The Season(47)

And then, in an instant, he was struck with an undeniable sense of calm. The solution was clear, as though there had never been any doubt.

Without information, there was no way he could be caught, and the boy was the only person convinced there was more to the earl’s death than appeared at first glance. The boy was the problem—always had been. The Earl of Blackmoor was all that was left between him and his safety. His freedom. Without him, no one would care to search for answers about the happenings on the Essex estate. No one would care to discover the truth about the earl’s death.

The solution was clear.

He already had Blackmoor blood on his hands. What was a little more?

Several hours later, Alex was still in the library with her mother, only now they were waiting for the return of her father from Blackmoor House, where he’d gone immediately following Blackmoor’s startling announcement.

Blackmoor’s words were still hanging in the air when the duke had leapt into action, asking Harquist to wake the footmen to take messages to the Bow Street Runners, the private investigators who kept the peace in London, and to the Marquess of Langford, who was one of the best investigators in Britain. Once the messengers were dispatched, the duke and young earl returned to Blackmoor House to assess the situation. His Grace had said little, except to tell his wife and daughter that they should not wait for him to return before retiring to their beds.

Of course, the Stafford women had no intention of taking to their bedchambers before they knew what exactly had transpired that evening at Blackmoor House and what was going to be done to find the criminal who had robbed Gavin.

Alex had alternately attempted to read, to embroider, and to catch up on her correspondence to cousins on the Continent, to no avail. Instead, now she found herself awake at quarter past three in the morning, listening to the sound of her mother’s breathing as the duchess napped in her chair.

The waiting gave her plenty of time to reflect on her behavior at the ball, at the Worthington dinner, and in the two weeks that separated the events, as well as on her own feelings for Blackmoor, which she was terrified to admit.

The more she thought about him, the more she worried—not about the burglary, which was unfortunate, to be sure, but would be addressed by Bow Street and her father. No, she worried about the fact that they were so clearly growing apart; she worried that they seemed to have a markedly different relationship now from what they’d ever had before; and she worried that she’d ruined whatever relationship they might have by losing her temper in front of Freddie. She simply hadn’t been herself since they’d nearly kissed.

They had nearly kissed, hadn’t they?

Torturing herself, she replayed the scene on the Worthington House balcony over and over in her mind, each time wondering if she’d been mad to think that he was actually going to kiss her. Perhaps all this emotion was for naught. Perhaps she’d misread the situation—after all, it was not a situation in which she commonly found herself. Perhaps they hadn’t been close to kissing. Perhaps it was all in her head. She hadn’t really wanted to kiss him anyway.

Of course she had.

Yes, she had wanted the kiss. She still did. No, she wanted more than that. She wanted him to want her back. When on earth had that happened? She sighed, dismayed by the fact that the season had made most things in her life unpleasantly complicated.

The clock in the hallway chimed half past three, marking two hours since her father and Gavin had left the house to meet the runner. Alex looked up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer she would have to wait before her father came home with news.

She had just decided to send a footman over to Blackmoor House to check on the status of the evening when she heard the front door open and her father’s rich tenor. “It’s no trouble at all, Gavin. You know that. Your mother would have our heads if we didn’t offer you a roof tonight, of all nights. More important, the duchess wouldn’t stand for anything else. This I know.”

Alex stood and walked to the door of the library to find the duke and Blackmoor handing their topcoats and walking sticks to Harquist, who had stayed awake to await his master. “Thank you, Harquist. Please have a chamber made for Lord Blackmoor, and then that will be all, my good man. You have outdone yourself this evening,” the duke said warmly.

Blackmoor chimed in, “Indeed, Harquist. Thank you for all your help.”

“My lords, it was my pleasure,” spoke the old man. “Lord Blackmoor, the crimson chamber already awaits you. Her Grace expected you would join us this evening.” With a short bow he took his leave.

The duke offered Blackmoor a weary smile. “You see? You are quite welcome here tonight, my boy.” Turning, he noticed Alex. “Still awake, moppet?”

She nodded seriously. “Of course. Mother and I stayed awake to make certain that everything was set to right.” With a nod over her shoulder she corrected herself. “Well, Mother and I stayed downstairs to make certain that everything was set to right. Awake is another matter.”

As if on cue, the duchess emerged from the library to wrap Blackmoor in an enveloping hug as she said, “I know you’re an earl now, Gavin, but even earls need some mothering now and then.”

Gavin’s arms caught the duchess in a firm hold as he hugged her back and said, “Indeed, they do.”

The duchess pulled back and placed a kiss on each of Blackmoor’s cheeks. “You will stay with us tonight.” It was not a question.