She looked affronted, which was absurdly amusing. There was a pattern to this night.
“I am—”
He grabbed her by the arms—though it cost him dearly, as pain rebounded from his nose to his head in sickening waves—and flipped her over his legs. He set his forearm over her back as she squirmed wildly and protested loudly. His control had galloped away, and astonished as he was that she’d somehow made his control disappear, he decided to let go for one moment.
“Release me, you beast.”
“I will give you ten seconds to tell me who you are, and then I am going to flay your bottom like a naughty child until you spill the truth,” he drawled, almost in amusement.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes flashing with anger and her face red. “I am a demirep!”
He waved his hand threateningly in the air. “You’re sure about that? Because I’ve never met a mistress who goes rigid at a man’s touch. Who clamps her mouth shut when kissed. Who breaks a man’s nose in fear of being pleasured.”
Her mouth opened and closed in a silent gasp, and her eyes glistened. Oh hell. Was she going to cry? His anger and amusement disappeared in a flash, and he started to ease his hold when she said, “I lied.”
“Go on,” he answered, easing her up and setting her beside him. She held his gaze instead of looking down or away. That small, strong gesture impressed him.
“I am a demirep. Or perhaps it’s better to say I will be one after I’ve been bedded.”
Jesus Christ! He didn’t bed innocent women. They wanted professions of love and entanglements. “Tell me your story,” he said calmly, though his mind was racing.
She nodded. “You were to be my first, but I can see that I have failed miserably. You must hate me.” She started to scramble off the bed, but he grabbed her by the wrist.
He was astonished that she would be concerned for how he felt at all. “I do not hate you. Tell me your story.”
She took an enormous breath. “I need money for my father and me to survive and to keep my mother out of Bedlam. This job”—she sliced her hand through the air—“is my only hope. I must have the money by Monday, and if I don’t, my mother will be shipped to the hospital. I needed to become a demirep, and you were to be my first, and hopefully only, client.” She cast her gaze down then and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get them to send in another woman.”
It was a struggle not to gawk at her. If she was truthful, she was likely the most selfless woman he’d ever met. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t want another woman.” She could help him, and he would help her. He could no more leave this woman to the fate of becoming a demirep than he could leave the king to the consequences of his own folly.
She jerked her gaze to his, a severe frown marring her face.
“I’m sorry,” he inserted. “I should explain. I didn’t come here looking for a new mistress.”
She nodded. “You love Ruby.”
“What?” He laughed. “God, no. I don’t even know the woman. I need to find her because she ran off with a man that stole something from me that I must have back.”
“Oh.” She quirked her mouth for a moment. “What did he steal?”
“It’s of no importance to you.” He tried, God only knew why, to make his tone gentle so her feelings would be preserved, but her lips pressed into a thin line and her dark eyebrows dipped over her lovely eyes.
He ran a hand over his suddenly itchy stubble. He needed a shave and sleep, but first he had to deal with this. “Why can your father not support you?”
“He’s an invalid,” she fairly growled at him. “Paralyzed from the waist down.”
So he’d either wounded or irritated her. It was hard to know the bloody difference with the fairer sex. “I’m sorry.”
She inclined her head but did not speak. Why the hell did he feel compelled to bother with this chit? He stared at her—too beautiful, too vulnerable but bold, desperate, slightly untruthful, and in need. And she knew, so she said, how to find Ruby. That was why he was bothering. That was all. The end. Period. He was on a mission, and she was a part of what would make it successful. He did not need to know much else, yet he found he was curious.
“Why would you seek to be a demirep instead of finding reputable employment?”
“It’s of no importance to you,” she said with a smirk.
Now he had to know. “I insist, if I’m to trust you, that you tell me.”
“Whyever would I want your trust?” she demanded. “You certainly don’t have mine.”
“Touché, Arabella. But I have something you need.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
She was smart. He’d give her a moment to figure it out. He had a moment to spare, and he was quite enjoying watching how she quirked her mouth this way and that as she thought.
“Money!” she exclaimed. “But I thought—” Her gaze flew to his nose, and that single reminder promptly made him think of it again. The pain was still there, a bit duller but constant as the northern wind. “I thought,” she began again, “that after I broke your nose, you wouldn’t, well, that you’d rather not bed me.”
The last two words were whispered so low that he should not have been able to hear them, but he had excellent hearing. “You thought what?” he asked, cocking his hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t hear the last two words you said.” He didn’t know why he was teasing her, except embarrassment played across her face in the most fascinating way. He’d never seen anything like it. A blush rose in her cheeks slowly and then spread to a bright flame.
“I said I did not think you would want to bed me! Did you hear that?”
“I think everyone within a block from this brothel heard you,” he replied with a chuckle. Her willingness to display her emotions was so opposite of how he was, but he liked it. He knew where he stood with her. His mother had always been angry, but she had never articulated why until the day she left, but it had been too late then.
A strand of long hair that had been dangling in front of Arabella’s face suddenly fluttered upward as she let out an angry breath. “What exactly is it that you require from me?” she demanded.
