The Duchess and Desperado by Laurie Grant Page B

him.
    â€œP-p-p...” he managed to sputter, his voice squeaky as if it was forced past spasming vocal cords. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell backward, tipping the chair with a mighty crash.

Chapter Nine
    Â 
    Â 
    M ayor Harper’s new French chef, “Pierre,” smiled to himself in the kitchen when he heard the muffled thud and the first screams, imagining the sight of Sarah Challoner’s limp, lifeless body, still clad in its fancy gown and jewels, collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her uncle would doubtless be slapping the face that was rapidly turning a dusky blue, trying in vain to bring the dead duchess to her senses. Pandemonium would soon break out as they realized she was beyond help.
    â€œLord Gawd, whuss happenin’ out there?” cried the cook as one of the waiters ran into the kitchen.
    â€œOne of the guests just keeled over dead, that’s what!” shouted the man, his eyes wide with horror. “It was the old man sitting next to the duchess—you should see him, Maisie! His face is purple as a grape!”
    â€œPierre” jumped to his feet, ignoring the chair he’d just kicked over. “But how is this possible?” he demanded. He’d specifically told this very waiter to place the first serving of his éclair at the duchess’s place, not in front of the old sot beside her!
    â€œHe ate his, then hers, too—the duchess gave it to him, said she couldn’t eat it. It was awful—I was watchin’ him when he took sick! He’d eaten about half of it when all at once his eyes got all bulgy an’ he just clutched his neck and tried to say somethun’, and then fell over backward, dead as a six-card poker hand! Now everyone’s all runnin’ every which way, and the guests is leavin’, and the mayor’s apologizin’ to them Britishers for Ellis dyin’ like that an’ spoilin’ the party....”
    â€œMerde!” growled “Pierre,” but there was no one to hear him, because the cook had followed the waiter out to the dining room to gape at the spectacle. He had thought his idea of a poisoned pastry was foolproof!
    Frantic to salvage victory from this debacle, he ran unnoticed up to the attic where the servants had their quarters and grabbed his rifle from its place of concealment under his bed. He shoved open the window through which he had gazed upon the arriving Sarah Challoner and her bodyguard, refusing to worry about how he would escape after the deed, just praying that he would get a second chance to kill her this evening.
    Â 
    â€œThe poor man,” Sarah was saying as Morgan hustled her and Lord Halston out of the mayor’s house, not through the front door, but via the French doors that led from the dining room into Mrs. Harper’s rose garden at the side of the house. From there they made their way to the carriage turnaround at the back, where Ben waited with the landau. “To be taken like that so suddenly... I wonder what he was trying to say?”
    â€œUnfortunately, we’ll never know...but I’m certain it was an apoplexy,” her uncle said in soothing tones. “Not unexpected in a man of his age. It’s just terrible that you had to be a witness to it, niece.”
    Morgan allowed himself a snort of disgust as they reached the carriage. “Apoplexy, my foot,” he said, scrutinizing their surroundings as he assisted the duchess into the carriage. “The man was poisoned—only he wasn’t meant to get that dessert, the duchess was!”
    He saw Sarah’s jaw drop, heard Lord Halston tut-tutting.
    â€œReally, my good man, I know she’s received threats, and there was that gunshot, but— poison? That’s too much like a bad stage melodrama, Calhoun!”
    He expected no better from Halston, but Morgan was astonished to see a smile of amusement lurking on the duchess’s lips as she settled her skirts