The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  She took her courage in her hands. “And then what?”

  He looked at her speculatively, then his gaze ran down her body with an intimacy that brought a flush to her cheeks. He walked over to her, with that strong, fluid confidence that always characterized him.

  She braced herself, knowing that if he kissed her she’d beg him to stay.

  But his hands clenched into fists, as if with the effort of keeping them to himself. He looked down at her with a faint, rueful smile. “I’d give anything—” He stopped and sighed. “But there’s no time now to do things properly. Will you wait for me? I swear I’ll make it up to you for what happened here tonight.”

  What could she do except nod mutely, miserably aware that he completely misunderstood her reaction to that torrid encounter? She couldn’t tell him how she really felt. She couldn’t bear to see that same look of disgust on his face as she’d seen so many times on Hector’s.

  Why couldn’t she be a normal woman with normal appetites and desires? One who didn’t have this embarrassing, rampant passion coursing through her veins? Why couldn’t she be delicate and disinterested, the way men expected her to be?

  As if he couldn’t help himself, Lyle bent to kiss her, and she fought the urge to press closer, to run her hands over his big shoulders and down his chest.

  A shudder ran through her, and on a groan, he deepened the kiss, stroking into her with his tongue and the pulse beat in her brain until he tore his mouth free.

  “My God, woman, but you bewitch me,” he breathed. Running his hand through his hair, he turned away. “Every time, I mean to be gentle and yet every time—”

  “Don’t,” she said quietly.

  He looked like he might argue, but after a pause, he nodded. “No, you’re right, I have to go. But we will sort this out when I return.”

  Suddenly, she wondered what danger he might face on the trail of those rebels. She’d been so caught up in her own concerns she’d scarcely thought about the job he had to do.

  “Be careful,” she said. “I know it’s quite redundant to say that, but I . . . I shouldn’t like it if anything were to happen to you.”

  He made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a cross between a cough and a growl. “I can take care of myself. If anything happens to me, I’ve made provision for your protection.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his assumption that her only use for him was as a bodyguard. “That was very thoughtful of you,” she said gravely.

  He looked about him. “Do you have everything you need? I’ve sent to London for your maid to join you here. She should arrive tomorrow, but if you require, er, assistance, perhaps I could—”

  Firmly, she shook her head. “I think we both know where that would lead.” And she couldn’t bear him to apologize again. “I shall do very well by myself tonight, but I would like someone to help me dress in the morning if a maid might be sent.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see to it.” Again, he hesitated. “Good-bye, Lady Kate.”

  Smiling, she stood on tiptoe. She stroked his jaw, with its faint evening stubble, and kissed his cheek.

  “Good-bye.”

  Thirteen

  He kissed me in the strangest place today. I was not quite sure I liked it at first . . .

  “IT will be the end of an era after this case, won’t it, Your Grace?”

  Stuck in a carriage with Perry on the way to London, Max had been enjoying a rather pleasant daydream, one that featured Kate in various states of undress.

  Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back to the present and opened one eye. He’d given up asking the boy to stop calling him “Your Grace,” so he said, “Yes, I suppose it will. For me, at any rate.” And I couldn’t be happier.

  Lit by a magnificent sunrise, Perry’s youthful face glowed, and his gold hair formed a bright halo around his head. Angelic. For the hundredth time, Max wondered how Perry would survive if he continued his present work. Couldn’t Faulkner see the boy was soft?

  “I, also, feel the need for change,” said Perry, nonchalantly. “Perhaps I might take a position as secretary to a great man.”

  “Oh, yes?” Max tipped his hat forward and closed his eyes again. He guessed what was coming. There didn’t seem any tactful way to avoid it.

  “I could even become a steward, perhaps.”

  Max didn’t open his eyes, but he felt the intensity of Perry’s stare. Willing him to offer. Well, he wouldn’t. The boy needed to stand on his own two feet. Hanging on Max’s coattails wasn’t good for him, and none of the gentle hints Max had given him over the years seemed to have sunk in. A clean break seemed the only alternative.

