An Inconvenient Duke

by Anna Harrington

  “I agree.”

  Startled, she wheeled around at the sound of the deep voice.

  She stared, surprised speechless, as Marcus held the curtain open with one hand and leaned his opposite shoulder against the doorpost in a pose so rakish that her pounding heart sank all the way down between her thighs. It continued to beat relentlessly there, stirring up all kinds of wanton yearnings.

  His gaze slipped slowly over her, and he murmured, “Absolutely beautiful.”

  “What are you doing here?” The question emerged as a hoarse whisper.

  “Hoping to see you.” He arched a brow and helped himself to another lingering look at her curves. “I simply didn’t expect to see so much of you.”

  “Stop that!” She grabbed the curtain from his hand and used it to cover as much of herself as possible. She glanced past him, which wasn’t easy, given how his tall, broad body filled the fitting room doorway. The workshop behind him was oddly empty, the assistants having all disappeared. “How did you get back here?”

  “I’m a duke.” He crooked an arrogant grin. “People let me go anywhere I wish.”

  “How convenient,” she drawled archly.

  “Decidedly so.” Then the devil had the audacity to reach out for a stray curl that had come loose from its pins while she’d been dressing and rubbed it between his fingers and thumb. “I think I’ve finally found something that makes possessing the title a pleasure.”

  “Stop that,” she repeated, but she couldn’t keep the husky purr from her voice. Nor did she find the resolve to slap his hand away, not even when he dared to trail a fingertip along her jaw. “What do you want, Marcus?”

  “I’d say to learn all your secrets.” He took a single step to close the distance between them, then peered over the curtain to take a new view of her backside. “But I don’t think you have many of those left.”

  “And fewer every day, apparently.” Although it wasn’t embarrassment at being seen half-dressed by him that pricked at her, particularly since the way that he stared at her made her tingle in all kinds of delicious ways. It was disappointment that he didn’t think her competent enough to take care of herself. “Especially when you set a guard to watch me.”

  No surprise flashed over his face at being caught. Instead, he simply smiled that she’d figured it out and touched her cheek again. But this time, the caress didn’t spark a tingle inside her so much as a pleasant warmth. A sensation that was just as disconcerting.

  He murmured, “I protect the people I care about.”

  She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he meant anything more by that than friendship. Still, her silly heart danced a little jig, although her sober head knew better. “To watch over my house, you mean? To follow me everywhere I go?” In indignation, she tapped her finger on his waistcoat, only to catch her breath at the steely hardness of the muscles in his chest. “Will he waltz with me at Lady Northrop’s ball next week, too? Fetch me ices when I go strolling through the park? Save me a chair at the art exhibition?”

  “Society events?” He gave an appalled shudder. “I’d never ask a man to sacrifice himself like that.”

  Her patience snapped. Dropping the curtain, she grabbed his shoulders, wheeled him around, and gave a hard push to send him staggering out of the fitting room. “Out!” With a glaring scowl, she flipped the curtain back into place, then shoved a hand out to wag a finger at him. “Don’t even think about opening that curtain, sir.”

  He replied with a low chuckle. Drat that devil!

  With a titillating tingle at knowing that he stood only a few feet away as she finished dressing, she loosened her stays with a grateful sigh of relief and release. But she also couldn’t help thinking of the predatory gleam in his eyes when he saw her breasts, thrust up beneath the tight corset. And of how much she’d enjoyed it.

  “How did you know to follow me in here?” She tugged on the petticoat. Perhaps if she kept him talking, he would keep his distance long enough for her to change back into her own clothes.

  “I spotted you walking on the street. When I saw you duck inside the shop, I knew what you’d planned.”

  She paused, the dress halfway over her head. “You knew?”

  “You forget that I’ve already had a glimpse of your quick-change talent.”

  Her lips twisted with vexation. “Your man would never have figured out where I went.”

  “I know.” From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t at all pleased to admit that. “You’d have outsmarted him.”

  Pride warmed her at that unintended compliment as she slipped on the dress and shimmied her hips as she pulled the skirt down into place. But there was far more to him being here than he let on.

  “I have a feeling that your man has orders to do more than guard me,” she drawled, once more irritated at his lack of trust as she pulled on her stockings. “Following me everywhere I go like this, he’d surely report back the names of any ladies I might meet with so you could figure out which ones are involved with Nightingale.”

  “No. I’d never ask him to do that. I’d never breach your trust like that. His only responsibility is to keep you safe.”

  This time, it wasn’t pride that fluttered inside her but something stronger. Perhaps he did care, and enough that she could begin to trust in him.

  “I won’t deny, though, that I’m pleased with how it worked out,” he commented. “Now that you know you’re being watched, you’ll be less likely to work for Nightingale.” His voice faded slightly. She pictured him moving around the workshop, curiously looking at the various women’s items, his interest snagged by a pretty silk shawl, or running his hand over a silk nightgown meant for a lady’s wedding night. “Which means you won’t be putting yourself into danger.”

