front stoop, she stood blocking the door and addressed them firmly, in the tone her mother had used to address her quarreling brothers. If these grown men were going to behave like boys squabbling over marbles, someone with sense had to take charge. For Lily’s sake.

“Hold a moment, if you please. Before we go in, I will have my say.”

The three men stared up at her, and Amelia’s resolve began to waver. They may have been behaving like children, but they were, all three of them, quite large, powerful, and intimidating men. A duke, a warrior, a scoundrel. She was unused to commanding the attention of such men. La, she was unused to commanding the attention of any men, aside from her own brothers. Her navel was still turning cartwheels whenever she so much as thought of glancing in the duke’s direction. And thanks to the smoky, amber glow of the carriage lamp, she was getting her first clear look at Lord Ashworth and Mr. Bellamy.

What she saw did not put her at ease.

Ashworth was enormous, in every respect—tall, broad, imposing. A dramatic scar sliced from his temple to his cheekbone. The blow that caused it must have narrowly missed his eye. But for all Ashworth had the look of a marauding pirate, she felt safer with him than with Bellamy. Despite his rakishly mussed hair, Mr. Bellamy’s clothing and manner were polished—so polished, they gave the impression of slickness. There was such a thing as a man too handsome to be trusted.

She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Here is what will occur. We will alert the house staff to awaken Lily and ask her to dress. By the time she comes down, I promise you, she will be prepared for the worst.”

Any woman, when awakened in the dead of night, prepared herself for the worst. How many times had Amelia stumbled downstairs, tripping over feet numb with dread, certain that disaster had befallen another of her loved ones? Only to discover it was Jack, staggering in from an evening spent carousing with his “friends.”

“When she comes down,” she continued, “I will speak with her alone. You gentlemen wait in Lord Harcliffe’s study, and I will inform Lily of her brother’s death.”

“Lady Amelia—”

She silenced Bellamy by raising an open palm. “It is not a task I relish, sir. But I will not leave it to the three of you. Forgive me for speaking frankly, but after the past quarter-hour’s conversation, I am unconvinced that any of you possess the sense or sensitivity to impart the news in any respectful fashion.”

“My lady, I must insist—”

“No, you must listen!” Her voice squeaked, and she pressed a hand to her belly. “You must understand, I have lived through the very experience that Lily is about to endure. And the three of you together, you’re a fearsome group. I’m not even certain how I’m able to stand before you without melting into the mist … except that this has been a most unconventional evening, and I’m no longer certain of much at all.”

Dear Lord, now she was babbling, and they were looking at her with that strange combination of pity and panic with which men regard a woman on the verge of hysterics.

Pull yourself together, Amelia.

“Please,” she said. “What I’m trying to say is, allow me to break the news delicately. If Lily gets one look at you, she’s going to instantly know—”

With a gentle creak, the door swung open behind her.

Amelia pivoted, meeting face-to-face not with a servant, as she’d anticipated, but with Lily Chatwick herself. For the first time in … oh, it must have been two years. Since Hugh’s funeral, perhaps. They’d been friends as girls—not the closest of friends, as Lily was a few years older. But after the fever that left Lily without hearing, they’d seen one another less and less. She did not come out in society often.

“Amelia?” Lily swept a lock of dark hair from her face. With her other hand, she clutched the neck of her dressing gown closed. “Why, Amelia d’Orsay, whatever are you doing here at this—” Her sleepy, dark-fringed eyes went to the men.

Amelia squeezed her hands into fists. Lily couldn’t have heard her remarks, she reminded herself. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to break the news gently.

“Oh, dear God.” Lily’s hand went to her throat. “Leo’s dead.”

“I knew it,” Lily said some time later, staring blankly at her folded hands. They sat in the parlor. A cup of brandy-laced tea rested on the table, untouched and long gone cold. “Somehow I just knew it, even before you arrived. I’d retired early. I was so very tired last night. But then I woke with a start not an hour later and haven’t been able to sleep since. I just knew he was gone.”

Amelia moved her chair closer to her friend’s. “I’m so sorry.” Such worthless, feeble words. But really, in such a situation, there was nothing helpful to be said.

“I wouldn’t have been able to believe it, had I not felt it in my own heart. As it is, I’ve been growing accustomed to the idea for several hours now. We’ve always known when the other was in danger. Because we are twins, I suspect. Our bond has always been close. During my illness, he took the mail coach all the way home from Oxford, even though no one had written him. I don’t know how I’ll—” Lily bent her head to her folded hands. “It’s just so hard to imagine existing without him, when I never have.”

