To Pleasure a Duke

by Sara Bennett

  Just as he had.

  He’d underestimated her willfulness and her determination to throw aside the traces of privilege for the sake of that wretched boy.

  Restlessly, Sinclair stretched out his legs and knocked against something tucked by his seat. He gave it a kick and when it remained in his way, reached down. He found himself in the possession of a luridly flowery carpetbag. Confused, he stared at it, and then with growing suspicion he unfastened the straps and peered inside.

  Women’s clothes, badly packed. Curiously he lifted up a well-worn chemise and then a pair of darned stockings. A nightgown with a line of lace about the throat drew his eye, and before he knew it he was holding it to his face. Breathing in the scent.

  He knew the scent well; he’d even dreamed of it. He did not need to see the hairbrush with a few strands of curly hair still caught in the bristles—brown with more than a hint of red—to know who it belonged to.

  Sinclair thrust the carpetbag aside, reaching for the traveling rug that covered the lump occupying the seat in the far corner. He tugged it hard. As he’d suspected his stowaway was none other than Eugenie Belmont.

  Chapter 22

  Lizzie closed her eyes and tried not to panic.

  It had never been her intention to join Annabelle and Terry on their insane journey north. When she finally discovered what they were up to, it was too late to stop them. One moment she was standing beside Annabelle, arguing with her, begging her to see sense, and the next she was inside the coach with the pair of them.

  It was a momentary madness, her decision to accompany them. At the time it made more sense to stay with her charge. At least then she could watch over and perhaps persuade her to turn back. Now she wondered what she could have been thinking. Would the duke commend her for such ramshackle behavior? More likely he would dismiss her without references and send her packing, if he didn’t send her to gaol instead!

  What would her father say about that? This was no way for a vicar’s daughter to conduct herself. In every direction she looked Lizzie saw nothing but disgrace.

  Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t want to open her eyes. What was the point in facing the situation she was in? No, she would keep them closed. Just a little longer. That way she could pretend she was still at Somerton, tucked up in bed, and everything else was a bad dream.

  She reminded him of a cornered vixen, all huge green eyes and tangled curls, with her lips slightly parted. At any moment, he thought, she would take flight, escaping into the night. But she didn’t. Probably because she couldn’t.

  “What are you doing here?” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

  She licked her lips like the wild and frightened creature he’d likened her to. He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, so that he could better see her in the gloom. She had a cloak on over the same dress she’d worn at the major’s house, but she looked windswept and her hem was muddied, as if she’d been running about the countryside. Perhaps she had. He wouldn’t put anything past her.

  “Are you going to answer me, or will I stop the coach and throw you out?”

  The threat worked. Her voice came in a breathless rush.

  “Terry spoke to me about doing a bad deed for the sake of something good, for the sake of helping someone in need of help. I didn’t understand at the time. I should have. I see that now. I wish I had understood because I could have stopped him before this!”

  “Yes,” he said grimly, preferring not to remember his own sense of guilt.

  She bowed her head a moment as if she was accepting all the blame. “I want to come with you. I want to be there when you find them.”

  Words failed him. He curled his lip.

  “I know Terry has behaved foolishly but he doesn’t deserve to be . . . to be hurt.”

  “Do you think I’ll hurt him?”

  “I know you’re very angry with—with me. I don’t want you to take it out on him.”

  “So because you have made a fool of me you expect me to revenge myself upon your brother?” he said. “What a pleasant opinion you have of me, Eugenie. Thank you very much.”

  But she rushed ahead, refusing to apologize. “Whatever Terry’s done he’s still my brother, and he has not acted alone. He would never kidnap your sister against her will.”

  Sinclair supposed she was right regarding his sister, although he preferred to imagine Annabelle as the injured party and Terry the villain. But if she imagined he was so lacking in self-control that he would take out his frustrations with her on her brother then she was . . . He paused. Well, perhaps she was partly right, but he wasn’t going to admit it to her. And he wouldn’t harm the boy, beyond perhaps a bloodied nose and a black eye, if it came to a punch-up when they were caught. Nothing like a bit of bare-knuckle fighting to clear the head.

  “I’ll set you down in Torrisham and arrange for you to be taken home,” he said coolly.

  She leaned forward until her face was only inches away from his, her eyes feverish and wild. “If you do then I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you all the way to Scotland if I have to. And I’ll tell everyone along the way what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Even as he said it he knew he wouldn’t put it past her to pursue him across the length and breadth of Britain.

  “Wouldn’t I? You forget, I have my father’s ability to tell a good tale. By the time I’m finished the scandal will have spread from here to the border.”

  He wanted to dismiss her words as bravado, but he remembered all too well the letter she wrote to her friends.

  He had an insane urge to laugh. Last night at Major Banks’s supper he’d found himself drawn to her again, that insane need in him overcoming all that had happened between them. The intensity of his feelings had worried him. The last thing he wanted now was to be in her company day and night.