  “Ah, so there’s your ulterior motive,” she quipped, irritated that he was once more attempting to put an end to Nightingale. As she quickly pinned up her hair as best she could in the small mirror hanging from a nail, she couldn’t help but feel that she was suiting up in armor for a battle.

  “If that’s what it takes to keep you safe, so be it.”

  She bit back the retort that it wasn’t his job to keep her safe, because a part of her liked the idea of being protected by a strong man far more than a modern woman like herself should admit. “Yet you feel no hesitation to risk yourself.”

  “That is what a man does.”

  But in his solemn answer, she heard the truth. That is what a soldier does.

  Slowly, she opened the curtain and stepped out of the fitting room, one hand carefully clutching her loose bodice to her bosom. He stared at her from across the small workshop with the same predacious stare as before.

  “Undressed…dressed…” he mused in a low drawl. “Beautiful either way.”

  She ignored the heat that flushed her cheeks. “And you shouldn’t waste your time attempting to flatter me into giving away my confidences.” She turned her back to him. “Button me, will you?”

  “I am your humble servant, madam.”

  She couldn’t hide a smile at that. This man was no one’s servant.

  He came up behind her, and she felt the heat of his hands lingering on her back as he slowly fastened the half dozen little pearl buttons.

  “I didn’t spout empty flattery, you know.” His fingers brushed against the bare skin just above her undergarments. “You truly are beautiful, Danielle.”

  Her belly fluttered. She had no idea what to say to that. With his hands on her, his body so close that she could feel the heat of him lingering against her back, she needed to change the topic. Quickly. “How is Claudia?”

  “Better. She’s still a bit shaken, but Trousdale’s been a strength to her.”

  “And Penelope?”

  “She’s decided to set traps around the house in case anyone attempts to break in again.” She heard the consternation
in his voice, but also patience and love. “She’s organized the servants into rigging wires across the halls, noisemakers on the stairs, bells on the doors… So far, she hasn’t caught any intruders, but she’s trapped two footmen, one coal deliveryman, and the neighbor’s dog.”

  Her chest sank with pity. “Poor Pippa.”

  “Poor Pippa?” He leaned over her shoulder to give her a dubious look before returning his attention to the last button. “That little poppet’s on her way to world domination.”

  She smiled. “You’d best refrain from teaching her battle strategy then.”

  She expected a low chuckle from him, the kind that would twine down her spine and create that same sensation of arousal low in her belly that he seemed to stir inside her every time they were together.

  But this time…silence.

  She looked over her shoulder to find him frowning as his fingers played with the last button even though he’d already fastened it. He was a man with the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, or at least a deep worry for his family. She understood that and ached for him. After all, she loved Claudia and Pippa as dearly as if they were her own.

  “I won’t give up the names of the women currently working with Nightingale,” she stated with quiet resolve as she turned toward him. “No matter how often you ask. Their lives are just as important to their families as Claudia and Pippa are to you.”

  “Of course.”

  “But…” She bit her lip.

  “But?”

  “There is a woman, someone who helped with Nightingale only tangentially and who has nothing to do with us now,” she explained, hesitating with each bit of information she offered. “But Elise might have been working with her to identify women who needed to be rescued.”

  “Who?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like a traitor. Trust had always been important to her, and now she was betraying the network. But he deserved answers, even if this small bit of information was all she was willing to provide. “Lady Hartsham.”

  “The Countess of Hartsham?” He clarified in disbelief, “Beatrice McTavish?”

  She didn’t blame him for sounding incredulous. Beatrice was nothing if not a mouse afraid of her own shadow. “She’s not the most daring of women, I’ll admit.”

  He arched a brow at that whopper of an understatement.

  “She’d been involved with Nightingale when we first started—nothing important, but she knew people. Her father had owned one of the largest breweries in England, so she still had connections at inns and taverns where we could move the women if necessary.”

  “At the beginning, but not now,” he surmised from her words. “Why not? I thought her husband and your father were good friends.”

  “They are.” The Earl of Hartsham was an old family friend, one of the gentlemen her father trusted to keep watch over her while her parents were in Italy. “But Beatrice had nervous fits that the network might be discovered. She’d prattled on in worried rants about what would happen if Lord Hartsham ever learned what she’d been doing, how furious he’d be with her.” Dani certainly couldn’t fault the woman’s concern, although she had to admit that her excitability had been distracting. And grating. “So I eased Beatrice out of Nightingale completely.”

  “You stopped working with her just in time for Elise to take her on.”

  “I think so. It would make sense if she did. Elise wanted to help women in the brothels. Perhaps Lady Hartsham’s connections extended that far.”

  “But you never asked that of her?”

  “Absolutely not.” It would have been too dangerous to take on brothel owners, as well as far too easy for Nightingale to be tracked down through the personal connections that Beatrice had. But Elise… She bit her bottom lip. “Yet your sister might have.”

  “If she did, then Lady Hartsham might know who else Elise was working with during those last days and how to find John Porter. She might know who wanted Elise dead.”

  “But if she wasn’t,” Dani warned, placing her hand on his arm, “we might very well be putting her into danger by approaching her.”