  “Do—do you know of such a position, Your Grace?”

  “No, not at present, but give me time to make enquiries. I might be able to find you a position.” Gently, he added, “With one of my friends.”

  A gasp came from the other side of the carriage. Max glanced at Perry from beneath his hat brim without appearing to do so. Where before the boy’s face had been flushed with a rosy spot of color on each cheek, now his face was white to the lips. The startling blue eyes blazed with pain.

  The sight shocked Max. Small things about Perry had given him moments of unease over the years, but recently, the boy worried him more and more. A little hero worship for his mentor was natural in a young man, especially when that mentor had saved him from a terrible existence. But this conversation was the first inkling Max had received of how far matters had advanced.

  How the hell was he going to handle it?

  Quite simply, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to tread carefully. Until he could work out the best approach, he would pretend he hadn’t noticed the savage agony in Perry’s expression.

  Best to change the subject. “Perry, I’m glad we had this chance to talk. I need you to do something for me,” he said. He made a lot of work out of opening his eyes and setting his hat back at the correct angle, letting Perry compose himself.

  Glancing out the window, Max added, “Strictly speaking, it’s not official Home Office business, but I hope you will assist me as a favor.”

  The boy swallowed painfully. “I’d walk on hot coals for you, Your Grace, you know that. What do you want me to do?”

  Max exhaled the breath he’d been holding in anticipation. He’d averted a scene—for the moment, anyway.

  “I need to know who hired a man to assassinate Lady Kate Fairchild,” Max said. “Ask in all the usual haunts. Seven Dials is a good place to start.”

  “Yes, sir!” The old enthusiasm flooded back into the boy’s tone.

  “Oh, and Perry?”

  “Yes?”

  Max regarded him steadily. “Be discreet, won’t you? I don’t want to be fishing your body out of the Thames.”

  The younger man flushed and muttered something, kicking the seat in front of him. Max let this truculence pass. He was far more concerned about the boy’s earlier reaction.

  The feeling of unease hadn’t abated when they reached London. Max instructed the coachman to drive straight to Upper Wimpole Street, dropping Perry at his lodgings on the way.

  Perry alighted and looked back into the carriage. “I’ll get onto that assignment right away, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, but I doubt you’ll find any of the likely suspects up at this hour. Begin tonight, and I’ll expect a report first thing tomorrow morning.”

  He tapped on the roof, and Perry hastily shut the door before the carriage sprang forward.

  Filing the problem of Perry away for later, Max looked ahead to his forthcoming interview with Stephen Holt.

  In a quixotic mood, Max had ordered the vicar’s removal from prison. Holt was still under arrest, but now he cooled his heels in a bedchamber at a private house, a jail far more comfortable than the rat-infested hole he’d endured in Newgate.

  Despite the man’s courage and undoubted altruism, Max felt little sympathy for the vicar. Holt concealed the whereabouts of renegades who’d p
erpetrated a dastardly crime. For all Max cared, the vicar could rot in jail. He’d only relented because of Kate.

  Max squared his shoulders, shrugging off a twinge of embarrassment. The decision to move Holt made logical sense, after all. The unpleasant surroundings of prison hadn’t placed the slightest dent in the vicar’s resolve. Only the news that Max held Kate had made her brother agree to this meeting.

  Max jogged up the stairs and nodded to the guard outside the vicar’s door. He hoped Holt was grateful for the clemency he’d been shown and fearful enough for his sister that he would talk. This had better not be a waste of time.

  There were two men in the chamber, sitting at a plain wooden table playing cards.

  An ill-assorted pair. Holt, a big bear of a man with rumpled, curly hair and an earthy manner that belied his calling. The other, Max recognized instantly. It was Ives, the spindleshanked villain he’d terrorized on Lady Kate’s terrace.

  Max frowned. He’d agreed to allow Holt a manservant during his incarceration, but he hadn’t expected Ives to fill the role.

