Page 23 of Her Passionate Duke

As usual, his presence made her heart race, and her breath come short. When he took her arm and gently drew her aside, to stand out of the way near some potted palms in the corner, the heat which rushed through her from his touch was such that she wondered she didn’t burst into flames on the spot. But any hope she might have had of him drawing her aside to tell her secrets, or admit to having affections for her, was dashed as soon as he spoke.

“I don’t know how else to say this.” There was a tone of urgency in his voice which contrasted oddly with the simple elegance of his dark frock coat and crisp white cravat. “It seems cruel to have invited you only to turn you away when you arrive but I don’t feel that I have much of a choice.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” Linnet was feeling bewildered, rather offended, and as always of late, utterly confused. “But… I can’t, after all, my mother is here too, as is proper, and fully expects us to stay until the end of the evening.”

“Of course… but I had to try…” His voice was almost a whisper as he said those words. Then he lifted it to a more normal level, and sketched her a slight bow. “You’re free to do whatever you’d like, but I don’t recommend staying very long. I don’t know how bad things are going to get but I think that they could prove dangerous. And I don’t want you getting caught in the middle, if we’re being honest. I want… I want to protect you. I shouldn’t tell you any of this… but I can’t bear the thought…”

Had he just said…?

He wanted to protect her… did that mean that he did care for her? She frowned, turning his words over in her mind, and as she did, he leant down and kissed her, just once, in the center of her forehead, then lifted a finger to brush her frown away softly.

A warm feeling flooded through her, from top to toe, leaving a coil of warmth low in her belly. Somehow, that rapidly dissolved all of the confusion, uncertainty, and embarrassment she had been feeling. He did care!

“I won’t get hurt,” she heard herself saying as though from a great distance. “I’ll look after myself. I promise.”

“See that you do.”

He pressed her arm once, firmly, and turned away, leaving her standing amongst the potted palms, uncertain about just exactly what ‘looking after herself’ might require.

She watched him cross the ballroom, which was rapidly filling with people, many of whom she barely knew, if at all. She lost sight of him in the crowd, and for a moment she thought that he had left the room – then the people moved about again, and across the room, she saw him, standing near one of the fireplaces, talking in hushed tones to the Prince Regent. Linnet had never met the Prince Regent, although she had seen him at social events a number of times. She supposed that she likely would not be introduced to him this evening, either.

She was still standing there, when she saw, amongst the cluster of new arrivals entering the room, Lady Caroline and her parents. Lady Caroline was scanning the room, an anxious look on her face – looking for Monsieur Fournier, no doubt. She must, after all, have been invited by the Duchess. Linnet was glad. She now had someone to talk to, at least. As she went to move towards Lady Caroline, however, she was stopped.

She felt a slight tug as a hand took her elbow and, when she turned, outraged at having been touched without warning, Lord Theodore was standing there, looking badly out of place in an unfashionable coat, and outdated trousers. He appeared to expect Linnet to be thrilled to see him, and launched straight into conversation.

She forced herself to maintain a polite, bland smile, but inwardly, she was seething. This was her mother’s doing, of a certainty. Lord Theodore almost never went about in society – nobody invited him anywhere, because of his eccentricities. Her mother must have prevailed upon the Duchess of Grantsham to invite him.

“Lady Linnet, I must tell you that I just got into a nasty argument with Margaret, Duchess of Cunningwood. She had the strange idea that there are fewer women authors than male authors because of inequities in the publishing industry. I told her that there’s a good reason no woman has ever attained the stature of William Shakespeare…”

Three weeks ago, Linnet might have felt compelled to stay and listen to this monologue, but tonight she had no time for it.

“If that’s what you really think,” she said sternly, “then I’m even more sure than ever that we will never be married.”

Lord Theodore, not used to being contradicted by women, was so taken aback that for a moment he stood flustered, gaping like a fish. Linnet didn’t care. There was an uneasy feeling in the room the like of which she had only felt once or twice in her life before. She had to find the Duke – why, she did not know, but it seemed utterly imperative. Without another word to Lord Theodore, she turned away and began making her way through the crowd, towards the fireplace where she had last seen the Duke standing.

The ballroom was uncomfortably warm and the scent of cigar smoke mingled with the sickly scents of the colognes and perfumes of the people around her, and hung thick in the air.

So far nothing terrible had happened — and maybe nothing would. Perhaps she was being foolish, infected with a sense of doom by the Duke’s odd words to her. Maybe the Duke had been wrong, had been bringing his usual passionate intensity to bear on a situation where it wasn’t needed. All around her, the handsomely dressed couples seemed normal, talking and laughing, whilst the small orchestra tuned up over on their tiny dais—

-and then, like a merciless peal of thunder out of a clear sky, a shot rang out.

It was so abrupt and so unexpected that no one reacted for a few seconds. Then they all seemed to be reacting at once. An older woman with a gown draped in pearls pushed past Linnet with her hands over her head, running for the door, while a number of men pushed forward, as if intending to do something heroic – if they’d had the faintest idea of what to do.

“What’s happening?” said a man to her left. “Did you see what happened?”

“Murder and treason!” came a woman’s voice. “One of those Frenchmen has attempted to shoot the Prince Regent!”

Though Linnet’s knees wobbled and she felt paralysed with fear, she turned at once toward the front of the room – where the Duke had been standing - with the Prince Regent! – and from whence she thought the sound of the shot had come.

As she turned, she collided with Lady Caroline, whose face was twisted into a look of despair. Side by side, without a word, they pushed to the front of the crowd.

There Linnet saw something she had never expected to see - on the floor before the hearth, the Duke and Monsieur Fournier fought, twisting and grappling in apparent desperation. Beside her, Lady Caroline moaned, and released a half-strangled sob.

To one side, the Prince Regent stood, his face white, and a tear visible in the sleeve of his coat. The mantel of the fireplace bore a gouge where the marble had been chipped, and shards from that were scattered across the floor. It seemed that this had been a close call indeed. Linnet barely noted him, however, for her heart pounded with fear as she watched the fight before her. Although the Duke was a fierce fighter, Monsieur Fournier was heavier, and therefore appeared to be the stronger opponent. He seemed to be gaining the upper hand - he had pinned the Duke’s arms back and was now planting a knee in his stomach while the Duke twisted, attempting to turn the path of the struggle.

Meanwhile, the gun which Monsieur Fournier had apparently fired lay at some distance, half-hidden under the fire grate. Linnet saw it, but was not sure what she could do. As the struggle continued, the Duke snarled at the man who trapped him, his voice hoarse and his eyes full of rage.

“How long had you been planning this assassination?”