  “Then we need to be very careful when we do.”

  Excitement began to tease at her toes. “How?”

  “I’ll have Lord Hartsham invite me to be his guest of honor at Vauxhall.”

  He’d have Hartsham… She blinked. “Why would he do that?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” He leaned against the wall with a confident grin, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m England’s greatest hero next to Wellington. And a damned duke. If I suggest to Hartsham that he host me in his private box at Vauxhall, he won’t pass up the favors he’ll be certain to believe he’ll gain from it. He’ll also use it as a grand opportunity to invite others who want to ingratiate themselves by having the chance to speak with me. Peers and patronage…as thick as thieves.”

  He would despise every moment of it. What he was suggesting epitomized everything he hated about society and its sycophants. “You don’t have to do that.”

  His eyes softened on her face as his smile faded. He pushed himself away from the wall and crossed to her, then stroked his thumb across her bottom lip and elicited a heated shiver from her. “Yes, I do.” Then he tapped her on the nose and earned himself a scowl. “And you’re coming with me.”

  “Pardon?” she squeaked out, not at all prepared for that.

  “I can’t approach her myself.”

  Well, that was true.

  “And if Lady Hartsham was worried that the earl would find out about Nightingale, then having me there to distract him while you speak with her should help calm her fears.”

  “I suppose…” But apprehension pricked at the backs of her knees, not the least of which was because she would be there as his personal guest. The situation would all be nothing but a ruse, of course, yet it would also be far too close to how they would act if he were actually courting her. And far too enjoyable. She couldn’t help herself. The idea of being courted by Marcus Braddock sent butterflies twirling in her belly, and she didn’t want to risk her heart by having to accept his attentions when they were nothing but pretense. “Or I can just pay her an afternoon call.”

  “Vauxhall’s better. I’ll be there with you to make certain nothing goes wrong.” The resolve behind that statement told her that he’d brook no argument about this. It was Vauxhall, with him, or nothing. “Surely you’ll be able to find a moment to maneuver her aside for a private conversation. No one will think twice if the two of you have to speak into each other’s ears to be heard over the noise of the music and fireworks.”

  “You devious man,” she murmured, finding new appreciation for his battlefield cunning. “But I cannot attend with you. Aunt Harriett is away visiting friends, and my maid Alice won’t do at all for a proper chaperone.” The little thing would give away everything on her face. She was trustworthy and dependable, but she knew too much about Nightingale to carry off the relaxed, uncaring—even bored—expression of a lady’s companion necessary in the midst of sharks. “Unfortunately, Claudia won’t work either. As Elise’s sister, her presence would make Lady Hartsham too nervous to confide in me.”

  “Perfect. Lady Hartsham can serve as your chaperone, then.”

  She gaped at him. The man had lost his mind! “How on earth is that perfect?”

  “Because you’ll have an excuse to remain close to her side all evening, from the moment their carriage arrives at your town house to collect you until it returns you home. No one will notice you two exchanging words when you’ll be expected to do so all evening.” His dark eyes shone. “By the time we leave, we’ll finally have answers.”

  We… She warmed with the thought that he now considered them partners. That he no longer thought of her as the enemy. And yet—

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll be placing myself in danger?” she cha
llenged. “The same way you wrongly think I do with Nightingale?”

  “You do place yourself in danger for that network.” When she began to argue, he cut her off. “But at Vauxhall, you’ll be surrounded by people and less than ten feet from my side. I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight all evening.”

  His plan was madness and would most likely not turn up any new information at all about what trouble Elise had gotten herself into during her last days. But she couldn’t resist the chance to help find justice for her best friend.

  She eased out a long exhale of acquiescence. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

  “When the enemy changes position on the field, a good general has to adapt his battle plan or be defeated.”

  “Indeed.” She was beginning to think she needed to study battle strategy if she ever hoped to understand this man. “Is that what I am, then? Part of your battle plan?”

  “I think you’re worth fighting for.”

  He tossed that comment off almost teasingly, yet the jolt that pierced her at its implications was decidedly serious. God help her. For one tempting beat, she wished his hands were on her again, but this time not to button her up. This time to peel away her dress and all the layers beneath, to reveal her bare flesh to his hands and mouth—

  “Yes,” she whispered, her foolish heart blurting out her answer before her logical head could stop her. “I’ll help you at Vauxhall.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips to place a kiss to her palm. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” She slipped her hand away before he could feel the spike in her pulse. “I haven’t yet delivered terms of repayment.”

  With a laugh, he watched her walk away toward the front room of the shop. For propriety’s sake, he lingered behind before following after her, but she felt his wolfish gaze on her back the entire way.

  Thankfully, no clients had come into the shop while they’d been talking, but Dani suspected that Mrs. Harris would have known to make enough noise to alert them if anyone had so that Marcus could slip unseen out the rear door. After all, even though Mrs. Harris owed a large debt to Dani, she also had her own reputation to protect, and allowing former soldiers to scandalously approach unmarried misses in the rear of her shop while they were changing would severely damage her business. Even if they were dukes.