Her slight shoulders shook as she cried, and Amelia smoothed the black plait of hair running down the grieving woman’s back. The casual observer would never have guessed that she and Leo were twins. Their appearances could not have been more different. Leo had golden-brown hair, bronzed skin—an aura of health and energy radiated from him. By contrast, Lily was fair and dark-haired, of serene and contemplative disposition. The moon to her brother’s sun. Amelia had heard it suggested, in gossipy settings, that the twin birth was a fortunate thing for their mother’s reputation—for no one would believe Leo and Lily to be children of the same father, had they not emerged from the womb within minutes of one another.

Amelia squeezed her friend’s shoulder lightly until Lily lifted her gaze. “It’s hard to imagine Leo gone, even for me. More than anyone in my acquaintance, he always seemed so … so alive. He will be greatly missed.” She gentled her touch, stroking reassuringly. “But you needn’t be anxious. For as many people as there were who loved Leo, there will be equally many eager to assist you, in any way.” She threw a sideways glance toward the doors that connected this parlor with the library. “Just in the other room, you have three of England’s most powerful men, each of them prepared to swim the Channel, if you asked it.”

The corner of Lily’s mouth curved. “Mr. Bellamy is responsible for the presence of the other two, I am sure. Sometimes I think that man will smother me under his good intentions.”

She must have caught Amelia’s fleeting look of skepticism.

“Oh, do not mistake him,” Lily said. “Julian is a gifted performer. His favorite, and most successful, role is that of the incorrigible roué. But he has been a steadfast friend to Leo and no doubt views it his duty to assume brotherly guardianship of me now.”

“Are you certain his interest is entirely brotherly?” Amelia recalled Mr. Bellamy’s behavior in the coach, and his impassioned defense to any remark that might be construed as even mildly disparaging to Lily.

“Oh, yes,” Lily said. “On that point, I am quite certain.”

“I feel I should tell you, on our way here the three of them were arguing over … over who among them should be the fortunate one to marry you.”

“Marry me? I never thought to marry at all.”

“I told them that you would need time to absorb this news, time to grieve. I tried to persuade them against presenting you with such decisions tonight, but I do not know if I was successful.”

More accurately, she did not know if Mr. Bellamy’s threats had been successful in removing Morland’s reluctance. She hoped not. And not because she would be jealous. No, envy had nothing to do with this. Whatever her own physical attraction to the duke, Amelia was wise enough not to confuse it with esteem for his character. This evening alone, she’d witnessed more than enough evidence of that gentleman’s callous attitudes toward debt, death, society, friendship, and marriage to know she would not wish such a husband on any woman she called friend.

“Oh dear,” Lily said weakly. Her head sank to the table again. “Don’t tell me. This has to do with that absurd club Leo started, with the horse.”

“Yes.”

“What a ridiculous name he gave it. The Stud Club. I told him, he should have asked me for ideas. I could think of a dozen better things to call it. What’s wrong with the Stallion Society?”

Amelia bit back a laugh, then dipped her head to catch Lily’s attention. “If you like, I’ll send them away. I’ve stood up to them all once already tonight, and I’m not afraid to do it again.”

Pride strengthened her voice as she said this. And why should it not? At some point this evening, between surrendering her last few coins to Jack and claiming the Duke of Morland’s hand, Amelia had stepped outside herself, somehow. Or stepped outside that quiet, unassuming, plain, and proper shell she’d been inhabiting all her life. Scolding a trio of intimidating men was only part of it. She’d confronted a duke, even flirted with him during a sensual waltz. With no success, but still—it went beyond anything she’d dared before. Add to all this, she’d departed the ball under mysterious circumstances, and right now the gossips were probably debating precisely when that well-bred d’Orsay girl had become such a brazen adventuress.

Why, at the stroke of midnight, of course. That was the moment Amelia had ceased to be a pumpkin. And no matter what tomorrow brought, she was proud of herself for that.

“I’ll go chase them off now,” she said, pushing back from the table.

“No,” Lily said. “I’ll speak with them. I know they are grieving, too, and they mean well. Men do have that incurable need to try their hand at fixing things. Even things that can never be mended.”

“I told them you’d want to see Leo.”

“Thank you. Yes, I would.” Her voice was polite and remote. Amelia knew she had entered that numb void of unreality that followed a great shock. For all Lily insisted she’d sensed the truth hours ago and had grown accustomed to the idea in the interim, Amelia knew Leo’s death would not become real to her for some time yet. And when it did, the pain would be near unbearable.

She would not press Lily to confront that grief now. Let her float in that dark nothingness as long as she could.

