Her Muse, His Grace (Muses Book 4) Read online

  “I need to go.”

  He stood. “Don’t run out on me, Bianca.”

  “I must go.” She headed for the door, fully expecting him to stop her but hoping he wouldn’t. She needed to get away from this room, from him. She needed to figure out what had just happened and what it meant.

  “Until tomorrow,” he called.

  She stopped at the door. He wasn’t going to try and keep her here, thank goodness, but there was something about tomorrow. She was going to tell him earlier, but couldn’t recall.

  Then she remembered. “I won’t be here tomorrow.”

  “Please say you aren’t ending our lessons.” His boots clicked upon the hard floor and he came near. There was concern in this voice.

  “No, but I promised my sister I’d go for the last fittings tomorrow.”

  She turned just in time to see relief splash across his face.

  “I meant to tell you earlier, but I forgot.”

  The left side of his mouth quirked up.

  She swallowed and fought the urge to walk towards him and continue what they’d been doing. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Mr. East.”

  Chapter 17

  She’d left him achy with need all of yesterday and today, not that Mark had a complaint. It only assured him that he was right in that the two of them belonged together. She might not believe they would see each other until tomorrow, but they would see each other this evening and he was looking forward to spending time with her in a social setting.

  At his request, Thorn asked the rest of their friends to arrive earlier than Bianca. If they were not going to go along with his plan, then he’d leave. As much as he wished to spend this evening with her and see how she got on with his friends and their wives, he wasn’t ready for the truth to be out in the open.

  “Ah, so His Grace has returned?” Lord Patrick Delaney announced as Mark entered the parlor of Thorn’s home.

  Beside Delaney was a lovely blonde woman, who he introduced as his wife, Laura, sister to Chetwey, who was seated across from the couple with a dark headed woman, who Mark learned was his wife Brighid.

  Wasn’t she the one Thorn had called a witch? She seemed pleasant enough.

  Also in the room was Thorn and his wife Anna.

  “As to this His Grace nonsense,” he said after the introductions were made. “Tonight, I am simply Mr. East, a dancing master.”

  They all stared at him, confusion in their eyes. He knew the gentlemen well enough that the lying would not set well with them and assumed the same for the wives, so he quickly pled his case and explained his reasoning for the subterfuge.

  “This is not right,” Brighid finally said.

  “I’m not sure I approve of you playing with the heart of Miss Valentine,” added Laura.

  “I’m not playing,” Mark defended. “I fully intend on marrying her. I’m just afraid that if I tell her now that I might lose her.”

  “The longer you keep the truth from her, the more likely it will happen,” Anna warned.

  “A few more days. Only until the first ball of the Season.”

  They eyed him skeptically.

  “Please,” he practically begged.

  “I am not promising anything,” Brighid finally said. “But, I will meet the young woman and decide then.”

  He should have known they’d not go along with him easily, and it might all fall apart before the night ended, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

  Anna stood. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot go along with this.” She smoothed her skirts. “I hope that Miss Valentine and I might become friends, and a friendship should not start with deceit.”

  She was correct, but he was already in too deep. “You don’t need to lie. Simply address me as Mr. East, as I have asked you to. If by chance, Roxburg is mentioned and you feel the need to announce that I am him, I will not blame you. Otherwise, where is the deceit if you simply address me as I have asked?”

  The ladies narrowed their eyes on him.

  “A Miss Bianca Valentine,” the footman announced.

  “Please, escort her in,” Thorn said

  The ladies stared at him, and he held his breath. If Bianca shied away from a dancing master, she might run all the way back to Hampshire when she found out he’s a duke.

  “Ah, Miss Valentine, it is so good of you to join us,” Anna said, coming to her feet. “Let me introduce you around.”

  Mark held his breath as she did so. Instead of introducing Mark as either Mr. East or Roxburg, Anna simply nodded in his direction. “And, you two are already acquainted.”

  Inwardly, he blew out the breath he’d been holding but didn’t fool himself into believing that everything couldn’t change in a moment if one of them decided to out him.

  “Shall we go into supper?”

  * * *

  The dinner was delicious, or at least what she remembered of it. Had Mr. East not touched her thigh beneath the table a few times, she might have enjoyed it more.

  Instead of remaining behind to enjoy port and cigars, it was Mr. East who suggested that the gentlemen join the ladies in the sitting room for tea.

  Her heart ached with envy though. The gentlemen were close friends, which was obvious by the bantering and the women were close as well. Lady Chetwey and Anna appeared to be particularly close. The only person who struck her as odd was Lord Patrick Delaney. He didn’t so much look at her as he did past her, beyond her right shoulder. It was rather disconcerting, yet nobody else found it odd. Or, perhaps they hadn’t even noticed.

  What she also found odd was that when speaking to Mr. East, nobody mentioned his name, whereas others were mentioned. Not that it was necessary to say a person’s name when speaking directly to them, but she still found it odd when she made the realization at the end of supper.

  She’d settled into a chair and accepted a cup of tea. Mr. East stood behind her to the left, and it warmed her to be welcomed into their group, even if it was just for a night.

  Bea, this is where you belong.

