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“Who knew that saddle was meant for Jupiter, your grace?” Smitty asked Drake quietly.
Drake raised his somber gaze to Smitty’s. “Everyone. It was no secret. Anyone who had access to the stables would know I use that saddle for Jupiter.” He swallowed deeply, then looked back at the groom. “Thank you for coming to me with this, Winthrop.”
The groom nodded. “I’m sorry ’bout this, yer grace. I ’ave no idea who would do such a thing.”
“Nor do I. But I intend to find out,” Drake replied in a hard tone.
Smitty closed the door carefully behind the retreating head groom, then turned back to Drake.
“Do you know what this means?”
“It means that someone is trying to kill me.”
They stared at each other as the full impact of Drake’s words struck them.
Smitty walked toward Drake and sat down in a chair. “The question, your grace, is who?”
Alex was humming as she left the drawing room, and the chattering women, behind. She could not concentrate on their idle gossip, for her thoughts were still of the fall Drake had taken. Even though she had left him barely ten minutes past, she decided to check on him again, just to assure herself he was as well as he professed to be.
She walked lightly up the stairs, heard herself humming, and smiled. The fear she had felt earlier served only to remind her how very much Drake meant to her, how deeply she loved him. She grinned, thinking of their easy banter. It had been months since they had been able to tease each other so freely. She was healing, Alex realized. At last she was healing. Soon they would be able to talk. And then, perhaps, forgiveness would follow.
On the second-floor landing she passed Winthrop, who was on his way down. He was visibly upset.
“Hello, Winthrop,” Alex greeted him. “Is everything all right?”
He jumped. “Oh … yer grace, forgive me. I didn’t see ye.” He managed a weak smile. “’is grace is doing well. I just left ’im,” he assured her, then bolted down the steps.
Alex looked after him in surprise, then shrugged. He was probably just shaken by Drake’s close call. And he had said that Drake was all right. She continued on her way, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months as she neared Drake’s bedchamber. She could hear the deep cadence of his voice, followed by Smitty’s quiet replies. Her hand was on the door handle when Drake’s next words made her freeze in her tracks.
“You know, of course, that this casts a whole new light on the destruction of La Belle Illusion,” he said grimly. “Apparently you were correct in your assumption that the men were not to blame for missing their target.”
“That does not surprise me, your grace,” Smitty answered. “I suspected that the powder must have been tampered with. But it never occurred to me that it was an attempt to murder you. I suspected a traitor to Britain. But now …”
“Yes … now,” Drake echoed thoughtfully. “Now it appears that someone would like to do away with me. Badly enough to murder a whole crew of men in order to accomplish it.” He paused. “And badly enough to try again in my own home by cutting the strap of my saddle.”
“Dear God …” Smitty whispered.
Alex repeated his words silently. She leaned against the wall outside the room, feeling the hallway spinning around her. Someone had tried to murder Drake—not once, but twice.
Memories of the fateful naval battle sprang to Alex’s mind in vivid detail. She had been there, on the main deck, when the men had tried time and again to hit the American ship. She had heard their cries of surprise, of confusion, when their cannon volleys fell short each time. Unknowledgeable about sea battles, Alex had given it no further thought. But now she realized that Drake’s crew was of the finest caliber. Their aim could not have been consistently poor. The only explanation was that the gun powder had been weak—too weak to propel the balls to their target.
And Drake’s accident today. He and Smitty were saying that the strap of his saddle had been cut. That explained Winthrop’s strange behavior on the stairs. He must have discovered the treachery. Someone had gotten into the stables and tampered with the strap in the hope that it would break, causing Drake to fall to his death.
Someone wanted Drake dead. And that someone was here at Allonshire.
Smitty heard a soft thud just outside the door. Hurriedly he opened it and gasped as he saw Alex’s crumpled body on the polished floor of the hallway.
“Smitty? What is it?” Drake was standing, walking toward the doorway as Smitty stooped over Alex’s body.
“It’s the duchess. She has fainted.”
Drake nearly knocked Smitty over in his haste to reach Alex’s side. With his uninjured right arm he gathered her to him and, with Smitty’s assistance, carried her into his room. By the time he had laid her on the bed her eyelashes were fluttering open.
“Drake?” She felt confused. Why was she lying on the bed when he was the one who was injured?
He smoothed her rumpled hair off of her face. “Are you all right, love?” His dark face was tight with concern.
“Yes … I’m fine. Why?” She wished she could get her bearings.