  Holt looked up, and his generally benign expression darkened. He did not stand, a pointed lack of respect. “Your Grace. What an unexpected honor.” He cocked his head at his companion. “Ives, you may leave us.”

  Max lifted a sardonic eyebrow as Ives shuffled from the room. “Strange company you keep.”

  “Isn’t it?” said Holt pleasantly. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Max took Ives’s chair and flicked over his cards. “A winning hand.”

  “No doubt. He cheats,” said the vicar.

  “Fortunate I came in when I did, then.”

  The vicar shrugged. “I don’t play for money, so winning or losing is of complete indifference to me. Frankly, it’s more interesting to see how soon I can detect the sleight of hand.”

  He leaned forward, and someone other than Max might have been intimidated by the menace in his attitude. “But enough of these pleasantries, my lord duke. I know what you’ve come for and I’m prepared to give it to you.” Holt’s square jaw hardened. “For my sister’s sake.”

  He stared Max straight in the eye. “She’d better be unharmed, or I might forget that I’m a man of God and beat the living daylights out of you.”

  Max grunted. Holt might have a few pounds on him but fighting for survival tended to hone one’s skills more than gentle sparring in Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. “You are welcome to try,” he said dryly. “But to answer your question, your sister has been harmed, but not by me.”

  Holt’s sandy brows slammed together. “Harmed? What happened to her?”

  Max didn’t see the need to sugarcoat it. “She was almost strangled to death.” He waited, while Holt exhaled an appalled breath. “Mr. Holt, I assure you, I will find who’s responsible and deal with him.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” Holt slammed the table with his open palm. “My sister was in your care and you let her—”

  Holt ranted on, but he didn’t say anything Max hadn’t told himself a thousand times. Every time he saw those welts on Kate’s graceful throat he wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands.

  But dwelling on his culpability was counterproductive. He needed to get Holt out of custody, which would ultimately remove the threat to Lady Kate.

  When he judged Holt was running out of momentum, he held up his hand. “Your sister tried to save you from prison by threatening to blackmail the government.”

  “What?” Holt sat back in his chair. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “She was desperate to free you. She didn’t seem to think you would act to save yourself.”

  “No, and if the little fool hadn’t interfered, I wouldn’t have to,” growled Holt. “Strangled!” He swallowed hard, then raised a horror-filled gaze to Max’s face. “And—and you’ve left her, unprotected, to come here?”

  “Not unprotected, you may be sure of that,” said Max. Though every minute he was away, he chafed to be back with her. “Tell me where Tucker and the others are hiding and I will let you go. Thus, your sister no longer has a reason to blackmail the government and the threat against her will disappear.”

  Holt’s heavy scowl gave him the look of a bad-tempered blacksmith rather than a country vicar. Max saw no need to reassure him. Let him believe the worst and he’d be far more malleable. And who knew? The worst might yet come to pass.

  “I told her—no, I begged her—not to get involved.”

  “She loves you,” said Max evenly. “And your sister is not the kind of woman to sit twiddling her thumbs while someone she cares for rots in jail.” A strange sense of pride at Kate’s courage and resourcefulness struck him. Despite her fragile appearance, the woman was a fighter!

  And closer acquaintance with her brother showed the quality ran in the family. Still, Max needed to win this battle at all costs. “You’ve already said you’ll cooperate, so let’s stop wringing our hands and get down to business, shall we? Where are these rebels hiding?”

  Holt looked close to despair. “Will you not listen to me? I swear those men had nothing to do with the fire at Lyle.”

  “So you’ve said before. Why should I place any faith in what you believe? Forgive me, but a man of the cloth must always think the best of everyone—”

  “—Whereas someone in your line of work must believe the worst.”

  Max gave a faint smile. “We’re so often proven right, you see.” He watched Holt closely. “And I wonder what you know about my line of work.”

  Holt shrugged, but the flicker of his gaze towards the door told Max that Ives might well have been Holt’s informant.