“Shall I come upstairs with you and help you dress?”

“No, thank you. I’ll do. My maid is awake.”

“Then I’ll wait with the gentlemen until you’re ready. May I direct your cook to have a cold supper sent in? The beasts may prove more docile after a feeding. And if you can manage it, you should take some food, too.”

“Yes, of course. Direct the servants however you think best.” Bracing both hands flat on the table, Lily pushed back her chair and slowly stood. “I’m grateful you’re here, Amelia. You are so very good.”

An hour later, the array of cold meats and cheeses laid out on a serving cart remained largely untouched. The duke sat in a winged armchair in the farthest reaches of the library, impatiently leafing through the pages of a book. If he had looked up once in the past hour, Amelia had not noticed it. And, to her frustration, she found herself watching him a great deal.

The only one of the gentlemen to eat anything had been Lord Ashworth, and he now lay reclined on the divan, eyes closed and massive boots propped on the studded leather ottoman. His attitude of repose did not strike her as disrespectful, however. She might have described it as prudent. A military trait, she assumed. Ashworth was clearly a man who did not allow death to interfere with the unceasing work of survival. He would not waste an opportunity to eat, drink, or rest when it presented itself.

By contrast, Mr. Bellamy had not ceased moving since Amelia entered the room. He’d prowled the floor so many times, she feared he would wear a groove in the parquet. When the doorbell rang, he dashed to answer it himself. The caller was an investigator, Amelia gathered through scraps of overheard conversation, charged with tracking down the footpads who’d murdered Leo.

“Some news?” the duke asked, when Bellamy reentered.

“No. Nothing we didn’t know already. He was beset in an alley, somewhere in Whitechapel. The motive appears to have been robbery. Some urchins nearby heard scuffling and shouts, but they were too frightened to investigate. It was a prostitute who found his body and called for a hack, but she’s since disappeared.”

“How did they know to bring him to you?”

“When she came upon him, he was still alive, barely. He apparently gave her my address. A fortunate thing, too, or who knows what might have happened to his body. Sold to medical students, most likely. I’m surprised the whore didn’t think of that. She was probably hoping for a reward, saving a nobleman’s life.”

“Or maybe she simply had a conscience and a good heart,” Amelia said.

Bellamy made a sound of skepticism. “Well, no matter how pure her intentions, they weren’t enough to save him. He died en route.”

“Were you there at home, when they brought him?”

“No.” He swore under his breath. “No, they had to send for me. Damn it, if only I’d been with him. This wouldn’t have happened.”

With a sudden, savage burst of strength, he crashed his fist down on a bookshelf. Amelia jumped in her seat. Lord Ashworth’s eyes popped open.

“Don’t you see?” Bellamy said. “This is my fault. I can’t make it right, but I will do what I can—bring Leo’s murderers to justice and see Lily well settled.”

“You are unlikely to accomplish either goal tonight,” the duke said.

Bellamy started in the duke’s direction. “You will offer for her, Morland. If I have to hold a knife to your bal—”

Amelia shot to her feet. “Please,” she said, blocking Bellamy’s path. “Please, if you care for Lily—”

“I do,” he cut in impatiently. “As I would my own sister, if I had one.”

“Then I beg you, allow her some time to grieve. Her brother has died. Whether he went violently or peacefully, expected or not—what matters is, he is gone from her life, and this is a tragedy. If you care for her, offer her comfort and understanding, not promises of vengeance or proposals of marriage.”

“Very well.” Bellamy released his breath. “I will speak no further of murder and retribution. But he”—he pointed toward the duke—“had better do his duty by Lily. If he wants to hold on to his share in Osiris, he has no choice.”

Morland put aside his book. “No choice? I am a duke. I always have a choice. And I do not respond favorably to threats.”

“Oh, I’m not threatening you,” Bellamy said. “I’m merely reminding you of the Stud Club code. Any member who fails to adhere to the Code of Good Breeding must surrender his interest in the horse.”

A thought occurred to Amelia. “But Leo’s dead. Doesn’t this horse pass to his heir, as the rest of his possessions do?”

Bellamy gave the duke a cold smile before turning to Amelia. “No, my lady. Leo designed the club very cleverly. Had his solicitor draw it all up. Osiris is held in trust, and any breeding rights are contingent on two conditions: possession of a token and adherence to the code. If His Grace fails to fulfill his obligations, he forfeits any rights to the horse.”

“That’s absurd,” Morland said.

Amelia thought the entire enterprise was absurd. She was heartily sick of hearing about this Stud Club and the vagaries of its code.

