Chapter 24

24

A fortnight later, Julian tugged at his cravat, the starched linen like a noose around his throat. He cast another glance out of the carriage window as their coach rumbled through the rain-washed streets towards Buckingham Palace.

Apprehension roiled in his gut. He’d visited Edgar Kellerman’s offices just that morning, only to find the place shut up tight as a nunnery. Not a whisper or scrap of evidence remained. And still no word from Wentworth.

Somewhere out there, a killer plotted his next move while Julian prepared to play the fawning sycophant beneath the chandeliers.

Bloody fantastic. Why not add disembowelment to round out the festivities?

Beside him, Caroline drew a muted, trembling breath. To the outside world, the Duchess of Hastings presented the picture of polished nobility. But Julian glimpsed the cracks in her genteel fa?ade – the faint tremor in her gloved fingers, the crease of worry between her brows.

He reached over to cover her restless hands with his own. “Just two hours of meaningless pleasantries at most. Smile, greet the queen, have some wine. The usual nonsense.”

“While the most powerful woman in the country stares us down like a governess ready to rap our knuckles if we misbehave,” Caroline said.

Despite the circumstances, Julian’s lips twitched. “Think of Her Majesty in her nightdress. It always humanises the grandeur.”

Caroline cast him an arch look, though he noted some of the tension around her eyes had smoothed away. “You want me to imagine our queen in her undergarments?”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, keeping his tone light. “She’s still just a woman. Puts her skirts on one leg at a time like any other lady. But say the word, and I’ll whisk you behind a potted palm to catch your breath.”

Her darting glance held a spectre of panic. “If anyone asks about the bombing—”

“Lie through your teeth.”

“Truly?”

“Absolutely. Tell them you carried me over the rubble in your dainty arms after I swooned from manly vapours.”

She cut him a glare. “They thought I was the one who fainted, duke.”

“Then I’ll tell everyone you saved a basket of kittens,” he replied.

“Make it a dozen orphans, three puppies, the Crown Jewels, and a basket of kittens,” she added. “Might as well make it good.”

“That’s my audacious girl,” Julian said, kissing her knuckles.

The line of her shoulders eased just a fraction beneath his lingering touch. She was still too tense and braced for disaster – but they would get through this farce with fortitude and wine. Plenty of wine. He just needed to keep her smiling.

A liveried footman opened the door as the carriage drew up outside the palace. Raindrops speckled the white marble stairs. As Julian handed Caroline down, voices and raucous laughter bled from the palace’s illuminated fa?ade. The muted strains of the orchestra provided a counterpoint to the swelling din.

Inside, the grand reception hall gleamed, polished to a high shine. Liveried footmen stood posted along the red carpet runner that guided guests towards the ballroom’s vaulted splendour. The mingled perfume of rare hothouse blooms filled the air beneath the blaze of a hundred chandeliers, turning the mirrored walls into dazzling facets of light.

They joined the elegant queue of guests waiting to be announced. Despite the exaggerated deference, curiosity burned behind the polite smiles turned their way. Julian clenched his jaw as yet another gawking matron eyed Caroline’s stomach with interest.

“Why do they keep staring at my midsection as if they expect a baby to pop out and do a jig?” Caroline asked.

“Looking for proof we’ve produced an heir in weeks, I suspect,” Julian said in irritation. “Would you like me to scare them off?”

“I think we’re meant to be the toast of the ton tonight, not a spectacle.” She fidgeted with her gloves. “Really, it’s odious.”

“Just remember, picture their undergarments.”

She sputtered a laugh. “ Julian. ”

“That dowager over there, for example.” He tilted his head discreetly towards a jewelled matron. “Go on, give it a try. Or picture her stark naked. That ought to help.”

“Thank you,” she said dryly. “Now that image will be seared into my memory for all eternity.”

“You’re welcome, duchess.”