  “What of your reputation, Eugenie? My sister’s is quite possibly tainted forever. Do you want to join her in ruination?”

  Her green eyes gazed frankly into his. “My reputation did not concern you before. You were more than happy to lead me into ruination, as you call it. Why should you care now?”

  “This is different,” he muttered grumpily, and threw himself back into his seat, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Well, I don’t care about my reputation,” she said impatiently. “What matters is finding Terry and your sister and bringing them safely home. I want to help, Sinclair. You need not speak to me, if you prefer it. You can pretend I am not here. But I want to join you in this search. I could not bear to sit at home waiting—I am not that sort of girl.”

  He sighed. “No, you are not.”

  She opened her mouth to say more, then closed it again. Perhaps she’d said all there was to say.

  Sinclair knew he should refuse. He must refuse. She would be an added complication on what was already going to be a difficult journey. Who knew what they might encounter along the way? And what if he could not find the runaway pair and they had to come home and admit failure?

  There were plenty of reasons he shouldn’t agree to her accompanying him, and yet he found himself wavering.

  The baggage sensed it and took advantage.

  “Please, Sinclair,” she said in a soft, wheedling voice. “I could not live with myself if I did not try to bring them home. I know my brother; I know he is at heart a good boy. I don’t want the rest of his life to be blighted because of one silly mistake. I know you feel the same about your sister. We should be working together. As a—a team.”

  She sounded honest and sincere. He believed her—another concern because he well knew her propensity to lie. With a groan, Sinclair shook his head. “Eugenie, I don’t think you realize what you would be letting yourself in for. I will not be stopping for hot soup and a nap at every inn we pass. I will be driving myself to extremes to catch them before they
reach the border. No concessions will be given for the weaker sex.”

  “I do not ask for any.” She tilted her head proudly.

  He looked away from her, noticing her bag, where he’d tossed it on the seat. “Is this all you’ve brought with you?”

  “Yes. Apart from the big box of teacups and crockery and my mother’s best dinner setting—”

  “This is no time for levity,” he growled. By this time he knew her well.

  “I’m sorry.” She looked down, repentant, or pretending to be. “It is a bad habit of mine to make jokes during moments of stress.”

  “Then you should curb it while we are together.”

  A smile hovered about her lips, although she tried to hide it. She knew she had won, the minx.

  He said no more, allowing the silence to grow. One thing about Eugenie, she didn’t chatter. He heard her moving about, snuggling into her corner of the coach and getting comfortable. After a time, when he couldn’t resist a glance at her, he found that her eyes were closed and she was resting her cheek against her arm.

  Sinclair watched her through his lashes, enjoying the wash of shadows across her face as the coach raced through the night. He still didn’t know what had come over him to agree to let her stay. Had her arguments been that persuasive? Perhaps. Or perhaps in his heart he’d wanted to lose.

  Eugenie found that it was best if she said as little as possible to her companion. Then he couldn’t glare at her, or worse, curl his lip at her in that appallingly arrogant manner. She knew, she just knew, that there would come a moment when she would no longer be able to control herself. He would curl his lip and she would slap it right off his mouth. And then where would she be? Tipped out of the ducal coach and onto her tail, most probably.

  They had stopped to change their horses two or three times since they set out, and once they sat in a chilly parlor while a wide-eyed maidservant—clearly overawed by Sinclair’s consequence—served them cold ham and warm bread and butter. There was hardly time to gulp it down before Sinclair was on his feet again, marching up and down like a Sergeant Major on parade, impatient to be gone. Eugenie had only just managed to stuff some bread and ham into her pocket, before she was out the door and back in the coach.

  Not that the coach wasn’t far better than anything she had ever ridden in before. It was well sprung and comfortable, with soft leather seats and padded squabs to rest one’s head on. But despite the luxury the endless hours of travel grew tedious and her stomach churned from the constant rocking movement, as well as anxiety about her brother. She had had no time to pen even a brief note to her family, although she fully intended to do so as soon as possible. She also longed to wash her face and change her clothes and brush some of the dust out of her hair, but Sinclair did not offer to wait while she did so, and Eugenie had the feeling he’d probably take advantage of the opportunity by driving off and leaving her behind.

  She was still bemused by the fact she was here at all.

  Not that she was sorry to have won, but the question niggled at her: Why had he agreed? She could only imagine that he was planning some dreadful punishment and no doubt she would discover what that was in due course. She might have asked him straight out, but she didn’t think he’d tell her. He’d probably just curl his lip at her. So for now most of their journey was spent in silence.

  When they reached their next horse changing station, Sinclair spent more time than usual conversing with the woman whose inn it was, and then his coachman, Robert. Gratefully, Eugenie used the opportunity to walk about the yard and stretch her legs, at the same time taking deep lungfuls of fresh air. It had been raining and water dripped from the eaves and ran between the cobbles in the stable yard. A mother duck and her brood were making use of a small pond, and Eugenie couldn’t help but smile as she watched them splashing about.