Her words, almost exactly the same as the ones he’d said to Prinny yesterday, surprised him. Clearly, the woman didn’t like to waste her time any more than he did. A pleasant discovery, indeed.
“All I require of you is that you lead me to Ruby. If anyone here questions you, retain the ruse that you are my mistress, so no one will become suspicious. For this I will give you— How much do you need to keep your mother out of Bedlam and keep you and your father fed and in your home?”
“Thirty pounds,” she whispered.
He nodded. He could see that she thought it a great sum that he’d never give her. In actuality, the amount was paltry to him. His father had never given him much affection in life, but he’d given him a vast fortune upon his death that had proven to be much more reliable than love. Justin had given money to many in need, who had been thrilled to receive it and never once asked for affection from him. Not that he cared. He didn’t. Soft emotions were not for men like him. “I’ll give you half tomorrow and the rest after we find Ruby.”
Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a silencing hand. “One moment, please. In exchange for your keeping our true relationship a secret, I will give you five pounds a month for one year, but”—he had to raise his voice over her gasp—“if you reveal our true relationship, the money will cease. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “You only want information. Not me.”
Her chest rose just then with her full breath, and a surge of lust took him. He damned well wanted her, but to muddy the waters by bedding an innocent would be the height of foolishness, and he was not a foolish man.
She eyed him. “That’s a lot of money to part with for someone you barely know.”
Her attempt to get more information was admirable and amusing. He simply stared. W
ho was this girl willing to give her innocence to save her parents? She thought it deplorable what she had to do. He could tell in the way her eyes clouded and her jaw tightened when she talked. But she was ready to sacrifice herself for family. Something deep within him stirred. He could save her, so he would. It was simple.
She frowned. “Whatever the man you’re pursuing stole from you must be very important.”
He chuckled at her continued attempts. “I’ll not miss the money, Arabella. I have more than I’ll ever need. And as for what was stolen from me, if you continue to ask me questions, I may rethink needing your help.” He didn’t doubt that he could eventually find Ruby and Fitzherald alone. What concerned him was that Fitzherald would discover the letters from the king before Justin got to him, and the man would sell them to one of the king’s enemies.
“I cannot think of a single other question for you,” she replied instantly, “other than where shall I meet you tomorrow?”
“You tell me. Where do you think Ruby may have gone?”
Arabella could not show any doubt. She kept her gaze steady on Justin’s green, penetrating eyes. “I’ll tell you in the morning after you give me the first half of the money.” And after she asked Mary, who hopefully knew or could find out, where Ruby was.
He regarded her with the eyes of a hooded hawk. Did the man ever show emotion? He stood, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and put it on while staring at her. “I suppose that’s fair. I’ll pick you up at your home, then.”
“No!” she shouted. She didn’t want her father becoming suspicious.
He gave an impatient shrug. “Then meet me at the corner near your house. Just tell me the street name.”
“No. That won’t do, either.”
“Why the devil not?” he snapped and gave his head a shake. His face grew calm.
The man was insufferably rude, yet somehow generous. He was a conundrum. He was her savior. But only if she met his expectations, which she would do anything to do. However… She took a deep breath. “Now that I know I can secure the money I need without destroying my reputation, I’d rather keep it intact, thank you very much. Therefore, I cannot meet you at the corner and risk possibly being seen climbing into a carriage with a gentleman and no chaperone.”
“Exactly why I said I would meet you at your house.”
She shook her head. “That won’t do. What would I tell my father?”
“Tell him I’m courting you,” the duke thundered.
She glared at him. “Do not yell at me, Your Grace.”
“You have the oddest effect on me, madam. I never lose my temper.”
She snorted, and she could see his jaw clench.
He released it slowly. “I am sorry,” he said in a stiff tone. “Simply do as I said and tell your father I’m courting you.”
She shook her head. “My father would never believe that you are courting me.”
He shrugged into his breeches, yanking them up as his brow furrowed. “Because I’m a duke, I suppose.”
“No, you pompous jackanapes.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. She drew in a calming breath. “Oh dear. Now I’m the one in a temper. Forgive me.”
He shot her a magnanimous smile. “Done. I am a jackanapes for jumping to such a conclusion. Pardon, but I unfortunately dwell mostly amongst a supercilious, avaricious lot of people, and I’ve apparently forgotten not everyone sees the world in two classes—the ton and the lessers. I certainly don’t, but I’m used to most other people thinking that way. So tell me, if it’s not a class issue why would your father not believe I’d court you? You are beautiful, after all.”
He thought her beautiful? Her mouth pulled into a smile that she immediately covered with her hand. She feigned a cough. How disconcerting that she cared at all how he saw her. She tilted her chin up. “He’d not believe it because I have no interest in being courted.”
“A woman who thinks she does not need a man. How very novel.” His words dripped sarcasm.
Duke or no duke, her savior or not, this man needed to be put in his place. “Have you always been like this?”
