arms of a slender young man.
Nathaniel grabbed the shoulder of the man and yanked him away from her. “Enough of that! What were you thinking to accost a woman out here?”
“Your Grace!” the man replied, holding the woman’s wrist. “It’s not what—that is—she’s dead!”
The woman wailed anew and flung herself back into the embrace of the slender young man. She buried her face in his shoulder and wept.
“What?” Nathaniel replied. His hands knotted into fists at his sides as he glanced around.
“Your Grace, over here,” another man said, crouching next to a pale form. White silken skirts edged in black billowed over the damp grass, fluttering in the light breeze. “ I am afraid they are right. She is dead.”
“Is that you, Jackson?” Nathaniel bent to peer over the man’s shoulder.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Jackson eased the body over, exposing a woman’s white face. “It is Lady Anne.”
Her black eyes were open, staring up at the haloed moon. The mists swirling over the grass left her pale skin dewy with moisture and clung to her lashes in large droplets. While Nathaniel watched, a bead of water rolled down her cheek like a final tear falling from her wide eyes.
Kneeling on one knee, he reached out and closed the dark eyes. With gentle fingers, he wiped the moisture off her cheeks. Her flesh still felt soft and faintly warm although he could already feel the change. He stood, wiping the dirt and leaves from his breeches.
Then he remembered the walk he had taken earlier, before meeting Miss Haywood for the first time.
“Oh, God!” he murmured bitterly as a sense of responsibility for Lady Anne’s death hit him.
He had heard Lady Anne calling to him, asking him to wait while he strolled down the cool, dark paths. She had been one of his most ardent and determined pursuers, made more persistent by his foolish actions this evening. He had lost count and dan ced with her three times: a stupid, thoughtless action he regretted as soon as he realized it. Then he had compounded the error by fetching her a glass of punch and escorting her to supper.
E ven Lady Beatrice had noticed his actions. He had caught her frowning at him while they ate, although she soon covered the expression with a sweet smile.
He had excused himself immediately after the meal and gone out onto the terrace. When he heard Lady Anne calling to him, he had bolted down the stairs into the gardens.
He should have waited for her like a gentleman instead of fleeing. And when he finally returned, he ran into Miss Haywood on the terrace. He had promptly forgotten Lady Anne.
It never occurred to him that he had not seen Lady Anne again.
Now he knew why.
While he flirted with Miss Haywood, Lady Anne lay here dead, glassy eyes fastened on the moon.
He gazed at her blank face and shifted uncomfortably.
“Were you not in the gardens earlier?” the slender gentleman asked. “My wife remarked upon it when we came out to get some air.”
Wife ? Nathaniel glanced at the sobbing woman, who raised her head long enough to stare at him and say, “Yes, I saw you, Your Grace. You came running through the shrubbery as if the devil himself were after you!”
Studying the pair, Nathaniel realized he had no idea who they were. He turned and found the crowd staring at him. He glanced over at one of the few men he recognized, Lord Jackson. Nathaniel couldn’t remember much about him other than the fact he liked to play faro at White’s.
Jackson stood up, brushing off his hands. “ I am sorry, Your Grace, but were you here earlier?” When he caught Nathaniel’s expression, he added, “I beg your pardon, I meant that if you were here earlier, you might have seen someone.”
Ah, the privileges of a duke. He could stand over a corpse with a bloody knife in his hand and still be considered innocent.
“I took a brief walk to get some air, but I spent most of my time speaking with my uncle’s ward.”
Lord Jackson nodded.
Nathaniel grabbed the shoulder of the man and yanked him away from her. “Enough of that! What were you thinking to accost a woman out here?”
“Your Grace!” the man replied, holding the woman’s wrist. “It’s not what—that is—she’s dead!”
The woman wailed anew and flung herself back into the embrace of the slender young man. She buried her face in his shoulder and wept.
“What?” Nathaniel replied. His hands knotted into fists at his sides as he glanced around.
“Your Grace, over here,” another man said, crouching next to a pale form. White silken skirts edged in black billowed over the damp grass, fluttering in the light breeze. “ I am afraid they are right. She is dead.”
“Is that you, Jackson?” Nathaniel bent to peer over the man’s shoulder.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Jackson eased the body over, exposing a woman’s white face. “It is Lady Anne.”
Her black eyes were open, staring up at the haloed moon. The mists swirling over the grass left her pale skin dewy with moisture and clung to her lashes in large droplets. While Nathaniel watched, a bead of water rolled down her cheek like a final tear falling from her wide eyes.
Kneeling on one knee, he reached out and closed the dark eyes. With gentle fingers, he wiped the moisture off her cheeks. Her flesh still felt soft and faintly warm although he could already feel the change. He stood, wiping the dirt and leaves from his breeches.
Then he remembered the walk he had taken earlier, before meeting Miss Haywood for the first time.
“Oh, God!” he murmured bitterly as a sense of responsibility for Lady Anne’s death hit him.
He had heard Lady Anne calling to him, asking him to wait while he strolled down the cool, dark paths. She had been one of his most ardent and determined pursuers, made more persistent by his foolish actions this evening. He had lost count and dan ced with her three times: a stupid, thoughtless action he regretted as soon as he realized it. Then he had compounded the error by fetching her a glass of punch and escorting her to supper.
E ven Lady Beatrice had noticed his actions. He had caught her frowning at him while they ate, although she soon covered the expression with a sweet smile.
He had excused himself immediately after the meal and gone out onto the terrace. When he heard Lady Anne calling to him, he had bolted down the stairs into the gardens.
He should have waited for her like a gentleman instead of fleeing. And when he finally returned, he ran into Miss Haywood on the terrace. He had promptly forgotten Lady Anne.
It never occurred to him that he had not seen Lady Anne again.
Now he knew why.
While he flirted with Miss Haywood, Lady Anne lay here dead, glassy eyes fastened on the moon.
He gazed at her blank face and shifted uncomfortably.
“Were you not in the gardens earlier?” the slender gentleman asked. “My wife remarked upon it when we came out to get some air.”
Wife ? Nathaniel glanced at the sobbing woman, who raised her head long enough to stare at him and say, “Yes, I saw you, Your Grace. You came running through the shrubbery as if the devil himself were after you!”
Studying the pair, Nathaniel realized he had no idea who they were. He turned and found the crowd staring at him. He glanced over at one of the few men he recognized, Lord Jackson. Nathaniel couldn’t remember much about him other than the fact he liked to play faro at White’s.
Jackson stood up, brushing off his hands. “ I am sorry, Your Grace, but were you here earlier?” When he caught Nathaniel’s expression, he added, “I beg your pardon, I meant that if you were here earlier, you might have seen someone.”
Ah, the privileges of a duke. He could stand over a corpse with a bloody knife in his hand and still be considered innocent.
“I took a brief walk to get some air, but I spent most of my time speaking with my uncle’s ward.”
Lord Jackson nodded.
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