One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(18)

It was really … quite sad.

“It’s all right, Amelia,” said Lily. She drew a deep breath and addressed the men. “Your Grace, my lord”—she turned to Bellamy—“Julian. I know you are all acting from honorable motives, and I do appreciate your concern. Leo would be heartened to see such evidence of your friendship.”

At the sound of Leo’s name from her lips, and the slight waver in her tone, the men softened in both posture and expression.

“His death leaves me bereft and grieving, but not penniless. I have means, and I have friends of my own.” She squeezed Amelia’s hand. “Even if I did wish to marry, I must complete a year of mourning first.”

“Those rules don’t apply,” Bellamy said. “Not in an extreme situation such as—”

Lily shook her head. “There is nothing extreme about my situation, aside from the tremendous shock. Leo is … was so very young.”

“Too young. All the wrong men die young.” Swearing, Ashworth kicked the ottoman. “Worthless devils like me? Now, we’re damn near indestructible.”

“No,” Lily said. “No one is immortal—that is the lesson to be learnt from this. If you wish to honor Leo’s memory, let his death be your ward against complacency. Amelia is right. Surely each of you has responsibilities more pressing than your membership in Leo’s club. Lord Ashworth, don’t you have some family, an estate?”

The man swore, rubbing a palm over his close-shorn hair. “A burnt-out stripe of heath in Devonshire. I haven’t laid eyes on the place in fourteen years.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” Lily said pointedly. When Bellamy looked as though he would protest, she added, “And I’m certain His Grace has duties enough of his own to occupy him, without taking charge of me.”

The duke turned toward Lily. “I have a ward. My cousin, though I suppose she was raised as more of a sister to me.”

Amelia didn’t know why this abrupt admission should move her. And it didn’t, not really. It simply caught her by surprise. Surely, other ladies would have known Morland had guardianship of his cousin. She must be the only woman in London society who hadn’t spent recent months mooning over the “M” section of Debrett’s Peerage.

But there was something almost … human in his face, as he mentioned her. A slight pleating at the corner of his eyes. A hint of uncertainty in the furrow of his brow.

Amelia tore her gaze away. She’d spent entirely too much time looking at the duke this evening, and she couldn’t bear to see him humanized any further. Far safer to hold to her demonized version: arrogant, cold, horse-mad. Easy to detest.

Bellamy covered the floor in three quick strides to confront Lily at a distance of inches. His voice was husky and intense. “You know I have no sister. No brother. No estate in Devonshire or anywhere else.”

“I know.” Lily took his hand in hers. “But we have thought of you as family, Leo and I.”

Closing his eyes, Bellamy swallowed hard. “Then you must not deny me the right to look after you.”

“I would never try.”

Standing at Lily’s side, Amelia began to feel as though she were intruding on a very private conversation. Yet it did not seem possible to move away without drawing further attention to herself. She settled for averting her eyes and remaining absolutely still. Beneath her hand, Lily’s shoulder began to tremble.

“I promise you this,” Bellamy said in a low voice, resonant with emotion. “I will find the men who killed Leo. I will hunt them down. No matter how far they run, no matter where they hide. And I will see them hanged.”

Lily began to weep.

“Dear Lily.” Bellamy clutched her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Tell me what to do. Give me some way to make it better.”

“Just take me to him,” she said. “And let me say goodbye.”

Chapter Four

As morning dawned, Spencer had still not found the solace of his library carpet, but he had downed a fair amount of brandy, and the whirling din in his head had cleared. He had passed much of the night in silence, which helped. Though he and Ashworth had retreated to Bellamy’s garden while Lily wept over her brother’s battered corpse, by tacit agreement there’d been no conversation. He’d spent the carriage rides to and fro in quiet contemplation, as had they all.

He peered out the coach window into the gray-amber dawn. The London streets swarmed with fruit and fish vendors, live-out servants and laborers on their way to their posts. The early-morning bustle slowed the coach’s progress considerably.

But then, he was in no great rush. The two other men and Leo’s grieving sister had already been deposited at Harcliffe Manor. He and Lady Amelia were the sole passengers remaining, and the coachman was welcome to take his time. For once, Spencer was not eager to be alone.

“This has been a most extraordinary night,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“Indeed,” she replied.

Fatigue, coupled with the incredible nature of the night’s events, had left him in a strange state. He had taken Lily’s exhortations to heart. Harcliffe’s death was indeed an effective memento mori, as the medieval saying went. “Remember that you will die.” Were something to happen to him, Spencer would not want Claudia caught in Lily’s predicament. Fortunately, there were concrete actions he could take to avoid such an outcome, and he intended to see to them directly.