A Duke in Shining Armor

Eventually, however, he got her stowed on the seat under the ugly shelter.

The awning might have been used to collect fish or dredge the river. It certainly smelled like it. Her skirts swelled about him, and a gust of wind caught the veil and lifted it to tickle his face. He pushed it away at the same moment she pulled it away, and their fingers brushed.

She fidgeted and turned away to stare at the water.

His thoughts clung to the moments of her falling into and out of his arms while getting onto the boat. And to the scent of her hair.

Well, that was a bloody waste of thought.

As soon as this business was done, he’d find a merry widow or a courtesan and cure what ailed him.

He fixed his mind on hats.

He wished he had his, and wondered where he might get something remotely suitable in short order.

The boat pushed off at last, and all the odds and ends fretting his mind flew away on the river breeze.

At that moment, and not very greatly to his surprise, what the Duke of Ripley felt was relief.

Newland House

Lord Ludford found the Duke of Ashmont in the dining room bent over a large bowl. The Duke of Blackwood was pouring water over his head.

“Damn, that’s cold,” said Ashmont.

Blackwood paused.

“Don’t stop,” Ashmont said. “Got to get my head clear.”

“Don’t do it on account of the wedding,” Ludford said. “Because it looks like there isn’t going to be one. Olympia’s made off with your friend.”

Ashmont’s blond head came up abruptly, splashing water on Blackwood, who calmly stepped back with a not-so-calm oath.

“What the devil?” said Ashmont.

“She’s bolted, and Ripley’s gone with her. They got into a hackney coach in the High Street but nobody could say where they were going.”

Hackneys might backtrack or take a roundabout route to avoid roads commonly snarled with traffic. Without knowing the direction Ripley had given the driver, it was impossible to determine which way they were headed.

“I thought you’d know where he’d go,” he said. “Or what he’d do.”

Ashmont and Blackwood stared at him. Then at each other.

At that moment, a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged gentleman sauntered into the room. His fine, handsome features proclaimed him a Beckingham.

“Uncle Fred,” Ashmont said. “Funny thing’s happened.”

Lord Frederick Beckingham raised an eyebrow. “So it would seem. You ought to be married by now.”

Ludford explained what he’d recently witnessed.

Lord Frederick regarded his nephew. “This had better not be one of your jokes.”

“Not mine,” Ashmont said. “Ripley’s.”

“Obviously,” Blackwood said. “As I was about to tell Ludford, it’s nothing to worry about. They won’t go far. They’ll be gone only long enough to cause a fuss.”

“Really?” said Lord Frederick. “I must confess it puzzles me vastly why Lady Olympia would go along with it.”

“Yes, why would she?” Ludford said. “She thinks you three are worthless.”

“She must think I’m worth something,” Ashmont said. “She said yes, didn’t she?”

“So you said,” Lord Frederick said.

“But now she’s bolted,” Ludford said.

“She didn’t bolt,” Ashmont said. “Ripley sneaked away with her. He got her in on the joke, don’t you see?”

“I thought you were the one who concocted the jokes,” Ludford said.

“Not always,” Blackwood said. “Ripley’s come up with some fine ones. The question is, as Ludford has so intelligently asked, where would Ripley take her? It would have to be nearby. He wouldn’t want to make . . . erm . . . complications.”

“If he ruins my sister’s reputation, I’ll kill him,” Ludford said. “That would be a complication, yes.”

“You’ll have to get in the line behind Ashmont,” Blackwood said.

“Bloody right,” Ashmont said. “I did all the work, wooing and such, and I should get the bride. That scurvy bastard. There he was, playing the innocent—and I asked him to look after things.”

“You didn’t ask,” Blackwood said. “You told him.”

“You told him,” Ashmont said. “You said . . .” He paused, frowning. “I forget. But if he didn’t want to do it, he should have said so, instead of stealing my bride.”

“I can imagine a great many things,” said Lord Frederick. “Ripley’s stealing Lady Olympia isn’t one of them.”

“If he stole her, why was he chasing her through the garden?” Ludford said. “If he stole her, why wasn’t he carrying her over his shoulder, that sort of thing?”

Ashmont’s beautiful brow knit. “I’ll confess, that does stump me.”

“I daresay it does,” said Lord Frederick. “Rather than overwork your brain with this puzzler, I recommend you get her back, as soon as possible.”

“In the meantime, what are we going to tell my parents?” said Ludford. “And the wedding guests?”

“I shall speak to your parents,” said Lord Frederick. “I’ll assure them that Ashmont has everything in hand, and will sort matters out. We’ll tell the guests that Lady Olympia is unwell. Now if everybody would be so good, I should like to speak to my nephew.”

The others filed out.

Lord Frederick said in a low voice, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, dammit. I can’t imagine what made her g

et the wind up. If she did. If it wasn’t Ripley up to one of his tricks.”

“I told you—”

“You didn’t have to tell me, Uncle. I found her and I saw for myself. A splendid girl. Exactly what I wanted, and so I told you. And none of your unflattering remarks and prophecies of doom stopped me, did they?”

“I wish something I said could persuade you to reflect on your behavior.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I can only hope this is the case, and the matter is as minor as you seem to believe—because, if you lose this girl, Lucius, you may never get another chance,” said Lord Frederick. “You may not think so now, but weeks or months or years hence, you will find yourself regretting—”

“I’m not going to regret anything. I’m going to get her back and I’ll make everything right—whatever it is that’s wrong—and the longer I spend with you, getting lectured at, the farther away she’s getting.”

“With Ripley.”

“She’s safe with him,” Ashmont said.

“I hope so, for your sake.”

“He’s my friend,” Ashmont said. “He’s a scurvy devil, but he’s my friend—and we’ll have this all sorted out soon enough and it’ll be a laugh, I’ll wager anything.”

By the time the boat left Battersea Bridge, the drizzle had thinned to mist. The riverside looked softer and some—not Ripley—might say it appeared more romantic. London seemed to be dissolving and reforming, and buildings that ought to be familiar loomed mysteriously. Or maybe the mystery was, they didn’t look nearly as filthy as usual, thanks to the veil of mist.

Still, he had no trouble discerning the ragged boys wading into the muddy riverbank, scavenging.

Not that London was so different, as to poverty and filth, from any other large city.

The truth was, he’d missed it.

He’d barely had a chance to alight in Town before he was off again, on a boat.

At present, that didn’t seem such a bad idea.

For one thing, Ashmont’s wedding day had turned out to be not as boring as expected. For another, Ripley had the bride, whom it hadn’t occurred to him to steal. But now he had her, and the promise of an adventure, and they were on the river, away from everybody.