His brows dipped together. “What is the this you think I’m like?”
“Distant.” She thought for a second on the exact right words before saying more. “Jaded. Disillusioned. Cold.”
He swooped toward her so fast she flinched. His arm slid around her back and drew her into his heat. “I can assure you,” he said, his embrace making her body tingle all over, “that I can be very warm. Shall I show you?”
Was he taunting her? His challenging expression certainly said so. She pressed a hand against his chest to get some distance, but it was like pressing against solid, immovable stone. “I don’t mean your flesh, Your Grace.”
He smiled, flashing beautifully white teeth. “Ah, my heart.” He released her at once but gripped her hand as she began to stumble and steadied her. “I do believe I was born this way,” he replied, but for the first time since she’d met him, he looked away. “As for the rest of what you said”—he shrugged his massive shoulders—“who isn’t jaded and disillusioned?”
“I’m not,” she protested.
He swung back around and pinned her to the spot with an intense stare. “You most certainly are or you’d want to be courted. Some man has made you disillusioned.”
She opened her mouth to protest but clamped it shut when she realized he was right. How irritating. “I think I prefer we don’t discuss personal things,” she grumbled.
“An excellent suggestion,” he replied. “We have all matters between us straightened out except for where I am to meet you tomorrow.” He stared at her expectantly.
She fidgeted for a moment, trying to decide the best place. “I’ve got to see my mother and pay for her keep. You may meet me at the Stanhope Home for the Mentally Impaired. With my money, please. Outside.”
She half expected him to protest, but he inclined his head in agreement. “I’ll see you there.”
She nodded, her breath hitching as he turned and walked toward the door. She prayed she could find out what she needed to keep the money he was offering.
He was halfway out of the room before he turned around. “Do you need a ride home?”
“No,” she rushed out, surprised by his offer. “My father stays up late sometimes.”
“And you wouldn’t want him to see me bringing you home.”
“That’s right,” she nodded, relieved he understood.
“You’re not walking, are you?”
The way his eyes had narrowed made her wary. He may be a cold, disillusioned man, but he struck her as the sort of gentleman who’d never allow a lady to walk alone through the dark. It was at once comforting and alarming. But she did not want to chance her father seeing Justin. She’d told her father she was working late, which was one short block from their house. And Madame Chauvin always had her eldest son walk her home when she had to work late.
“No, no,” she assured him, praying neither her tone nor her expression gave her away. “I’m not so foolish as that.”
“I’ll sleep soundly in that knowledge,” he said in a tone of mock seriousness, yet she had the oddest sense that he partially meant it. “Good night.”
He was gone before she could respond. She stared at the door for several moments, waiting for him to return for some unknown reason, but after a bit, she put herself back into a presentable state, slipped out the door, and headed to Mary’s room on the second floor, which was where Mary had told her to come when she was finished with the duke. Candelabras lit the shadowy halls, and she would have felt very alone if she hadn’t passed several closed doors where the sounds of couples talking, laughing, and apparently thoroughly enjoying each other drifted into the hall.
When she rounded the corner at the end of the hall, she almost ran straight into Mary. “I was just coming to find you,” Arabella whispered, conscious of all the people in the rooms surrounding them.
Mary leaned close to A
rabella and grasped her forearm. “How was he?” The keen look of interest in the woman’s eyes disconcerted Arabella. The woman seemed to have an odd fascination with Justin’s sensual prowess.
“He was gentle,” she replied. All this lying was making her gut ache, necessary or not. Besides that, the fewer falsehoods she offered, the fewer she had to remember, and she had vowed to Justin that she would let everyone here believe she was now his mistress.
Mary’s painted lips came together in a pronounced pout. “Is that it? Just gentle? How utterly disappointing.”
“I’m sorry,” Arabella replied, trying to sound dutifully meek and remorseful. Really, she wanted to snort. The woman had clearly been expecting a wildly gushing tale.
“Humph,” Mary replied. Then she twirled the other way, her crimson skirts swirling. “Follow me,” she demanded over her shoulder.
Arabella did, and within moments, they were making their way back to the path they had taken to the brothel earlier. They crept around Jude’s house until Mary opened the creaky gate that led to his garden.
Arabella’s mind raced as she walked. “Mary, will Madame Sullyard demand a portion of the money His Grace is going to give me?”
Mary swung around and gaped at her, the white of the woman’s eyes seeming huge in the black night. “Do you mean to tell me he truly asked you to be his mistress?”
Arabella nodded, slightly affronted by the clear shock in the woman. “He did, but he also wants me to help him locate the woman named Ruby you said he might ask after. If I help him find her, he’ll give me a bonus.” That was close enough to the truth that she’d remember the lie.
Mary clucked her tongue while shaking her head. “I don’t believe it.”
Arabella’s heart stuttered. “It’s true!”
“No.” Mary patted her on the shoulder. “I believe you. What I don’t believe, though I should know better by now, is how Jude is always right.”
“What do you mean?” Arabella asked with a frown.
The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree Page 8