Page 68 of How to Tempt a Duke

Charles dropped his head to his chest. “Yes. It is the only way I’ll ever know where the location of the stone might be.” Thomas snorted a choked laugh and Charles glared up at him. “What’s so damnably funny?”

The valet’s face immediately smoothed. “Forgive me. Only it was stuck to your face when I pulled you up to stand. I tried to peel it off and had quite a time extracting it from where it was plastered to your cheek.” His mouth twitched and went straight, then twitched again. “You had dots all about your face where the holes had settled for so long they’d left marks.”

His face contorted into an exaggerated frown before curling up into a smile, and he covered a laugh with a very unconvincing cough. As he described it, the scene did sound rather humorous. But the most important fact of all from the story was that the key was still in Thomas’s possession.

“Do you have it?” Charles asked. “Were the journals gone when you found me?”

Thomas helped him to his feet. “The journals were not there, but I do have the key.” He pulled open one of the drawers and withdrew the flat bit of metal. “Here it is, Your Grace.”

He approached the desk, lifted the bottle and sniffed.

He scowled. “Laudanum.”

“Are you sure?” Charles asked.

“My mother was stuck to the stuff when I was a boy. I’d know the smell of it anywhere.” He grimaced toward the bottle. “This was no accident.”

Accident or not, Charles had failed Eleanor when it was most important that he be at her side. His heart slithered into his roiling stomach.

“An investigation will have to wait for later,” Charles said grimly. “Get me dressed—and quickly. I must go to Lady Eleanor.”

“Your Grace, you need rest.”

But Charles would not listen to protests. Not when Eleanor no doubt assumed he’d thoroughly failed her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time Charles made his way to Westix Place it was long past an acceptable hour for morning calls. In fact the ladies were most likely readying themselves for their constitutional in Hyde Park. He could recall Eleanor so vividly from those times they’d walked together, with the outdoors making her green eyes sparkle and her cheeks rosy...

He waited in the foyer for the butler to announce him, despite the servant’s discernible disapproval. After a worrisome length of time had passed the butler reappeared.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I have been told to advise you that Lady Eleanor will not be taking callers.”

Charles’s stomach knotted. She was home, then. “I understand,” he said at last.

But, damn it, he did not. He couldn’t bear the idea of Eleanor being there and his being unable to see her. He had abandoned her, and now he was without the opportunity to offer an explanation.

By God, he would not let this be the end of everything they’d pursued together.

The butler held open the door for Charles to leave. But Charles did not leave. Instead he dashed through the foyer to where the stairs arced up to the second level.

The butler was amazingly fast for his age, and sprinted ahead of Charles to block the stairs.

“I don’t wish to fight you,” Charles said between gritted teeth.

“And I won’t have you harming the ladies of this house.” The butler did not move.

Charles tried to force his way around the older man—to no avail. Damn. But there was another way around the older man.

“Forgive me.” Charles pushed the servant to the right, careful not to hurt him. The butler staggered through an open door, which Charles swung closed, twisting the key and pulling it free. The butler began banging on the door, but Charles did not wait to see if it drew attention and instead quickly dashed up the stairs.

“Eleanor?”

He shoved through the first door to find a water closet. Empty, thank God, for that might truly have been an unforgivable offense. He tried a second door and found a room filled with trunks strewn about, bursting with colorful gowns and simple day dresses.

Eleanor’s maid appeared, screamed, and threw the slipper she was holding at him. The red satin dancing slipper bounced ineffectually off his chest and landed soundlessly on the carpet.

“Please,” he begged, ignoring the inept assault. “Lady Eleanor. Where can I find her?”