The duke continued, “This code of yours … in the coach, you said members must provide for the dependents of the deceased. I don’t recall any mention of marriage.”

“I don’t see how else you could provide for her. She will lose this house, and everything in it. Even with whatever income she may have, she cannot live independently. As much would be true for any well-bred gentlewoman, but when one takes into consideration her condition …” He shook his head. “There are no alternatives.”

“But of course there are!” Amelia cried, increasingly desperate to save Lily from this ill-conceived plan, which was proving to be nothing but a product of Mr. Bellamy’s guilty conscience and the Duke of Morland’s greed for horseflesh. “It will take time for the will to be executed. Lily is not in danger of being forced out onto the street tomorrow. And gentlewomen of means do live independently. I don’t see why Lily’s deafness should preclude it, if such is her desire. She could always engage the services of a companion. Some widow or unmarried lady of good breeding but little fortune, to provide her with companionship and assist her in managing the household. Such arrangements are made all the time.”

“A paid companion,” the duke said thoughtfully. His hazel eyes trained on Amelia. “That would solve matters nicely. If a suitable candidate presented herself.”

Cocking his head a fraction, he raised one eyebrow and continued to regard her with that intense, scrutinizing gaze. A meaningful gaze.

She went hot and prickly all over.

Oh, no. No, you don’t.

How dare he suggest, even tacitly, that Amelia would make a suitable paid companion? Such employment was for destitute widows and hopeless spinsters. Women with no prospects whatsoever, and no family or fortune of their own. That wasn’t her!

At least, not yet.

There he sat, so smugly handsome. She could practically hear the arrogant words echoing in his skull: I am a duke. I always have a choice. And you may as well abandon all dreams for your future and become a paid companion, because a man like me would never choose a woman like you.

Yes, well. She’d absorbed that point already, hadn’t she? Dozens of midnight snubs had taught her that lesson. But earlier that evening, when she’d taken his hand, forced him to listen, given him her opinions—not to mention her handkerchief—Amelia had felt she’d clawed her way to equal footing with the man.

Evidently not. Swiftly, surely, with a ruthless economy of words and those devastating eyes, he had put Amelia back in her place. What was it about this man that made her react so strongly? Despite his fine looks and obvious intelligence—or perhaps because of them—he, more than any man of her acquaintance, had the power to make her feel so vulnerable, lacking, and most decidedly unwanted.

Breaking eye contact with the Duke of Morland was not something Amelia wished to do. It was something she needed to do, as an act of sheer self-preservation.

For the love of God, why couldn’t she?

From the doorway, Lily cleared her throat. “Thank you all for waiting. I am ready now.”

Gratefully, Amelia turned away from the duke to face her friend. Lily’s long black hair had been replaited, and she’d changed into a dark blue day dress that was elegant in its simplicity. Or perhaps it was elegant simply because Lily wore it. Nearing thirty now, she still had the willowy figure of her youth, and the same dark, doelike eyes Amelia had always envied. Even in grief, she was stunning. And had she not been so opposed to the idea of her friend marrying any of the gentlemen in this room, Amelia would have taken umbrage on behalf of Lily, and indeed the entire female sex, that any man would have so much as a moment’s hesitation when offered the chance to apply for her hand.

With her entrance, both Lord Ashworth and the duke rose to their feet, as etiquette dictated. But then, to Amelia’s surprise—to everyone’s surprise—the Duke of Morland did more than stand.

He came forward.

“Lady Lily,” he began. “May I express my deepest sympathies for your loss.”

His “deepest sympathies?” Amelia suspected this man’s deepest sympathies would not fill a thimble.

“Let me assure you,” Morland continued, “that as a friend of Harcliffe’s, a fellow peer, and an associate in his club, my honor as a gentleman compels me to offer you any assistance you may require.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lily replied. She flicked a distressed glance in Amelia’s direction, as it became clear the duke was not yet finished speaking.

“In addition, it is my intention to make you an offer,” he said.

The room held its breath.

“I should like to make you a substantial offer for your brother’s share in the stallion Osiris.”

His words skated on the thin, tense surface of quiet. Until they crashed under a resounding chorus from every corner of the room: “What?”

“I mean to purchase his token,” the duke said.

Ashworth’s boots thunked to the floor. “You can’t purchase his token. They can only be won in a game of chance.”

Morland said coolly, “Was his not a random killing? Bad luck, in its purest form.”

That did it. Amelia’s impression of the Duke of Morland was now cemented. Not only cemented—cast in bronze. He was the most arrogant, self-absorbed, unfeeling man she’d ever had the misfortune to waltz with, bar none.