  Sinclair’s hand closing on her arm caused her to jump.

  He ignored her nerves. His serious expression told her, even if he didn’t, that he had no time for such female nonsense.

  “Your brother and my sister passed through here last night. I gather their horses are inferior to mine so we cannot be far behind them.”

  “Then . . . we should catch up with them soon?” Eugenie’s relief turned to anxiety. “But what if they know we’re getting close? This is a busy road. Some other travelers might tell them we are following them. What if they change direction . . . take another road?”

  “They won’t know we’re getting close—I haven’t told anyone, have you?—so they have no reason to deviate from their route. They are no doubt blissfully unaware that we are on their trail. Don’t indulge yourself with useless speculation, Eugenie. We will hunt them down before any real damage is done.”

  How many days and nights had Terry and Annabelle been alone with no chaperone? No, he was wrong, real damage had already been done. The facts would have to be covered up, money would have to be paid for the silence of those who knew too much, but she knew Sinclair would do all of that for the sake of his family. He would have planned for every eventuality.

  Now he was smiling in grim satisfaction. “I calculate we will have our hands on them before nightfall.”

  Eugenie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but at least she was here to make sure there was no violence done when the moment of capture came. A wave of relief spread through her when she realized her adventure was nearly over. One more day in the coach and Terry would be safe. She could take him home and scold him—and hug him—as she longed to do.

  And if she had any regrets about never seeing Sinclair again, then she would keep them to herself.

  “Do you wish to wash and change?” His voice startled her. Deep in her thoughts she’d forgotten he was standing so close beside her. Now he leaned down, his breath warm against her cheek. “Eugenie, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, I’m just not sure I believe you,” she retorted, made nervous by his presence, and even more so by the fact he was being nice to her.

  He gave a chuckle. His good humor appeared to have returned.

  “Will you wait?” she added suspiciously. “Or is this a trick to be rid of me so that you can challenge Terry to a duel?”

  His smile turned into a frown, because of course he considered her words a slight upon his character. “Of course I will wait,” he said. “And I have no intention of challenging your brother to a duel. I am a crack shot and he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Unless you fired into the air.”

  “If I did that he’d probably aim at my heart.”

  “I’m relieved to hear you have one.”

  “Have one what?”

  “A heart.”

  “Eugenie, go and tidy yourself,” he said irritably. “You are frightening the horses.”

  Hardly the words of a gentleman, let alone a duke, she thought crossly. It was only when she reached the room she was directed to and looked into the mirror that she understood what he meant.

  Her hair was dull from dust and riotous from the rain, making her wild curls even more irrepressible. There was a dusty smudge on her chin and her dress was wrinkled and creased, with mud dried in patches on the skirt from her ride to Somerton with Jack, and the hastily eaten bread and butter had caused greasy stains.

  With the help of warm water and soap she quickly set herself to rights, grimacing as she dragged her comb through her hair. When she was clean and neat again, she went downstairs and found Sinclair in a private parlor with his boots on the hearth before a roaring fire and a tankard of the inn’s best ale in his hand. He looked up at her, quirking his eyebrows.

  “Ah, I see you have put the hoyden to flight.”

  Eugenie could see that Sinclair had taken the time to tidy up, too—his boots were shiny again and his dark blue coat had been brushed—but he seemed in a good mood and she didn’t want to spoil it by making a similar joke at h
is expense, no matter how sorely she was tempted.

  The table in the room was set with a platter of food and a jug of strong, hot coffee, to which she added cream and sugar, before sitting opposite Sinclair, and sipping greedily. The heat from the fire was just as delicious and she felt it seeping into her tired bones. Once she’d set aside her empty cup she leaned her head back against the chair, suddenly very sleepy.

  Sinclair was dozing, she noticed with a smile, his mouth partly open as he softly snored, while a lock of his dark hair had fallen artistically across his brow.

  Anyone seeing him now wouldn’t believe him to be the most eligible man in England, she told herself, and yet somehow, to Eugenie, he still was. He always would be. The truth was she much preferred this man, human and fallible as he was, to the chilly and arrogant duke he displayed to the rest of the world.

  Eugenie yawned. She really was very, very tired.

  With a little wriggle of contentment, she closed her eyes and slept.

  Chapter 23

  She awoke to someone shaking her. Blinking, bleary-eyed, she looked up into Sinclair’s flushed and angry face.

  “You were asleep!” he roared accusingly.

  “W-what?”

  He was already striding from the room. “We won’t catch up with them before dark if we don’t hurry!”

  Eugenie stumbled after him, tripping on her hem. “But you were asleep . . .” she began, only to fall forward into his arms as he turned. He caught her, holding with his hands firmly about her slender waist. “ . . . too,” she finished hoarsely.

  For a moment he seemed to have nothing to say, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he looked into her upturned face. Then the passion between them sparked and flared into life. She saw the heat and longing in his dark eyes a moment before he swooped and took her mouth with his.