by Sara Bennett
Feeling naked and vulnerable, Sinclair became even more the arrogant duke. In this role, at least, he felt ironclad.
“Miss Belmont, what do you think you are doing?”
She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled, as if she’d forgotten he was here. “His name is Georgie and he has no one, Your Grace. His family are all dead and he has been left here in the hope that someone will take him in. They give him some work, but he sleeps in the barn and makes do with scraps of food.”
If he wasn’t so agitated, Sinclair might have retorted that this sounded like a melodrama. But such cruel things did happen in his England, and he could see that Eugenie was deeply affected by the child’s predicament.
He searched her face and tried not to groan. A look of determination had firmed her chin, giving it a defiant tilt, and she didn’t have to tell him what she was thinking. The child was in need and Eugenie was not one to abandon anyone or anything in need. Look at all the trouble she’d caused herself—and him—over her brother Terry! Sinclair knew that arguing with her would waste time and he really didn’t have time to waste.
“Bring him in and I’ll get the landlord to feed him,” he ordered brusquely, and turned his back on her, knowing that this time she would follow.
He could hear her murmuring encouragement to the boy.
An unbidden thought crept into his head. Eugenie would never refuse her own child the joy of painting because it was “not done.” She would love him for what he was and not what others might think of him.
Angrily he shook his head and told himself he had no time for such nonsensical notions. If Eugenie was in charge of the world then there would be complete anarchy! Besides, he had Annabelle to find and bring home. He needed to focus on his task and forget about Eugenie Belmont.
The suspicious-eyed landlord turned into an obsequious fellow when he discovered who Sinclair was, at the same time giving the child a frown as if he were a stray cur. He even waved a hand at the boy, as if to shoo him away. It was only when Sinclair announced he would pay for the boy’s food and lodgings that his manner changed.
“Poor little lad,” he said, patting the boy’s head. “But we can’t feed every orphan who comes along, can we? We have to make a living. You understand that, don’t you, sir?”
The child ducked away from the hand, not taken in by the landlord’s sudden change of manner.
“Perhaps you have some clothes that would fit him?” Eugenie gave the landlord a look there was no arguing with. “And some shoes. He cannot go about with bare feet in this weather.”
“He’s used to it,” the man muttered, and then made a hasty retreat as Eugenie’s eyes narrowed.
Sinclair began to remove his coat and hat, both sodden, while Eugenie settled the child down in a chair she’d drawn nearer to the fire before kneeling down once more, this time to inspect his feet. The boy didn’t object, just stared at her as if she was something completely unknown to him—a gentlewoman who cared about his predicament and was willing to do more than hand him a coin as she walked away.
Perhaps, Sinclair thought, the two of them were both coming to terms with the shocked realization. Eugenie had probably never seen a child like this, living all her life in the village apart from her stay at the finishing school, and the child had probably never known a respectable young woman who was willing to fight for him.
“You are as wet as he is,” Sinclair reminded her almost gently. “Take off your cloak at least, so it can be dried before we resume our journey.”
She began to fumble with the ties, but her fingers were too numb to manage the knot. Sinclair brushed her hands away, bending to unpick the tangle with a frown. He bent even lower, his voice quiet in her ear, the words for her alone.
“You cannot save every abandoned child.”
She looked up at him, her eyes clear green, her damp curls clinging to her temples and water dripping down her neck. “But I can save this one,” she replied, and she didn’t bother to whisper.
Sinclair finally released the ties and her cloak fell from her shoulders. Beneath it, Eugenie’s dress was wet, clinging to her body so that he could see the rounded shape of her breasts. He tried not to groan. A moment before he’d been in awe of her goodness and now he was lusting after her.
Clearly he was suffering from some kind of mental illness.
He busied himself laying her cloak out, in an effort to distract his disordered thoughts, while Eugenie went back to her inspection of the boy’s feet.
“Is he really a duke?” the child said with a note of cynicism that belonged to someone much older.
“Yes, he is.”
“What’s his name then?”
“He is the Duke of Somerton, but my brother Jack calls him Somerton.”
“Are you his duchess then?”
“No, I’m not,” Eugenie said, with a nervous glance in Sinclair’s direction he decided it best not to see.
“Are you his baggage then?”
A pause. Sinclair gave a bark of laughter. She probably didn’t know what a baggage was, or was he once more underestimating her?