  Holt shifted restlessly, then rose and paced the room. He stopped at the window and looked out. “They are in the hills. I’ll show you.” He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat and threw it down on the table. It skittered across the polished surface, and Max stopped it with his hand. He didn’t look at what was presumably a map, but immediately folded it and slipped it into his pocket.

  “You will release Kate now?” Holt’s tone was still belligerent. For a vicar, he had a lot of pride. But pride could be a strength as well as a weakness. Max respected Holt’s staunch loyalty, even regretted the necessity of making the vicar bend to his will.

  “You will be released when I find the rebels,” said Max. “Lady Kate is free to go. I must warn you, however, that she might well choose to remain under my protection. If you know my former line of business, you will agree that I am well suited to that task.”

  “Save when you let her almost be killed,” said Holt. “Save when you left her to come here. And another thing—” Holt swallowed hard, pointing to Max with a finger that trembled slightly. “I’d like to know what arrangements you’ve made to safeguard Kate’s reputation. Has she been alone with you all this time?”

  Max was about to launch smoothly into the tale he had concocted about a sick aunt, when he caught himself. It wasn’t simply a matter of providing a sop to the gossips. He had, literally and figuratively—and most pleasurably— compromised Lady Kate Fairchild.

  A blinding rush of emotion swept through him. So tangled and tumultuous, for a moment he couldn’t speak.

  How could he have overlooked the practical consequences of those two fast and furious encounters? Because their life-and-death situation had driven society’s strictures out of his head? Because he’d been so wrapped up in the feel and scent of her, he hadn’t stopped to think? Or because, once again, he’d shown a gently bred lady a truly unforgivable lack of respect?

  “Marriage,” he murmured. “Marriage. It’s the only thing for it.”

  He spoke more to himself than to Holt, so stunned by the notion that he almost let Holt’s enormous fist connect with his nose.

  Reflexively, he dodged and leaped up to defend himself, knocking over his chair. At the same time, he wondered if he shouldn’t just let Holt beat the tripe out of him. God and the vicar knew he deserved it.

  But Holt must have listened
to the promptings of his savior, because instead of taking another swing at Max, he swiveled his hips and planted his fist in the wall behind.

  Swearing in a very un-Christian manner, Holt shook his hand with a grimace of pain.

  “You’re right,” panted Max, willing Holt to accept his sincerity. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll marry Lady Kate. You have my word.”

  Holt roared. “I’d rather see her in the Magdalene than married to you, sir! Get you gone. You have what you came for.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you may be sure that once I walk free of here, the only protection my sister will need is mine.”

  Coolly, Max said, “I think that is a matter for Lady Kate to decide.”

  Holt’s eyes narrowed. “Does she know you’re the reason I’m here?”

  Suddenly, the tables turned. A chasm yawned beneath Max and the vicar dangled him over it. He cleared his throat. “She does not.”

  Holt gave a crack of laughter. “And you think she’ll accept you after what you did to me?” He shook his head, with a look that was almost pitying. “If that’s the case, you don’t know my Kate at all.”

  In the hall, Max paused to take a deep breath. That interview had rattled him more than any job he’d undertaken for the Home Office.

  Marriage. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now? And what must Kate think of such cavalier treatment? Would she even agree to wed him?

  But another threat hung over Max’s head now. Once Holt gained his freedom, there’d be no stopping him from telling Kate all Max had done. Looking back, Max still couldn’t regret it. By incarcerating Holt, he’d found the rebels who wreaked such devastation on his family, and justice had fallen within his grasp. His old watchword held true: the end did justify the means.

  But now, he needed to move quickly, to secure Kate before she learned the truth. He’d get a special license. Today, if that was humanly possible. Then he’d return to Hove, marry Kate, and continue with her to Derbyshire.

  Once they married, they could sort out their problems. They’d have to. They belonged together. Whatever means he used, in time, she’d come to see that he’d done it to secure their ultimate happiness. And she would forgive him.