*
This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake. Why on earth had she agreed to this ludicrous plan? Her mother and brothers would never agree to it. She couldn’t run off to God knew where with a duke. But as the carriage sped closer and closer to the small flat her family rented, and the moment approached when she would have to explain to her mother and brothers the bargain she had struck, Rosalyn couldn’t summon the will to tell the duke she’d changed her mind.
She hadn’t changed her mind. This was their chance to break the chains of poverty that had been taking an ever firmer hold. With fifty pounds, they could pay the doctor’s fees, the rent, and buy food and coal to see them through the winter. The little her mother earned from sewing could be put aside for the future, and her brothers could look for work instead of spending all day plotting burglaries with her and all night carrying them out.
And she could… Well, she could finally be a help to her mother. She might nurse Michael or help with the sewing or even take in some washing. This fifty pounds would mean they could finally get ahead, instead of always struggling to catch up.
She glanced at the man seated across from her. He sat facing the rear, which was the less desirable seat. Even though he’d not known her father was a gentleman, he’d treated her as a lady. He probably wasn’t aware she understood his show of regard. He stared out the curtains she had parted earlier, his face impassive. Now that he’d struck his bargain, he was silent. He was no fool, then. He wouldn’t risk saying anything that might make her change her mind. And she had enough questions to fill a library. What did he want her to steal? Why did a duke even need to steal? And what would happen if she failed? Not that she planned to fail. But, of course, she hadn’t planned to fail tonight.
“How did you come to be outside Thomas & Sons tonight?” she asked.
His eyes never left the window. “I told my coachman to take a different route to my town house. The streets around Covent Garden were crowded.”
A new show was opening. She’d seen the pamphlets. “But how did you know I would be there?” she asked. “Have you had me followed?”
His gaze touched on her briefly. “Our paths crossing was merely coincidence. Until the moment that book landed on the roof of my carriage, I had no idea you even existed.”
She studied his face, which remained stoic. He didn’t look as though he was lying. “Your Grace, I am a thief, and you need a thief. That seems a rather large coincidence.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t need a thief. I happened to see you, realized what you were, and decided I could use a thief. Perhaps I misspoke when I said our meeting was coincidence. I should have said it was an opportunity—one I think will be mutually beneficial.”
He looked like a man who made use of opportunities. He was probably a man who had opportunities fall in his lap, so to speak, every day. At one time, she had felt like her life was charmed. Not any longer. Now it seemed anything could go wrong and usually did. “What if I fail?” she asked. She didn’t want to bring up the possibility, but she had to know. He might ask the impossible of her. With his rigid posture, perfectly pressed clothing, and carefully chosen words, he looked like a man who had high expectations.
His eyes were not as bright blue in the glow of the carriage lamps, but his gaze was still intense when it rested on her. “You won’t.” It was an order.
“I appreciate your faith in my abilities, but I like all my threads knotted. If I fail, does my mother have to give back the twenty-five pounds?”
He leaned forward. “Miss Dashner, if you fail, you will have much larger worries than what happens to the twenty-five pounds.” The carriage slowed to a stop. “Ah, we are here.”
*
John Coachman opened the door, and Dominick stepped out into a street full of shops that were closed for the night. He didn’t recognize it, but the address she had given was in Cheapside. He supposed her living situation might have been worse. This wasn’t Seven Dials, with its gangs of pickpockets on the streets and prostitutes on the corners. But the shops here were shabby, the street muddy and in disrepair, and the gin shop just opposite them seemed to be doing a brisk business.
Miss Dashner climbed out. It was difficult to think of her as a miss in her men’s clothing, especially when he’d seen her dangling on the side of a building, but in his travels around the world, he’d seen stranger things. “Lead on, Miss Dashner,” he said.
She gave him an alarmed look. She seemed to have a large store of them, and she chose one to toss to him every few minutes. They were mostly similar in that her mouth dropped open or her eyes widened or she blinked at him with horror. This time, her brow furrowed, and she stepped back. “You needn’t come in, Your Grace. I live just above that shop there. I’ll go speak to my mother and return in a quarter of an hour.”
He had no doubt she could be halfway across London in a quarter of an hour. “I told you that from now on you do not leave my sight.”
She frowned, that supple mouth turning down at the corners. “But surely you cannot watch me every single moment. I must have privacy to sleep or attend to personal needs.” She flushed at the last, reminding him very much of many of the young ladies he met in Society.
“If I am not able to be with you, someone else will be. But at the moment, there is no one acceptable save me. So lead on.”
“But—”
“Miss Dashner, I tire of arguing each and every point with you. It grows irksome. Kindly follow my orders the first time I give them, and we will waste far less time.”
Her eyes flashed emerald fire, which was a nice change from her expressions of alarm. He would have called her appearance one of outrage. It interested him, as most people didn’t have the backbone to show him any outrage, but her look didn’t faze him.
Hands on her hips, she leaned close. “Your Grace.” She practically spat the courtesy. “If you think I will follow your orders like one of your servants, think again. You may pay me for one job, but I don’t work for you.”
He watched her lips move, those red full lips, and hardly listened to her words. Finally, she stopped speaking, and he had to pause to think about what she’d said. He obviously took longer than was customary, because she prodded, “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” he said.
“And?”
And he had no intention of bowing to her demands. He was the Duke of Tremayne. His way was the only way.
Except he needed that damn volume, and he wasn’t at all confident he could acquire it without her special skills. It was a rare thing for him to need anyone, and he was not quite certain what to do about it. His instinct was to walk away that moment. She could go her way, and he’d go his. But he fought against that instinct. “I hired you, and I give the orders. That much should be obvious. Now, shall we stand about in the cold, or shall we collect your belongings, say your good-byes, and be on the way?”
He saw the struggle in her face—the way she pressed her lips together—and her body—the way she clenched her hands into fists. She needed him every bit as much as he needed her. “I propose a compromise,” she said, though her voice sounded strained, and she spoke through teeth locked together.
“I am a duke. I don’t compromise.”
“Then I walk away.” She spoke confidently and without hesitation. He knew she’d do it.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“I will take your orders into consideration on all matters up and until the actual”—she glanced at the coachman, who appeared very interested in the horses—“job. Then I take over as general.”
“You don’t even know the details.”
“I know you’ve never so much as picked a pocket. You have your areas of expertise. I have mine.” She stuck out her hand. She’d removed her gloves, and he stared down at her long, slim fingers. Did she want him to kiss her knuckles?
“Shall we shake on it?”
He almost chuckled. Shake on a deal with a woman? This was certainly provi
ng to be an interesting evening. But he stuck out his hand and took her small one into his. “Now will you lead the way?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
A few moments later, he saw why she had been hesitant to show him her home. It wasn’t any shabbier than he’d expected. Though he was a duke, he had spent his share of time engaged in charitable endeavors or sitting with tenants in their simple cottages. And Dominick had spent enough time in London to know how the poor lived. Miss Dashner lived better than many. Still, it was a shock to duck his head and enter the small room crammed full of people. At least it seemed so. As soon as Miss Dashner opened the door, her mother was there, then her brothers. Upon seeing him, their questions ceased and they moved back as Miss Dashner led him inside. There was barely enough room for he and Miss Dashner to fit in the room, full as it was with the mother and her two brothers—three brothers, actually, he noted when he saw the young boy on a pallet in the far corner.
He scanned the room quickly, taking in the cold fireplace, the clothing hanging on lines from one side of the room to the other, and the furnishings, which he could see had once been lovely. Everything was clean, but the place had the lingering odor of potatoes and onions he always associated with the poor.
All eyes flew from him to Miss Dashner, and she held up a hand before what he assumed would probably be an onslaught of questions. Miss Dashner indicated the woman he assumed was her mother. “Mother, may I present the Duke of Tremayne. Your Grace, Mrs. Dashner.”
Dominick was surprised the thief knew the proper form of introductions and then even more surprised when her mother dipped into a well-practiced curtsey. He nodded. “Ma’am.”
“Your Grace,” she said in the unmistakable accent of the upper class. His brows rose. “Might I introduce my sons, Mr. Stephen Dashner”—she pointed to a man who looked about five and twenty—“Mr. Daniel Dashner”—this one was younger and might have been the daughter’s twin—“and Mr. Michael Dashner.” He was the one on the pallet. He had the dark hair of the rest of the family, but he was very pale and scrawny.
“Your Grace,” he said, his voice thin and reedy. “Forgive me if I do not rise.”
“Pray, do remain seated, Mr. Dashner,” Dominick replied. The boy was obviously ill. And what was even more obvious was that this family was not what he had expected at all. He should have expected it. The signs had been there—in the way Miss Dashner spoke and carried herself. But he’d been blinded by her masculine clothing and—truth be told—her very feminine lips.
“I see you have met my daughter,” Mrs. Dashner said. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”
“His Grace saved me tonight,” Miss Dashner said before Dominick could answer.
“How kind of the duke,” Stephen Dashner said. “Mama, I told you, we were separated on our way home.”
Mrs. Dashner sighed. Clearly, she did not believe her son. And the fact that the man saw the need to lie to his mother about his sister’s—and possibly his own—illicit activities solidified Dominick’s theory. This was a noble family who had fallen on hard times. As there was no father present, the mother had probably done the best that she could with what meager money she had. But the sick child had drained their provisions quickly, and the other children had turned to thieving, an occupation of which their mother did not approve.
“Stephen, it’s no use,” Miss Dashner said, then turned to her mother. “We were out attempting to pilfer a shop.”
“Rosalyn!” Her mother inhaled sharply.
“I’m sorry, Mama, but that is the truth. It went badly, and in the course of my escape, I encountered the duke. If not for his intervention, I would be in the hands of the watch at this moment.”
Mrs. Dashner clutched the white apron keeping her dress clean. “Then we owe His Grace our gratitude. May we offer you tea?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.” If they had tea, he would certainly never dream of taking any for himself.
“He has no time for tea, Mama,” Miss Dashner went on. “The duke saw my—er, unique skills and offered me a position.”
