How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,90

provoke you again—aim higher and between his legs. The targets are doubtless tiny, but I trust you to make the blow count nonetheless. Good doggy, Hercules. Very good doggy, indeed.”

Abigail considered herself a patient woman, and with Stapleton, she was managing adequately. The marquess was stubborn and arrogant, but he kept his hands to himself. Fleming, however, made the mistake of attempting to take her by the arm and steer her to the sofa one too many times.

Abigail had no intention of sitting like a penitent schoolgirl while two men loomed over her and attempted to intimidate her.

She clipped Fleming on the knee with her reticule, a glancing blow that ought to smart for a time without doing any real injury. Fleming, however, was apparently not used to being thwarted, and he rounded on her with an ugly snarl, reaching for her arm again.

At some point in this exchange the door had opened, though Abigail could not take her eyes off Fleming to see who the intruder was. Stapleton was apparently inclined to let his minion manhandle a lady, which was, quite honestly, frightening. Abigail had come here for sound tactical reasons, but she hadn’t counted on Fleming acting like the ne’er-do-wells he consorted with.

Hercules was about to make his opinion known regarding Fleming’s rudeness while Abigail scrambled to recall the appropriate commands.

“Well done, Miss Abbott,” said an amused male voice. “Next time—if Fleming is foolish enough to provoke you again—aim higher and between his legs. The targets are doubtless tiny, but I trust you to make the blow count nonetheless. Hercules, good doggy. Very good doggy, indeed.”

Stephen. The relief that coursed through Abigail was unseemly. “My lord, welcome. The discussion was just getting interesting. Hercules, sit.”

The dog took to his haunches, his weight a comforting presence against Abigail’s leg.

“Harmonia,” the marquess said, “take this disgrace to good tailoring away, and don’t come back until I bid you to. Take the damned dog too.”

“We will stay,” Stephen said, lounging against the marquess’s desk, “and her ladyship will stay as well, because she is central to the conversation. Fleming, sit down and be quiet like yonder canine, lest Miss Abbott serve you more than a gentle tap to the knee.”

Stapleton was turning the unbecoming shade of ripe tomato, but he pointed at the sofa, and Fleming subsided and commenced rubbing his knee.

“We are here to hold a thief accountable,” Stephen said. “Or perhaps two thieves.”

Two thieves? Abigail hadn’t stolen anything—yet.

“Precisely,” Stapleton said, rapping his fist on the blotter. “Somebody broke into my home and took property owned by me. That is a crime, and I intend to see the perpetrator punished.”

“And you assume Miss Abbott is the perpetrator?” Stephen inquired, fluffing the silk of his cravat. “When did this dastardly deed take place?”

“Wednesday of last week,” Stapleton said, “and Fleming claims Miss Abbott was seen in the vicinity of this house.”

The woman who’d accompanied Stephen into the room turned out to be Harmonia, Lady Champlain. By daylight, in an old-fashioned high-waisted gown, she did not look quite as glittering and gay as she had in a candlelit ballroom. She looked, in fact, weary and worried.

“Lady Champlain,” Stephen said, “you were at the Portman ball, as was Lord Fleming. Was Miss Abbott present?”

Fleming spoke first. “She was, but the dancing ended at least three hours before dawn, and Miss Abbott would have had time to effect her crimes while polite society slept all unaware.”

Stephen was looking at Abigail, his head cocked at that inquiring angle. She nodded in response, though Their Graces would likely be displeased with her. Somebody had to put an end to this foolishness, and if that meant airing the truth, so be it.

“Alas for your entirely self-serving theory, Fleming, the lady was with me. I escorted her to the Walden residence, and spent the balance of the night with her. Escorted her to breakfast, in fact, and my, you should have seen the looks on the faces of the duke and duchess.”

In other words, Their Graces would support Stephen’s recitation, no matter the damage to Abigail’s reputation.

“We’re courting,” Stephen said, aiming an indulgent smile at Abigail, “and the course of true love occasionally deviates from strict decorum.”

“So you see,” Abigail added, “neither his lordship nor myself could have trespassed on your property, Lord Stapleton. Lord Fleming, however, has no such alibi. He could well have turned down the room with her ladyship, gone for a smoke in the garden, and made free with your premises without anybody noticing