Stephanie Laurens - The Edge of Desire

Mrs. Swithin nodded decisively. “Yes. The staff and I are prepared to give our assurance that Mr. Swithin will remain confined within doors.”

“Thank you.” Lord Keating turned to Tristan. “That’s all we can do, I believe.”

“Indeed.” Tristan stood, holding out his hand to assist his lordship to his feet. “The last duty I believe we need to attend to is to compose a report for the authorities, to be conveyed back to London by Barton here.” Gathering the grateful runner with a look, Tristan turned his lordship to the door. “I assume there must be a study here somewhere?”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Swithin waved at her butler. “Please show their lordships to the master’s study, Pascoe.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

While the butler led Tristan, Keating, and Barton out, Mrs. Swithin looked, somewhat uncertainly, around at the company. “I realize this is a trifle awkward, but I do think tea would be appropriate before you all start your journeys back to London.”

They all exchanged glances. It had been a long day.

“Thank you.” With a bow, Christian accepted for them all. “Tea would be much appreciated.”

They set out in their curricles an hour later.

Dalziel gave up his seat in Christian’s curricle to Letitia, handing her up with a bow.

She looked down her nose at him, but her lips quirked.

Christian flourished his whip and they set off.

Dalziel walked back to where Justin waited in his curricle, the reins of his restive blacks in his hands. Tristan and Tony had already set off. Swinging up to the seat beside Justin, Dalziel nodded ahead. “Home, James, and don’t spare your horses.”

Justin laughed and flicked his whip.

Barton, hanging on behind, mumbled, “Just as long as you don’t drive as fast as you did coming down.”

“I promise not to lose you,” Justin called back. “Aside from all else, you hold my freedom in your hands-I’m counting on you to explain all to your masters in Bow Street.”

“Aye, I will. They’ll be pleased to close the case.”

“Indeed, they should be.” Sitting back, arms crossed, Dalziel’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. “It occurs to me that you should receive a commendation-not least for saving your masters the unfortunate embarrassment of wrongfully arresting the future head of one of the oldest aristocratic houses. Just think how unpopular that would have made them.”

“That’s undoubtedly true,” Justin chimed in. “You really should work on how to present this result in the best possible light, Barton-so it reflects most favorably on you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Barton asked, “So how should I do that?”

Justin grinned, and with helpful advice from Dalziel, proceeded to tutor the runner in how best to gild his triumph.

All three quite enjoyed their journey back to town.

T wilight had taken hold by the time Christian drew his horses to a halt outside the house in South Audley Street. Every window was ablaze. Leaving his curricle in the care of an urchin-the horses were too tired to be difficult-he escorted Letitia up the steps and into the house.

Into chaos of a different sort to that earlier in the day.

Hermione spotted them first. With a shriek she flew across the parlor to wildly hug Letitia.

The assembled ladies-many having left, then returned despite the hour-surged in her wake; they enfolded Letitia in a welcome full of exclamations and relief.

They embraced him as if he were a conquering hero.

“An excellent outcome all around.” Amarantha stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for bringing her back to us, dear.”

“And in such spirits. “Constance bussed his other cheek. “Although,” she said, drawing back, “I do wonder why that is.”

She and Amarantha fixed him with identical inquiring looks-in response to which he merely smiled.

He knew better than to even hint of what was in the wind in such company; the faintest suggestion that he and Letitia might be planning a wedding would be all over the ton before midnight.

Agnes eventually won through to his side. “You did very well, Dearne.” She looked at Letitia, surrounded on all sides by the females of her family. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen dear Letitia so…animated.” She cocked a brow at him. “I do hope you won’t disappoint us.”

He looked into Agnes’s eyes, realized that in her he now had a firm supporter. “Actually…” He took her arm; after a quick glance over the sea of heads, he steered her toward the front hall. “Along those lines, there is something you might help me with.”

He quickly outlined what he proposed. Agnes was delighted. They found Mellon and gave the necessary orders, then, sharing pleased, conspiratorial smiles, they returned to the fray in the parlor.

Two minutes later Justin walked in. The ladies fell on him-the future head of their house-with unbounded enthusiasm.

Standing to one side, Christian smiled as he watched Justin play to his appreciative audience. He told his tale with verve and flair; there was no doubt he was a Vaux.

Letitia appeared beside Christian, sliding her arm into his. “Never before have I been so glad to be upstaged by my little brother.” But she was smiling fondly as she surveyed the crowd, now all hanging on Justin’s every word.

“Not so little, these days.”

“No, indeed. He’ll have to take care to avoid the matchmakers’ snares now he’s become so famous.”

Christian glanced at her. “So Dalziel’s a marquess.”

Her lips curved. “He let that slip, did he?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He waited a moment, then asked, “Is it a courtesy title, or…?”

Her smile grew. “Now that would be telling.” Turning to him, she laughed. “You’re just going to have to wait, like the others. Trust me-you’ll learn the truth soon enough.”

He would prefer to learn it sooner, but…looking into her eyes, he set the mystery of Dalziel aside. There was something much more important he had to say. “I meant what I said on the roof.”

She searched his eyes. Her gaze remained steady as she arched her brows. “So did I.”

His chest suddenly felt unaccountably tight. “So…when can we marry?”

Her brows rose higher; her expression, her eyes, told him she was considering. “I’m honestly not sure of the possibilities in our particular case. As it now seems clear Randall contrived the reason that forced me to marry him-a fact guaranteed to set the ton’s social arbiters firmly against him, and therefore in our camp-even if I only whisper the truth into a few select ears, those of ladies I can trust not to spread the details but only their conclusions…once I have their backing, I doubt we’ll need to wait out the year. Not even six months.”

“Good. How about next week?”

Her lips twitched. “Hmm. Well, that’s certainly a goal to aim for, but it might be a trifle ambitious.” She met his eyes, love glowing in hers. “Let’s say the week after. A quiet wedding at Nunchance.”

He looked at her, looked beyond her, and laughed.

She frowned. “What?”

He smiled down at her, then, ignoring the eyes that had strayed their way, bent his head and kissed her. Still grinning, he drew back and met her eyes. “A quiet Vaux wedding? That would have to be the archetypal contradiction in terms.”

To Letitia’s surprise, when she finally closed the door on the last of her female relatives, neither Agnes nor Hermione were anywhere in sight.

Puzzled, she glanced up the stairs. “Are we having dinner, or have they gone up to change?”

“Both, in a way.” Christian took the shawl Mellon had fetched and draped it over her shoulders. “We are having dinner, but not here.”