  Bianca straightened and tried not to react to her brother’s words. What was he doing here? She hadn’t heard him outside of her dreams since he last spoke to her at the school of dance. Why was he here, now? Was he always with her? While it was comforting to know that Bertram was always present, she just hoped it wasn’t constant.

  Her face heated. There were just a few matters a brother should not be privy to no matter how close they were, such as when a woman most needed privacy, and the time she’d spent alone with Mr. East.

  Her face heated further when she recalled how she’d been pulled onto his lap as he devoured her mouth.

  “Is something amiss, Miss Valentine?” Lady Chetwey asked, studying her.

  “Um, no.”

  Goodness, she couldn’t tell anyone that her deceased brother was whispering in her ear. She just met them tonight and they’d not only not become her friend, but likely consider depositing her at Bedlam.

  You and Anna, that is, Mrs. Thorn, will get on quite well I believe.

  She’d thought the same. Already they’d discussed her passion for sculpting and how she’d met her husband. Were her sketches of Thorn any more scandalous than the way she heated when Mr. East was holding her near and adjusting her arms and fingers to play the violin?

  Though they had both practically been raised by vicars, at least Anna had the opportunity to travel and experienced many cultures before being settled with what sounded like the strictest vicar in England.

  “Were you aware your house was haunted, Thorn?” Delany asked calmly.

  Bianca straightened. Surely, he hadn’t heard Bertram. She wasn’t even convinced he was present. Just a voice in her ear. The person she always told her hopes and dreams to. She never really believed he was here and not in heaven.

  The rest of the guests began looking around. Lady Chetwey stood. “Do I need to return home for my herbs?”

  Herbs? For a ghost? She watched Lady Chetwey, who
appeared to be suddenly on edge, not moving as she shifted her eyes about the room, as if trying to find this ghost.

  “I expect something like this at Marisdùn but not here.” Laura said to her husband as she wrung her hands together.

  Other than the odd encounters with Bertram, Bianca did not believe ghosts truly existed. “Marisdùn?”

  They all looked at her, except for Mr. East, who placed a hand on her shoulder.

  He wishes to protect you, Bea. It’s a good sign.

  “Brighid, I don’t believe we need to worry about this particular ghost,” Delaney said before looking at Bianca. “Do we, Bea?”

  She sucked in a breath. Had they all heard Bertram or only Delaney?

  “He’s right behind you.” Delany smiled and nodded.

  She swallowed and gripped her cup of tea.

  “Who is behind her?” Mr. East demanded.

  “The ghost.”

  “This line of discussion is not humorous.” His arm slipped around her shoulders. “Can’t you see that you are frightening Miss Valentine when we all know there are no such things as ghosts.”

  All but Bianca and Mr. East burst out laughing.

  “I’m afraid, in that you are mistaken.” Thorn finally said. “Had you been with us the last two Samhains instead of Barbados, you would know that as well.”

  Lady Chetwey glanced at Delaney. “So, I don’t need to vanquish him?”

  Chetwey stood and placed a hand at the small of his wife’s back, as if to protect her.

  Delaney shook his head. “No. I believe he is here for Miss Valentine.”

  Bianca put hand to her throat. “As if to take me?” All this time she’d heard Bertram, she never thought he was waiting to take her to the hereafter.

  Delaney chuckled. “No. He’s here to protect you.” Then he narrowed his eyes, staring at the space above her shoulder as he done so many times that evening. “No, that isn’t it. He’s here to—” Then he trailed off. “He doesn’t wish for me to tell you.”

  “Well, I demand he does,” Bianca insisted

  Delaney smiled. “He will be here until…until the time is right.”

  Her heart was beating and even though she’d never seen Bertram before, she glanced over her shoulder. Nobody was there.

  “I refuse to believe there is a ghost.” Mr. East stood. “I will take Miss Valentine from here now before this joke goes further.” He narrowed his eyes on his friends. “I’ve never known any of you to be cruel as to frighten someone in this way.”

  Would Mr. East think her as mad if she said that she believed Delaney, and had begun hearing Bertram not long after his death?

  “I felt him too.” Lady Chetwey explained. “Not that I can see like Patrick, but I felt the presence, though I hoped I was wrong.” She resumed her seat and picked up her cup of tea. “Our experience with ghosts have not always been pleasant and I’m always a bit on edge when we come to London.”

  “Why?” asked Laura.

  “London is full of spirits.”

  Delaney grimaced as he nodded in agreement.

  Mr. East gaped at her. “How would you know if a ghost was here?”

  She blinked at him. “Because I’m a witch.” Then her eyes popped open and she looked anxiously from East to Bianca and back again. “But, I’d be pleased if you kept that bit of knowledge to yourself.”

  East narrowed his eyes on her.

  “It’s the truth.” Chetwey gestured to the spot on the settee. “Sit down and we will tell you what you missed these past few years. Then, you might believe us.”

  “When I first met Patrick, he was a ghost,” Laura announced.

  “He hovered between the living and the dead. Though close to death, he never died,” Lady Chetwey explained. “I was caring for him, after we’d found his body near the river. We had no idea he was leaving his body because of a message he had to get to Laura.”