“No, I’m not his—his baggage, either. We are just traveling together, Georgie.”
“A lot of ladies and gents travel this road, but most of ’em don’t stop here. Can’t blame ’em, really.”
Sinclair leaped at this information. “Have you seen any of the other travelers along this road, boy? Did a young man and a woman, a very pretty woman with dark hair, stop recently?”
The boy thought a moment. “Might o’ done,” he said cautiously. “This morning, early. Stopped for a bit. The lady said she felt sick.”
“This morning,” Sinclair repeated, relieved.
“They didn’t stay on the highway though,” Georgie went on, scratching his hair in a way Sinclair was sure meant he had fleas. Or worse. “They took the road up ahead that runs through the forest.”
“Why would they do that?” Eugenie asked, looking between the two of them.
“They must know we’re close after all,” Sinclair replied. “Perhaps we’d be better riding the horses rather than waiting for the coach. We can move more freely then if we have to travel on narrow roads and lanes. They won’t be expecting us to do that. We can catch them up.”
“They was arguing,” Georgie said, his eyes sliding away in a manner Sinclair could not help but think was suspiciously sly. “Havin’ a real barney, they was.”
“Arguing? Arguing about what?”
The urchin shrugged one shoulder. “Dunno. The lady said something about wishin’ she’d never trusted him to do it right, and why couldn’t he have found a coach that didn’t rock about so.”
“I knew this was your brother’s fault,” Sinclair growled. “He has forced this upon my sister.”
Eugenie glared. “If anyone is to blame then it is you, Sinclair! If you had not tried to force your sister into a marriage she did not want then my brother would not have been obliged to rescue her! Surely you know that young girls look to marry for love in these modern times? Even our queen has married for love.”
His lip curled. “You are showing your lack of breeding again, Eugenie. My sister’s situation is very different from your imaginings. She is not a poor put-upon heroine. Lucius does love her and if she would give herself a chance, she would soon return his affection. They are perfectly suited in every way.”
“Oh? Then why has she eloped with my brother?”
He leaned closer, his manner almost threatening. “Do I really need to tell you why? Because he inveigled her into it, telling her lies and persuading her against her better judgment. She is young, impulsive, and he played on that. She is also rich. Are you saying that had nothing to do with it? Your family have a reputation for getting hold of money in any way they can. It wouldn’t surprise me if your father didn’t plan the whole thing.”
Eugenie looked furious enough to slap his face again, but before she could do anything a small figure wriggled between them and gave Sinclair a hard shove.
“Hey, mister duke, you leave her alone!”
Surprised, Sinclair looked down into Georgie’s angry face. The boy had his fists clenched, as if he was prepared to do battle for his benefactress. For a child with such a delicate form, he was full of courage. Sinclair felt inclined to laugh. Knowing that would make Georgie even angrier, he settled his face into a sober mask. “I wouldn’t hurt her,” he said in a mild voice, “no matter how infuriating she is.”
“I’m not infuriating,” Eugenie said, more mildly. “At least no more than you.”
“I have never offered you any violence.”
She flushed at his reminder of her own behavior. “It was a very light slap.”
“Did you slap the duke then?” Georgie butted in, eyes wide with admiration.
“She did,” said Sinclair. “What do you think of her now?”
Georgie considered for a moment. “I think you must have deserved it.”
Eugenie bit her lip, but her eyes were dancing.
Sinclair raised his eyebrows at her. “It seems you have a champion.”
“Yes, it does.” She smiled at Georgie.
Sinclair found himself wishing she’d smile at him like that, and then it occurred to him that he, a duke, was jealous of an urchin.
Could the day get any worse?
Chapter 25
The landlord came bearing food and drink, and announced that their bags had been taken to a room upstairs. Eugenie was relieved when Sinclair suggested she make use of it first. Georgie watched her go with an appearance of unease, but she assured him that the duke would not harm him and despite appearances was really quite nice. As she closed the door she saw Sinclair’s expression at being described in such a way, and it made her giggle to herself as she climbed the stairs.
Sinclair was certainly not used to the treatment he was receiving from Georgie. Although perhaps it would do him good. He was too used to getting his own way and being fawned upon. Such deference couldn’t be good for him—well, not all the time.
Her smile faded when she opened her carpetbag. There was only her pink dress left to change into, and that was none too clean. But at least, she comforted herself, it was dry, so she made the best of it. The room looked as if it was used as a storeroom, with boxes stacked against the walls and the window filthy with disuse. As Georgie had hinted, this was clearly not a place where people stayed for long, and she was glad to return downstairs.
