“Goodness, but he’s a frightful mess,” Juliana breathed. “What could have happened? Oh dear. He’s spotted us, and he does not appear pleased.”
CHAPTER4
With an awkwardhonk, the musicians halted the music, and every curious and appraising eye in the ballroom turned Jasper’s way. Unease rippled up the backs of his legs and wrapped disquietingly around his gut.
As the son of a duke, he’d been raised to live in society’s gaze. Naturally, he’d relished the attention and adoration as a young man, but as he’d aged—and particularly now, at four-and-thirty—he felt increasingly disinterested and often smothered.
The butler, belatedly recalling his duty, stammered, “H-his Grace, the Duke of Derby.”
Jasper scanned the throng, his heart leaping alarmingly when he caught sight of Maria. His blood thrummed—Lord knew why—before he shook the feeling off.
Whispers surrounded him as he made his way through the crush, his sleeves dripping on the polished floor and his once-shining shoes sloshing with each step. In an attempt at civility, he offered tight smiles and murmured greetings to the throng as he passed, until he reached the far wall and cut a brusque bow in front of his sister and her friends.
The musicians took up their quadrille once more, and the dancers slowly resumed. The tightness in Jasper’s shoulders loosened ever so slightly.
He greeted the women in turn, then set his sights on Maria.
“Good heavens, Jasper,” Juliana whispered loudly. “Why are you so wet?”
Ignoring his sister, he attempted a smile, but very much feared that it took on a predatory gleam. “Miss Roberts, will you do me the great honour of joining me in the next waltz?”
Maria’s grey eyes sparked with—indignation?—before she flicked an apprehensive glance over his shoulder.
“I’m afraid that I am already engaged, Your Grace, but even should I not be, you’re in a state.”
Something cramped in his gut, and Jasper suppressed a grimace. Their exchange was expected, of course, even habitual, but whether it was his pride or something else altogether, he detested hearing her say those words each time he asked her for a dance.
His gaze flicked sideways to Maria before he turned to his sister. “An incident with my carriage.”
Feeling entirely out of place, Jasper glanced out at the dancers. And the breath all but left his lungs as fear swept in. A flash of brown hair and glaring blue eyes caught Jasper’s gaze through the crowd but was gone as swiftly as it had arrived. And for a moment, he was certain that he’d seen… But no, it couldn’t have been Francis. He would surely never venture into so populated a place as this. The man was toying with his mind.
“Good Lord,” Miss Heather Morgan put in. “Did you walk here?”
“No.” Jasper’s brows drew together as he eyed the shorter, ample woman with red-blonde hair.
“You seem reluctant to discuss matters, brother. Mayhap we ought to move to a more private setting?”
As discreetly as they could manage—which was entirely indiscreet, with everyone in attendance now acutely aware of them—the four of them wove through the throng and out the doors to the balcony. The evening air was cool and humid, the rain falling on the overhanging roof a delicate hum.
“Francis had my coachman replaced,” Jasper said without preamble, raking his fingers through his wet hair in an attempt to tame it.
“How could he accomplish that?” Miss Morgan asked.
Another jolt of panic shot through Jasper’s chest. “My footmen informed me that the hired man knocked my coachman to the ground and overtook the driver’s perch after I enclosed myself within. He drove like a madman, then leapt from the carriage after shooting one of my footmen. I was forced to drive it, myself.”
“Blimey,” Miss Morgan breathed.
“And your footman?” Maria prompted. “Did he survive?”
Jasper jerked his head in a nod. “Merely a graze. I brought him to the physician.”
“What do you suppose Francis’ intentions were?” Miss Morgan asked.
“The driver said that Francis wished me dead, but he could have meant to injure me instead, for why else would he hand methis?” He withdrew the damp and wrinkled bit of parchment from his inner breast pocket and unfolded it.
“Is that—?” Maria began.
Jasper nodded. “AsFlies to wanton boys are we to the gods / They kill us for their sport,” he read. “TheFinfliesis emphasized. And”—he sniffed the damp parchment—“it smells of laurel water.”
