“I don’t want to have to bury you just yet, Juniper. Out of my sight.”
Juniper continued to look up hopefully at the duke, a very large, handsome young man who, in all the years Juniper had known him, had never been ill from anything other than drinking too much brandy. It was nothing for the duke to ride in an open curricle, the rain battering down on him, the sea winds tearing through his thick hair. For Juniper, had he done something so ill-advised, he would be shortly six feet under the ground with a stone on his head and a daisy planted on top of his belly. The air was still damp from the interminable rain, the breeze off the Channel damp and chill. He shuddered. “Go,” the duke said again.
“Aye, your grace,” Juniper said. “Oh, your grace, I forget to give you this. It was brought just an hour ago by one of those men who works for your friend Lord Pettigrew.” He handed the duke a thin envelope with turned and twisted edges.
The duke didn’t wait. This had to be it, he thought. It just had to be over now. He tore open the paper and read:
We thought we had him, but he escaped our net. Sorry, Richard. Keep faith. We’ll get the murdering bastard yet. DH
The day turned suddenly and completely black. He looked up and saw only bleak clouds that were filling the sky, turning it a nasty ochre color. He crushed the paper in his hand. They’d all been so certain, knowing that they’d catch the miserable traitor who’d brutally garroted Robbie Faraday in an alley near Westminster in early December.
He wanted to smash his fist into something. He turned to see Juniper staring at him in fascinated horror.
“Go away, Juniper. Now.”
Juniper ran back up the wide, deep front steps, wondering what horrific news was in the letter he’d happened to snag from the messenger while Bassick was in the pantry chastising one of the footmen.
Well, the young duke had many things on his mind these days, though Juniper couldn’t say what any of them were. Maybe it was a woman. Now, he knew, everyone knew, that the duke was a randy young man, so randy that he was already a legend in this part of England. And that brought Polly, the in-between maid, to mind. Maybe he could cozen her into bringing him some of Mrs. Dart’s hot quail-egg soup. Maybe he could even talk her into spooning some into his mouth. Maybe after he ate, he could convince her that he wasn’t too sick to slick his fingers through that pretty hair of hers.
The bleak look faded from the duke’s face. He frowned at Juniper for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed. He yelled as Juniper’s foot hit the top step, “You won’t tumble Polly, and that’s the end to it, Juniper. I don’t want her ill. Go away and stop your dreaming.”
Just then the great oak front doors were flung open by his ancient butler with a flowing mane of white hair that any man of any age would admire to the point of black jealousy. The duke remembered that when he was a little boy, he had believed God must look like Bassick. His father had grinned down at him and said, no, not God. He looks like Moses.
“Send Murdock out here, Bassick.”
Scarce an instant passed before a tall redheaded footman, impressive in his crimson and gold livery, appeared at the duke’s side.
“Escort Juniper to his bed and tuck him in. If he doesn’t stay put, tie him to his bed. Tell Cook to prepare him some nourishing soup. Tell Polly not to trust a thing he says. Tell her simply to stay away from him.” Murdock gave Juniper a commiserating look and led him away.
“His grace shouldn’t know these things,” he heard Juniper say low to Murdock.
“Aye, that’s the truth of it, but he does. He once knew I’d taken off my shirt to show Betsy the scar on my right shoulder.” Murdock sighed deeply. “She loved that scar.”
“Then why did she marry the butcher’s son in Eastbourne?”
No answer for that question, the duke thought, and smiled, but it was quickly gone. He eyed the crumpled letter in his hand. Damnation. They’d been so close. He’d been awaiting word for two days that they’d finally won. His mood was blacker now than it had been but an instant before. “Juniper, Bassick will have Mrs. Needle see to you. You do whatever she tells you to do. That’s an order.”
He heard his tiger groan and saw Murdock give him a pat on the back.
Bassick said in his slow, stately way, “Mrs. Needle alarms him, your grace. Understandable, I suppose. She has the aura of a witch, with her gray, twisted hair, her pink scalp showing. She even has a pot that sits on a hob in her fireplace. If it were just a bit larger, it could pass for a witch’s cauldron. The concoctions she prepares tend to be on the odorous side. And she talks to herself. It’s unnerving to the more uneducated of those around us, your grace.”
“It won’t destroy his manhood,” the duke said, “and believe me, that’s all Juniper ever thinks about. As for Mrs. Needle, my mother has always maintained that she is responsible for more people coming back to health than God even wanted to live.”
Bassick cleared his ancient throat. “I am given to understand that Mrs. Needle now praises the restorative powers of spicy French mustard, mulled wine, and a small pinch of fresh seaweed. I’m not certain if this is imbibed or applied to the offending part of the body.”
“Hopefully neither of us will ever have to find out.”
Bassick said an amen to that even as he looked briefly toward the second floor of the north wing of the castle. He fancied he could smell the noxious odors that emanated from her herbal laboratory. The duke turned and strode up the deeply indented stone steps. He didn’t wait for Bassick to catch up with him to relieve him of his greatcoat and gloves, but continued in without a backward glance, his Hessians landing loudly on the marble entrance floor. He wanted privacy. He wanted to brood, then begin to plan again. This time he would involve himself in the actual strategy. If there was bait needed, he would be it. Drew Halsey had had his chance to catch Robbie’s murderer, and he’d failed.
“Your grace! Wait a moment, please. I forgot to tell you something important.”
The duke’s black brows snapped together. He called back without turning around, “It can wait, Bassick. I’m in a devil of a mood, truth be told. A black cloud is hanging just over my head. It will rain buckets on me any minute.
“Leave me be. Just keep everyone away for a while.”
“But, your grace, it’s something you really should know.”
The duke recognized Bassick’s