She paused outside the parlor. It was very quiet. With a feeling of growing concern she cracked open the door to see what was happening. Had Sinclair tied Georgie up and gagged him? Or were they glaring at each other warily, like two dogs with one bone, as they had been when she left?
But the scene before her was actually very domestic.
Sinclair was sitting at the table, busy putting himself on the outside of a plate of stew and potatoes, while Georgie was seated opposite him, just finishing his helping. He set down his spoon and eyed the serving dish longingly.
“More, brat?” Sinclair said, before Eugenie could utter a word. He reached over and spooned more stew into the boy’s bowl and then added a huge serving of the mashed potatoes. “Enough?” he asked dryly.
Georgie nodded happily and applied himself to the meal.
Only then did Sinclair look up and see Eugenie watching them from the doorway. A flush colored his lean cheeks and he looked almost shamefaced, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Being kind to an urchin, she supposed, wasn’t the done thing for a duke, although he would probably be more than happy to hand out a few coins. Close contact with the masses, that was something Sinclair wasn’t used to, but in Eugenie’s opinion it was very good for him.
“You’ll make the child ill,” she said mildly, making her way across the room, to where her cloak lay spread out before the fire. To her relief it was almost dry, the woolen cloth steaming.
“Impossible,” Sinclair retorted. “He has the stomach of a grown man.”
She was surprised to hear Georgie chuckle in response. Evidently while she’d been away upstairs the two of them had formed some strange sort of masculine bonding.
Eugenie joined them at the table and spooned some of the food onto her own plate.
“Our host found Georgie some clothes and a pair of boots. They look rather large but he can always stuff the toes with cloth,” Sinclair went on blithely, as if he discussed such things every day. He gestured to a pile of clothing and the boots, which had been placed on the sideboard.
“The duke used to stuff his boots when he went to boarding school ’cause they was too big for him,” Georgie explained, his mouth full of potato.
“Did he?” Eugenie gave Sinclair a puzzled look. “Didn’t you mention to your mother or your father that they were too big?”
“My parents were away somewhere or other on the Continent when I was sent off to my first public school. I was seven. I suppose I could have written a letter to them but by the time they received it and sent me new boots I would have grown into the old ones.”
He sounded matter-of-fact but to Eugenie, who’d been hemmed about with her family most of her life, his childhood appeared lonely and bizarre. It gave her an entirely new slant on his character. Who would have thought she could ever feel sorry for the Duke of Somerton?
They ate in silence.
“Will you be happy to stay here, do you think?” Eugenie asked brightly, smiling determinedly at Georgie.
The boy gave her a sideways look. “Dunno.”
“You will have work and food and a warm place to sleep,” she reminded him.
“Paid for with my blunt,” Sinclair added dryly.
“He won’t keep me after you’re gone,” the boy said with the certainty of the old at heart. “He’ll pocket the blunt and send me off down the highway. Probably make me give back the boots, too.”
Eugenie gave a gasp. “Oh no, we won’t let him, Georgie!”
“Once you’re gone how will you know?” Georgie replied calmly.
“I’ll see about that,” Sinclair declared angrily, rising to his feet, but Eugenie put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“He’s right. How will we know? And how can you force the landlord to do what you want?” she said. “You cannot be keeping an eye on him after we’ve gone.” Her eyes widened, a glint in them he knew well. “Sinclair! There’s only one thing to be done. We’ll have to take Georgie with us.”
“Definitely not,” Sinclair said in his chilliest voice. “I knew this would happen, Eugenie. I knew you would want to take the child with us, and I utterly refuse. We are not taking Georgie and that is final.”
The rain had stopped, although it was still overcast and cool for the time of year, but English weather was never to be relied on. The road through the woods was gloomy, rather like one of those horrible children’s fairy tales Eugenie read to her younger brothers—the more horrible the better they liked them. Stories full of trolls and wolves and wicked witches. When a bird flew up from the bushes with a shriek, she jumped, and Georgie’s arms tightened about her.
“All right?” She glanced back at him and smiled.
He nodded, but she noticed his eyes were flickering nervously about them and every now and then he’d give a shiver, despite his new warm coat.
“The duke will look after us,” she tried to reassure him. And herself. “You do like him, don’t you, