How to Find a Duke in Ten Days

by Grace Burrowes

  “You’re a thief. You don’t possess any honor anyway.”

  She inhaled sharply. A cold rage settled like a lead ball in her belly, and she stepped away from the door. “I have more honor in my little toe,” she said, her voice quiet and steady, “than you have in your entire body.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You think money or a title makes you honorable? No, it’s who you are inside”—she tapped his chest—“that makes you honorable. It’s what you do when you lose your money, when you lose your title, that shows your true mettle.”

  “So I suppose that means your true mettle took the shape of a thief.” He grasped her hand and pushed it away from his chest. “Everyone knows there’s no honor among thieves.”

  “And that shows just how little you do know. Now, out of my way.” This time when she lifted the latch, he didn’t stop her.

  The next morning, she didn’t speak a word to him or even glance his way. She simply climbed into the carriage and slammed the door behind her. Alice jumped. “Is anything wrong, miss?”

  “Why would anything be wrong?” she said with false cheer. “It’s a beautiful day to do evil.”

  And, in fact, the day had dawned bright and clear. The sun shone from a cloudless cerulean sky, and a mild breeze kept the afternoon from becoming too warm. Tremayne did not stop at a posting house for a midday meal. He had ordered food from The White Hart to be sent along, and they ate as they traveled. By three in the afternoon, the night she had spent tossing and turning and the novelty of a full belly meant her eyes crept closed. Alice lay sprawled and snoring on the seat across from her, and Rosalyn didn’t see any reason not to emulate the maidservant’s example. She sank down and was almost asleep when she heard the loud whinny of a horse and the words no traveler wants to hear.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  Rosalyn caught her breath but resisted the urge to spring up and peer through the open curtains. She heard the rumble of hoof beats, and then the carriage slowed, and she knew there could be only one explanation. The highwaymen had surrounded them, forcing the carriage to halt.

  “What is this about? Move aside and allow us to pass, or I will make you sincerely regret it.” The duke spoke loudly and confidently, but in her opinion, not altogether intelligently. Now that the carriage had stopped, she slid to the floor and pressed herself against the door. If anyone peered inside from the side where the bandit’s voice had come from, they would see only Alice, who was still sleeping. If one of the highwaymen looked in from the other side, he’d see her, of course. From the angle where she crouched, Rosalyn couldn’t see any men outside that window, but the shadow of a man—whether the duke or a highwayman, she didn’t know—spread out over the floor of the carriage.

  “Give us your valuables, and no one will be hurt,” the same man who’d spoken initially ordered.

  Please just give him what he wants. Don’t be a fool.

  “You are the one who should worry about injury. I will say it one last time. Turn around and go back the way you came.” Obviously, the duke was a fool.

  Rosalyn flinched when she heard the sound of a cocking pistol.

  “Hand over your valuables, or I put a pistol ball in your head.”

  Rosalyn couldn’t allow this to go on. The duke would be dead if she didn’t intervene. Not that she cared about him, but how would she claim her remaining twenty-five pounds?

  Stealthy as a cat, Rosalyn crept across the floor of the carriage and pressed the door latch down. The door clicked open, and she parted it just enough to peer out. There were two highwaymen on this side of the carriage, but one pointed a rifle at the coachman, and the other was in the rear, his attention on the duke and the bandits’ leader. She could see why the highwaymen had chosen this spot for an ambush. Trees grew thickly along the road, creating a dense canopy overhead and making this stretch darker than most they’d traveled thus far. But the landscape also worked to her advantage.

  Pushing the door open a little more, Rosalyn squeezed out, hands first, and slipped underneath the carriage. Reaching up, she closed the door with a soft click.

  “What do you have in that carriage?” the highwayman was asking now. She’d evacuated just in time. From under the conveyance, she spotted his horse’s hooves moving closer to the window where she’d hidden. He was peering inside and seeing only Alice. “Who are you?”

  “J-just a maidservant,” Alice answered. Her voice was thick from waking from sleep.

  “Are you traveling alone in there?”

  The pause lasted impossibly long. Rosalyn closed her eyes and held her breath until Alice said, “Yes.”

  “Good girl,” Rosalyn muttered, then slid across the dirt road. She had only one dress, and it would be ruined after this. The things she did for this idiot duke. Reaching the edge of the carriage frame, Rosalyn reached for the nearest horse’s leg and pinched it hard. Just as she’d expected, the horse startled and reared.

  “What the devil?” the highwayman called. But the distraction proved enough for the duke. She saw his horse move close to the leader’s, and then the duke knocked the man off his animal, jumping down after him, punching him hard, and then hauling him up to use as a shield. Rosalyn snaked forward until she was just beneath the coachman’s box, then wedged herself slowly into the space to the side and waited.

  “Lower your weapons,” the duke called, “or I shoot him.”

  Rosalyn’s brows rose with appreciation. He’d obviously managed to snatch the highwayman’s pistol. He wasn’t as much of an idiot as she’d thought.

  “Go ahead!” the man with the rifle pointed at the coachman called back. “I’ll shoot you right after.”

  The rifle swung toward the duke, and Rosalyn jumped up, landed with a crouch on the box, then leaped forward and knocked the rifle out of the bandit’s hands. She fell forward, rolled, rose to her feet, pivoted, and scooped the rifle into her hands. Pointing it at the two bandits still seated on their horses, she strode forward.

  “Hello, gentlemen. How lovely of you to provide me targets for my daily practice.”

  Chapter Five

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  Dominick was half afraid he’d hit his head. He could not be seeing what he was seeing. Miss Dashner had just appeared from nowhere and disarmed the highwayman who’d held a rifle to his coachman’s head. And now she strode along the road, rifle cradled in her arm and at the ready, as though she knew exactly what she was about.

  Perhaps she did.

  All was silent for two heartbeats, and then one of the highwaymen swung his pistol in her direction. Dominick felt his heart stutter as though a pistol ball had been driven into it.

  “Put that down, chit, before I blow it out of your hands.” He cocked the hammer.

  Dominick swore when she paused and then did as he asked, lowering the muzzle of the weapon.

  “Now bring it here,” the highwayman called, while the others chuckled.

  “You want it?” she asked. “Get it yourself.” She tossed the rifle aside, and then, so quickly he could barely follow her movements, she scampered up a tree and disappeared into the foliage.

  “Where did she go?” the bandit called, while the man she’d disarmed dismounted and went for the rifle. A shot rang out, and everyone froze.

  “Hands in the air!” John Coachman called out, raising the rifle he always kept tucked under his box. Immediately, the man who’d leaped off his horse closed his eyes, clearly regretting his rash behavior. He’d not only lost his rifle but he was without a quick means of escape. Assuming the rifleman also had a pistol, the odds were now even—two armed highwaymen against Dominick and the coachman. Dominick still held the leader, so he would make a poor target. But if anyone fired at the coachman, it would take time for Dominick to shove the leader away, aim, and fire. He didn’t have the advantage.

  The leader must have been thinking along the same lines. “There’s no need for anyone to die today. Give us your money, and we’ll be on our way.”<
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  “How about we keep our money and none of you have to die?” Dominick answered. One lesson he had learned from his father was to never admit defeat.

  Dominick heard a hammer cock and glanced wildly about to try to determine if another highwayman had been in hiding and might be about to fire, but all he saw was a blue blur drop down from the trees. The highwayman nearest him tumbled off his horse, and John Coachman shot the one in the road, who was reaching in his coat, in the arm, causing him to fall to his knees. Dominick didn’t stop to think. He shoved the leader aside and ran to Miss Dashner. The highwayman she’d landed on had shoved her off, and she’d rolled away into an immobile heap. Panting, the bandit she’d taken down rose to his feet and stumbled toward his fallen pistol, but Dominick grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and punched him hard in the jaw.

  “Let’s get out of here!” the leader called and ran for his horse. The other followed suit. Only the man the coachman had shot still lay in the road.

  Dominick knelt beside Miss Dashner, who hadn’t moved. He placed a hand on her arm. “Miss Dashner? Miss Dashner?”

  Slowly, she turned her face toward him and opened her eyes. “Am I shot?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so. I think you hit your head when you tumbled off the horse with him.” She had a small red bump on her forehead.

  “That explains why my scalp feels as though a dagger is lodged inside. Too bright out here.” She closed her eyes again.

  The outriders ran to Dominick’s side. “One of you check on that bandit.” Dominick indicated the man who now lay in the road. The coachman hadn’t moved from his box, focused as he was on keeping the team calm and still. “And you, open the carriage door. I want to put Miss Dashner inside.” Dominick reached to lift her.

  “I can carry her, Your Grace.”

  “No.” He lifted her, noting she didn’t weigh much more than a child. She batted his hands away at first, then laid her head on his chest. He placed her in the carriage, and the maidservant, who’d been cowering on the floor, lifted her head.

  “Your Grace! Are they gone?”

  “Yes. You’re safe, but your mistress has been injured.”

  “I’ll see to her.”

  “Good.” Dominick wanted to move again as quickly as possible. There was no knowing when or if the highwaymen might return. The man the coachman had shot was bleeding from the arm. The outrider had tied a tourniquet about the injury. “Bind his hands and put him in the coach. We’ll take him to the mayor in the next town.”

  The horses were checked, the bandit placed in the coach, and Dominick sat beside him. He wouldn’t leave the ladies alone with a highwayman. An hour later, they’d deposited the would-be thief with the mayor and Dominick had reserved rooms at an inn called The King’s Rest. It was much earlier to rest than Dominick had wanted, but they’d all had enough for the day.

  After supper, which he’d eaten alone, as Miss Dashner hadn’t been well enough to come down, Dominick went to her room and tapped on the door. His brows rose when Miss Dashner opened the door herself. When she saw him, she opened the door wider and moved aside, an indication he was free to enter. “Come to chide me for climbing trees?”

  Dominick peered into her small chamber. “Where is your maid?”

  “I sent her to have supper with the other servants. I couldn’t stand her fussing anymore. Are you coming in, or shall we converse in the doorway?”

  It would have been more proper to converse in the doorway, but she was in her night rail—at least, he thought that was what she wore under the large wrapper she tugged about herself. He didn’t want everyone to see her in her wrapper. Not that he should see her either, but now that he’d already seen her, a few more minutes seemed inconsequential. Not to mention, from what he could see, the night rail was a thick, voluminous white sack. Not much to see.

  “I’ll come in.” He stepped inside, and she closed the door then indicated two chairs. A teapot sat on the small table between them.

  “Would you like tea? I have sugar left.” She gave him a mischievous smile and sat.

  He couldn’t help but smile back. “No, thank you.” He sat across from her. The red bump on her forehead had faded to a dull pink. “How is your head?”

  “It feels like it did when one of my brothers whacked me when we were children, but I’ll survive. The tea helped.”

  “Then would you care to explain to me what the devil you thought you were doing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I wondered when the lecture would come. You can’t even wait until I’m well again.”

  “You’re well enough.”

  She scowled. “No sympathy. You’re as bad as my brothers.”

  “You might have had plenty of sympathy. You almost died.” He realized he was practically yelling and lowered his voice. What was the matter with him? He never raised his voice.

  “That is a gross exaggeration. I bumped my head. Nothing more.”

  His jaw dropped. “Miss Dashner, you snatched a loaded rifle from a man intent on using it, faced highwaymen with firearms, then jumped from a tree onto the back of another armed man. You should have stayed in the carriage.”

  “Then we’d all be much poorer.”

  Oh, he resented that implication. “I could have handled the highwaymen. My men and I have done it before.”

  “I had the element of surprise on my side. Besides, you didn’t hire me to cower on the floor of the carriage.”

  He rose. “I didn’t hire you to get yourself killed!”

  “Because then you might never acquire the book.”

  “No! Yes. I mean, you frightened the hell out of me today.”

  She studied him as though she were a painter and he the subject. “Are you saying you care about me?”

  “Of course I care about you.”

  She set her tea cup down and raised her brows playfully. “Really? Your Grace, this is all so sudden.”

  He realized what he’d said and had to qualify the statement. “I mean, I care about you as an employer cares for his employees. I don’t want any of my people injured.”

  “I see. So if Alice had done what I did today, you would be lecturing her.”

  “Alice would never do what you did today.”

  She rose and stood before him. “I think that’s why you like me. I surprise you.”

  He took a step back. “I don’t like you.” But he remembered how his heart had seized when he’d feared she’d been shot, and it hadn’t all been because he’d hired her to get him the manuscript. There had been genuine fear and a need to protect her.

  “Not even a little?” She took a step closer to him.

  “This conversation is inappropriate.” He moved back again.

  “It is. If I told you that you impressed me today when you grabbed the leader of the highwaymen, would that also be inappropriate?”

  “I—” He’d impressed her?

  “It wouldn’t be suitable for me to mention how handsome you looked, how dangerous.”

  “Miss Dashner.” But he didn’t know what to say. Heat radiated from his neck to his cheeks, and he feared he was actually blushing.

  “Have I embarrassed you, Your Grace? Surely you know you are handsome.”

  He fumbled for the door latch behind him. When had he turned into a bumbling schoolboy? “I should go so you can rest. We’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  He opened the door, then hesitated. “I owe you an apology.” He looked back. Her brows were high and her expression one of surprise. “Yesterday I insinuated you had no honor. I was wrong.” Dominick stepped out. “Good night.” Closing the door, he walked quickly to his own chamber. There, he closed the door, leaned against it, and took a deep, deep breath.

  *

  The man she’d teased and made blush the night before, the man who had apologized to her for insinuating—ridiculous, he was not so subtle—she had no honor had disappeared in the morning. He’d been r
eplaced by a stern, demanding oaf who rattled off a litany of orders. As most of them didn’t have to do with her, Rosalyn climbed into the carriage, shut the curtains, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept well the night before. She blamed it on the dull ache in her head and the lumpy bed, but her overactive mind had been part of the problem as well. Why had the duke blushed? She’d been teasing when she asked if he liked her.

  What if he did like her?

  Did she like him?

  Of course, she didn’t like him. But several hours later, when she couldn’t quite stop herself from opening the curtains to peer out at him, she had to admit she was at least attracted to him. And she hadn’t lied when she’d said he’d impressed her. He was more competent than she’d thought, and whether or not she’d placed too much emphasis on his lecture the night before, he did care enough to check on her.

  That afternoon, the duke ordered they have a picnic lunch, as he didn’t want to take the time to stop at an inn and dine. He’d had The King’s Rest pack food for them to eat, and one of the footmen laid it on a blanket in a sunny field a little ways off the road.

  “Join me, Miss Dashner,” the duke said. It wasn’t a question.

  She sat, straightening her now stained blue dress. Alice had tried to clean it, but she’d been unsuccessful. They dined on cheese, apples, bread, and a very good wine, and there were more bundles to unwrap. Rosalyn wasn’t particularly hungry, though.

  “How did you come to love books?” she asked.

  The duke paused and looked up from the glass he was refilling with wine. “I always enjoyed reading. It filled the long hours in the country.”

  She held out her glass for more wine. “I never read in the country, only when we came to Town. It seemed there was never enough time to climb all the trees or chase all the butterflies I wanted when I was in the countryside.”

  “I was never one for climbing or chasing. The heir to a dukedom is expected to behave with decorum, even at a young age.”

  That sounded awfully tedious. “But surely you had friends you might ride with or plan battles. My brothers would spend hours lining up their toy soldiers when we were young.”