“You are supposed to offer her marriage,” Bellamy growled.

“I am duty-bound to offer her assistance. And so I have done.” He addressed Lily once again. “Madam, tomorrow I will direct my secretary to call. He will be at your disposal in any regard, whether it be making burial arrangements or securing new housing. He will also bring a bank draft constituting my offer for Leo’s share in the Stud Club, which you may review and accept or decline as you wish.”

Bellamy said, “You bastard. This is a matter of honor, and all you can think of is the damned horse.”

“All any of you can think of is the damned horse!” Amelia went to Lily’s side. “Lily’s future is her own to decide. Stop puffing up your chests and playing at this childish imitation of chivalry. All this going on about honor and duty … you own shares in an animal, for God’s sake. You are not the Knights of the Round Table. By your own admission, Leo devised this club as a joke. Don’t you have real duties to tend to, actual human relationships worth your efforts and attention? Or is this all you have in your lives, a bit of play-acting nonsense centered on a horse?”

All three fell quiet, diverting their gaze to various features of the room’s décor—tassels, fringes, lacquered trays that had probably never suffered such intense male scrutiny. Perhaps these men truly didn’t have anything in their lives worth caring about, aside from this horse and this club. It would certainly explain their pathetic silence.

It was really … quite sad.

“It’s all right, Amelia,” said Lily. She drew a deep breath and addressed the men. “Your Grace, my lord”—she turned to Bellamy—“Julian. I know you are all acting from honorable motives, and I do appreciate your concern. Leo would be heartened to see such evidence of your friendship.”

At the sound of Leo’s name from her lips, and the slight waver in her tone, the men softened in both posture and expression.

“His death leaves me bereft and grieving, but not penniless. I have means, and I have friends of my own.” She squeezed Amelia’s hand. “Even if I did wish to marry, I must complete a year of mourning first.”

“Those rules don’t apply,” Bellamy said. “Not in an extreme situation such as—”

Lily shook her head. “There is nothing extreme about my situation, aside from the tremendous shock. Leo is … was so very young.”

“Too young. All the wrong men die young.” Swearing, Ashworth kicked the ottoman. “Worthless devils like me? Now, we’re damn near indestructible.”

“No,” Lily said. “No one is immortal—that is the lesson to be learnt from this. If you wish to honor Leo’s memory, let his death be your ward against complacency. Amelia is right. Surely each of you has responsibilities more pressing than your membership in Leo’s club. Lord Ashworth, don’t you have some family, an estate?”

The man swore, rubbing a palm over his close-shorn hair. “A burnt-out stripe of heath in Devonshire. I haven’t laid eyes on the place in fourteen years.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” Lily said pointedly. When Bellamy looked as though he would protest, she added, “And I’m certain His Grace has duties enough of his own to occupy him, without taking charge of me.”

The duke turned toward Lily. “I have a ward. My cousin, though I suppose she was raised as more of a sister to me.”

Amelia didn’t know why this abrupt admission should move her. And it didn’t, not really. It simply caught her by surprise. Surely, other ladies would have known Morland had guardianship of his cousin. She must be the only woman in London society who hadn’t spent recent months mooning over the “M” section of Debrett’s Peerage.

But there was something almost … human in his face, as he mentioned her. A slight pleating at the corner of his eyes. A hint of uncertainty in the furrow of his brow.

Amelia tore her gaze away. She’d spent entirely too much time looking at the duke this evening, and she couldn’t bear to see him humanized any further. Far safer to hold to her demonized version: arrogant, cold, horse-mad. Easy to detest.

Bellamy covered the floor in three quick strides to confront Lily at a distance of inches. His voice was husky and intense. “You know I have no sister. No brother. No estate in Devonshire or anywhere else.”

“I know.” Lily took his hand in hers. “But we have thought of you as family, Leo and I.”

Closing his eyes, Bellamy swallowed hard. “Then you must not deny me the right to look after you.”

“I would never try.”

Standing at Lily’s side, Amelia began to feel as though she were intruding on a very private conversation. Yet it did not seem possible to move away without drawing further attention to herself. She settled for averting her eyes and remaining absolutely still. Beneath her hand, Lily’s shoulder began to tremble.

“I promise you this,” Bellamy said in a low voice, resonant with emotion. “I will find the men who killed Leo. I will hunt them down. No matter how far they run, no matter where they hide. And I will see them hanged.”

Lily began to weep.

“Dear Lily.” Bellamy clutched her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Tell me what to do. Give me some way to make it better.”

“Just take me to him,” she said. “And let me say goodbye.”