The mother’s hands stilled, and she went very rigid. “What sort of position?”
“I’ve asked her to assist me in acquiring an object I’ve been seeking,” Dominick said. He had allowed Miss Dashner to tell her family the first part as she saw fit, but he could speak for himself. “The object is quite valuable, and I may have need of someone who can, shall we say, access difficult places.”
“And you agreed to this?” Mrs. Dashner said, looking at her daughter.
“He will pay me fifty pounds.”
Mrs. Dashner put a hand to her heart. “No. Absolutely not. This sounds not only illegal but also dangerous.”
“I assure you it is not illegal.” Dominick didn’t intend for Miss Dashner to steal the volume. He would need her only if he could not gain access to the earl, in which case he’d have her—what had she said happened at the jewelry store?—fall into The Temples and persuade the earl to grant him an audience.
Perhaps the plan was slightly illegal.
“It might be mildly dangerous,” he admitted, “but no less so than the activities your daughter was engaged in earlier tonight.”
“But fifty pounds!” her mother said, backing toward one of the chairs and lowering herself slowly into it. “That is a great deal of money.”
“The object is not in London. I will need Miss Dashner to travel with me for several days.”
Mrs. Dashner’s hand dropped from her heart. “I see.”
“I will, of course, provide a chaperone. I will have one of my maidservants travel with us.”
Miss Dashner glanced at him, clearly interested in the information he gave.
“She will be safe, or as safe as I can make her. Now, I don’t mean to rush you, but time is of the essence. Miss Dashner, if you could collect your things?”
“Of course,” she said. “But don’t you have something for my mother first?”
He gave her an incomprehensible look and then remembered he’d promised payment up front. He took out his card. “Do you have a pen?” he asked. The Dashner who looked like the thief’s twin indicated a quill and inkpot on a small table on the other side of the room. Dominick crossed to it in three strides, bent, and scrawled his vowels and twenty-five pounds on the back along with the name of his solicitor. “This is half the fee,” he said, turning to give the card to Mrs. Dashner. “Take it to my solicitor, and he will give you the blunt.”
Miss Dashner shook her head. “You said you would put it in her hands.”
He gave her mother the card. “It is in her hands. I do not have that much on me.”
“Surely this card will satisfy,” Mrs. Dashner said, “but I don’t like the idea of you leaving.”
“I know, Mama. Come with me, and we will discuss it while I pack. Excuse me.”
Finally, Miss Dashner went to gather her things. There was apparently another room, because she disappeared through a door. He could hear her voice and that of her mother’s, though they spoke low enough that he could not make out the words. Dominick felt the gazes of Miss Dashner’s three brothers and wished she would hurry.
“If you need a thief,” Stephen Dashner said, “why not take me? I can pick locks, and I have the eyesight of a hawk.”
Dominick shook his head. “I don’t need locks picked or good eyes. I need someone who can climb.” He glanced at Daniel Dashner. Perhaps he had his sister’s skills, but Dominick didn’t want to find out. He’d made his decision. He wanted Rosalyn Dashner. “I have already hired Miss Dashner, and she has agreed.”
“You will understand if we are concerned,” Daniel said. “She is our sister, and I’m afraid we do not know you very well, Your Grace.”
“I understand completely, and I assure you your sister is perfectly safe with me.”
“This is my fault,” came a weak voice. They all turned their attention to the boy on the pallet. “It’s because of me she has to go.”
> “Michael, no. This isn’t your fault,” Stephen Dashner said, going to his brother.
“Yes, it is. The doctor and the medicines cost too much. I begged Mama to simply let me die, then you would all be better off.”
Dominick did not want to feel sympathy for the boy, but he felt his heart clench.
“Don’t be a fool,” Daniel Dashner said. “No one would be better off without you. And now we have enough money to pay for the doctor, the medicines, and more besides.”
“But we lose Rosalyn.”
Dominick cleared his throat. “Sir, I will bring her back.” He didn’t know how he could make that promise. After all, how could he prevent her from falling onto the rocky shoreline of Cornwall and smashing her head in? “You will see her in less than a fortnight,” he said.
Michael Dashner looked at Dominick for a long, long time, his eyes large and dark. “Thank you,” he said.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what ails you?” Dominick asked. He had noted the bowl beside the couch and recognized it as the sort doctors often used to bleed patients. Personally, he didn’t see the value in bleeding a person who was sick. It tended to weaken rather than strengthen him or her. Michael Dashner certainly looked weak.
“I have asthma.”
“Which means?”
“I have trouble breathing. Sometimes I cannot catch my breath at all. I have always had difficulty, but—” He began to cough and wheeze.
Daniel Dashner moved forward and handed his brother a handkerchief, then poured liquid from one of the vials near the pallet into a cup and helped Michael Dashner swallow a bit.
“His condition worsened when we moved to London,” Stephen Dashner finished. “The air isn’t as clean here as it was in Surrey.”
That was an understatement, Dominick thought. He moved closer to the table with the vials and peered at them. There must have been eight to ten. “What does that one do?” he asked Daniel Dashner as he capped it.
How to Find a Duke in Ten Days Page 15