  Patrick smiled down at his wife. “It was because of her that I was able to come back to the living or I might have died in Brighid’s home.”

  Bianca sat forward with interest. Somehow knowing ghosts were real comforted her. Bertram hadn’t been a figment of her imagination this entire time, but close by and keeping watch over her.

  She listened attentively as they told of how Bradenham’s wife, though they weren’t married at the time, had been taken by his great-grandmother because she was trying to gain power and of how Brighid had sent her to the beyond and then brought the Bradenham’s wife back again. They told her of ghost children who liked to take things and another one who nearly sucked the life from Chetwey. They then told her of a ring. A relic and a Celtic warrior and the havoc he wreaked on the guests and possessed Anna’s uncle, the vicar, who denied it to this day.

  It was all quite interesting to hear, but would have been far too frightening to experience.

  “Anna and I were to deliver the ring to Rome, which is a story for another time, and we barely made it back in time to see Garrick marry.”

  “That is because you didn’t wish to leave Florence,” Anna said.

  Thorn lifted a brow. “I believe I’m not that one who couldn’t be pulled from Michelangelo’s David.”

  It was all quite unbelievable, yet it gave her comfort because it was proof that Bertram was here, with her. But why? He should be freed of this world. He deserved heaven, not stuck to walk the Earth.

  “And Quent lives there?” Mr. East asked in disbelief.

  “Oh, it is all perfectly safe now that the priest exorcised the spirits,” Lady Chetwey said brightly.

  Bianca looked to Delaney. “You really see him?” she finally asked as tears sprang to her eyes.

  Delany smiled softly at her.

  “How does he look?”

  “He isn’t much more of a shadow, but he’s put to rights in what I believe is the regimental uniform of a foot guard.”

  Bianca sucked in her breath. It’s how she’d seen him whenever he came to her in her dreams.

  “And he is well?” What a silly question. Of course he wasn’t well. He was dead.

  “His only concern is what will become of you when a truth is revealed.” She and Mr. East sucked in a breath. Why was he worried? She was the one with the damning secret.

  Your heart will stand a test soon. Think wisely, with your heart and soul and not your head.

  “Listen to your brother, Miss Valentine.” Delany smiled at her with understanding. How he could understand any of this was beyond her. He certainly couldn’t comprehend the truth of the matter.

  Tears dampened her cheeks and Lady Chetwey held out a handkerchief to her. “Just because they are beyond, does not mean they always leave us.”

  Bianca sniffed. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  Chapter 18

  Mark received a note from Miss Valentine when he arrived at the school of dance. She would not be joining him today, again, because her sister needed her to prepare for the ball and that Lady Acker had given her the week off. However, she hoped that they could continue lessons next week.

  She might not even be speaking with him next week, let alone allowing lessons.

  No, he couldn’t think that way. He’d make her understand, beg her forgiveness if necessary, and then they could move forward in his courtship.

  Once he returned to the house he rented, Mark quickly penned a note, advising Bianca that he’d like to call on her the day after the ball. It was all he could do until then.

  “A Mr. Virgil to see you,” the footman announced.

  Bloody hell, he’d forgotten he’d even hired the investigator. They met only once, shortly after Samuel hired him and brought him to the house. After being assured of the man’s discretion, Mark had provided him with a list of names.

  “I’ve learned everything I possibly can in the time allotted.”

  “Thank you.” Mark took the reports from him.

  “If there is anything further you need, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

 
; After arranging for payment of his services to be delivered the man quit the room and Mark stared at the folder. Did he really wish to know everything now? Didn’t he know what was necessary? Besides, the only miss he cared anything about was Miss Valentine.

  He took the folder into the library then poured himself a glass of rum and settled before the fire. It was best to find out what the man learned, even though he doubted anything would change with regard to his suspicions.

  He opened the first report and nearly choked on his rum, then read the note Samuel must have written.

  We have interest in Lady Jillian Simpson. Mr. East will provide you with the other name when you meet with him.

  Why would Samuel think he needed to know anything about the lady he dismissed within moments of hearing her and before even meeting her?

  As he read through the information, Mark’s eyes grew wider. This was damaging indeed. Not that he intended on embarrassing the lady, but her father was a duke, who had worked very hard to keep particular information from the ton. What would his investigator have dug up if he’d been given more than six weeks?

  Mark closed the report and sifted through the other ladies he was no longer interested in pursuing, but stopped when he came to the one on Bianca Valentine. Settling back he read her background. It was just as she had told him. Her parents were missionaries who died in an uprising. There were no reports on the number of children they had as there was not enough time to gather the information from India, other than it had been believed that the children perished with their parents until ten children, ages six months to eleven years arrived at the home of Osborn and Mary Grant, who was and continues to be a vicar. A list was produced of each child, their profession, marital status and location.

  Within a month of their arrival, the vicar left that parish to arrive in Hampshire, where the family continues to reside.

  He closed the report, smiling and took another sip of his rum. A modest but perfectly acceptable background for the future wife of a duke. Many may frown and believe her too common to be his duchess, but if they could know her like he did, look upon her face and listen to her play, they’d realize there was absolutely nothing common about Bianca Valentine.