Dear God. Had there ever been a more arrogant man than he? No doubt he thought every lady in England was angling to become the Duchess of Montford.
Indeed, perhaps they were, butshewasn’t. “Not to worry, Your Grace. The gentlemen of London are safe from my claws. I’ve come to visit the duchess. That’s all.”
Itwasn’tall, not by a good measure, but the Duke of Montford didn’t need to know about her matrimonial schemes. Or, more accurately, Franny’s matrimonial schemes on her behalf. Oh, he’d find it out soon, along with every other scoundrel and gossip in London.
There were no secrets among theton.
Until then, however, she didn’t intend to provide him with any illumination about her reasons for being in London. It was bad enough she’d be plagued with his tiresome presence on this visit, yet there was no helping that, as he was a good friend of the Duke of Basingstoke’s.
But he was no friend ofhers, and thus there was no reason for her to be standing about chatting with him. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I believe I’ll retire for the evening.”
“You’re excused, Miss Thorne.” He’d closed his eyes and didn’t bother to open them, but merely waved his hand, as if he were dismissing a servant. “Go on then, off to bed with you.”
She turned to go, but before she could even reach the door, a low, buzzing drone made her pause, and she turned back around to find the Duke of Montford still sprawled in his chair, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open.
He wassnoring. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Why, how mortifying for him! So very . . . un-ducal.
The kind thing to do would be to wake him so he might be on his way, but she didn’t owe the Duke of Montford any kindness. So, she left him where he was, in front of a dying fire with his boots propped on the table and his head tipped back against the chair at an awkward angle.
It was too perfect.
She skipped out the door and hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber, and if she wished him an aching back and a crick in his neck, well . . .
No one ever needed to know it but her.
CHAPTER2
The searing pain began below Jasper’s left ear. The icy burn of it would have been enough to jolt him from his slumber, but it didn’t end there. It streaked from his neck to the hollow between his shoulder blades before it slid down to the center of his back.
And there it stayed, throbbing with enough intensity to wake the dead.
It was the villainess again, the one with the glittering red rubies where her eyes were meant to be. She was creeping about in the darkness, her glassy gaze locked on him, her bow lips curled in a ghastly smile full of sharp, gleaming teeth. She’d buried a blade in the arch of his neck, right where it gave way to his shoulder, and she was twisting, twisting . . .
He let out a pained groan. “Begone, witch, and let me sleep!”
The villainess didn’t answer, and when he reached out blindly to slap the knife from her hands, he found only emptiness.
An invisible villainess then, wielding an invisible knife. “Loftus, the villainess has gotten loose in my bedchamber again. Toss her out at once, will you?”
There was no reply from Loftus, which was strange. His valet was always fluttering about in the mornings, brushing coats and sharpening razors and whatnot. Had the villainess stabbed poor Loftus, too?
That wouldn’t do. Not only because Loftus was a kind, gentle soul who didn’t deserve such a bloody death, but also because Jasper would never find another valet who’d take such exquisite care of his linens. “Loftus? Are you there?”
Still no answer, only the twist of the knife in his neck, his blood gushing from the gaping wound. He could taste it, thick and coppery on his tongue. She’d take his eyes next, then his heart, skewered on the tip of her blade, and his grandfather would be left with his mangled body—
“No!” His own shout woke him, and he struggled upright, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him as he shook the grogginess from his head.
There were no glittering red eyes, just the last few coals still glowing in the grate.
It wasn’t a dream at all, but a nightmare. Just another nightmare, bloodier than the last, to be sure, but there was no villainess, no knife, and no . . . pillows?
Where the devil had his pillows gone? And why was it so damned cold in his bedchamber? He fell back against the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. “Someone has taken my pillows, Loftus. Fetch them for me, will you, and stir the fire? There’s a good fellow.”
No answer, still. What had become of Loftus? He was always in the bedchamber when Jasper woke, hovering and clucking over the state of his clothing.
He rolled over, but the other half of his bed had vanished as well, and he hit the floor with a bone-cracking thud, flinching as pain exploded in his hip. “Damnation!” He peeled his eyes open, blinking to dislodge the grit sealing his eyelids together and peered up at the beamed ceiling above his head.