Any response she might have made was lost as the announcer’s voice rang out, “Presenting His Grace, the Duke of Hastings, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Hastings!”

Drawing a bracing breath, Caroline tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Together, they moved into the crowded ballroom. Hundreds of eyes turned their way, raking over them in frank assessment. The whispered speculation began.

“… does she look peaked to you?”

“I heard she fainted dead away at the theatre…”

“… had to be carried from the wreckage.”

On and on. No detail escaped their notice. The hungry eyes assessing Caroline with such vicious interest made Julian want to don the coldest, most ruthless ducal mask.

He squeezed Caroline’s trembling hand. “Steady,” he murmured. “We’ve braved far worse.”

As they moved through the sea of jewelled silks, the crowds parted before them. Polite smiles now graced the faces of those who had just been whispering behind their fans seconds earlier. Julian inclined his head in a show of courtesy.

At last, they approached the throne on the dais at the far end of the ballroom. Queen Victoria watched them with sharp interest, taking their measure.

As one, Julian and Caroline sank into deep bows before the queen. “Your Majesty,” Julian said. “Thank you for this honour.”

The queen tilted her head in acknowledgement. “I wish to convey my appreciation for your heroic actions. You showed great bravery in the aftermath of that dreadful attack, duke. And, duchess – how valiant of Hastings to rescue you, my dear.”

At his side, Caroline’s fingers clamped around his wrist with the tenacity of a barnacle. He could practically hear her teeth grinding.

“Yes, quite,” Caroline said.

Julian drew himself up straight. “Merely doing our duty, ma’am.”

Beside him, Caroline muttered through clenched teeth, “I need to take cover behind a potted plant. Now.”

Julian’s mouth twitched.

After suffering through a few more agonising pleasantries, the queen nodded in dismissal. Julian seized Caroline’s arm and hustled her away before she combusted on the spot.

As they retreated, Julian’s gaze snagged on a familiar figure lurking in one of the shadowed alcoves. Mattias Wentworth lifted his glass in a subtle salute, all polished congeniality stripped from his features, leaving only icy purpose. Unease slithered down Julian’s spine.

“Come with me,” Julian murmured to Caroline. He wanted to confer with Wentworth beyond the reach of curious ears.

“Talk,” Julian bit out without preamble. He kept his voice soft. Those nearby didn’t need to overhear. “What news?”

Wentworth looked like hell. Jaw unshaven, eyes bloodshot and bruised. “Gone to ground. Slithered right out of our grasp, the slippery fuck.”

Julian’s hands jerked with the urge to crush something. Preferably Edgar Kellerman’s smug face. “How the devil did he evade you?”

“Wasn’t through lack of trying on my end.” Wentworth slugged back more brandy. “I looked into him, and your instincts were right. Edgar Kellerman didn’t exist before his sudden appearance in society. I couldn’t prove the murders, but I had enough evidence to pin him on swindling aristocrats. When the lads and I went for the arrest, he was gone. Nothing disturbed or ransacked, didn’t leave in a hurry. Appears he simply walked out the front door whistling a merry tune. Which means the bastard caught wind of surveillance somehow. He left because he wanted to leave.”

Julian fought to keep his snarl of frustration leashed behind his teeth. This had disaster bleeding all over it.

He glanced around the glittering ballroom. The graceful orchestral strains seemed to mock him. How many here tonight might have their names on some aristocratic hit list?

“He can’t have gone far,” Julian said, knowing the reassurance rang hollow. “Not without funds. Arrangements.”

“Agreed. I have agents scouring every station and port,” Wentworth said. “We’ll find him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian noticed Lady Amesbury drifting closer, shamelessly attempting to eavesdrop. He gave her a cold glare, and she darted away.

“We’ll speak later in a more private setting,” Julian said.

“You’ll hear from me soon.” Wentworth finished off his brandy in one long swallow. “And Hastings – watch your back. You’re a target now, too.”

Then he slipped into the crowd of aristocrats.