Page 67 of How to Tempt a Duke

Thomas, angel that he was, passed Charles a cup of tea. He gave his servant a grateful look and let the hot liquid scald away the remnants of the foul concoction. His tongue prickled with the effects of a righteous burn, but it was a far cry better than that awful unpleasantness.

“You had a glass once you returned from the Countess of Westix, Your Grace.” Thomas took the empty tea cup. “More?”

Eleanor’s mother.

Charles’s mind snagged on a troubling thought. Why had he gone to see that devil of a woman?

The single thought tugged and the rest came tumbling back in a great rush. He had finally agreed to wed Eleanor. He would have her and the journals. Their engagement was to be announced that night.

“Reply to Lady Canterbury, if you will, Thomas.” Charles sagged back against his bed. “Inform her that I will be attending the ball tonight.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the ball was yesterday.”

Charles jerked upright. “Yesterday?”

Thomas nodded. “You fell asleep in your study after having called upon the Countess of Westix. I left you sleeping as I found you for two hours, then finally brought you to your bed. You slept on through the night.” Thomas frowned. “I don’t understand it. The bottle only appeared to have one measure taken from it.”

The blood drained from Charles’s face and left him cold. They were not yet married and already he had left her abandoned.

“Eleanor. The ball. I have to go to her.”

Charles swung his legs over the bed. When he rose his legs did not seem steady enough to support him, and he had to catch himself on the mattress to keep from falling.

“Not like this.” Thomas shook his head. “Whatever was in that bottle did not agree with you.”

“Damn it—what bottle?” Charles growled.

“In your study. The one you received as a gift. I thought you knew who had sent it?”

The memory swam up in Charles’s mind now. The fine bottle of brandy...the note welcoming him home and signed with the stamped gold Adventure Club insignia of a compass. He’d thought it a lark—a jest from Eleanor.

Unease blared through the fog in his mind.

Something wasn’t right.

In fact, something was very, very wrong.

He staggered to the edge of the bed and held onto the bedpost for support.

“Please, Your Grace.” Thomas rushed to his side. “You are not well.”

“I daresay I was drugged, Thomas.” Charles staggered to the door and burst through it. “I have to go to my study.”

Thomas was immediately beside him and he slid Charles’s arm over his steady shoulders. They made their way thus to the study, where everything appeared as Charles had left it. He pulled his arm from Thomas, steadier now that the valet’s brew had begun to take effect. The liquid had been dreadful, but it apparently worked miracles.

His study was perfect. Too neat. Especially his desk, which all the servants knew better than to touch, even for cleaning.

The five journals strewn haphazardly over Charles’s desk were missing. Only the bottle Thomas had mentioned remained.

Charles’s stomach plunged to his toes, for the journals were not the only items missing. So too was the key.

Charles gave a groan of despair and sank to the floor.

“Your Grace...” Thomas tried to pull him from where he’d fallen to his knees.

“The journals...the key. All of it.” Charles stared dismally at the desk. “Gone.”

Thomas regarded the expanse of empty desk. “The key... You don’t mean that bit of metal with holes in it, do you?”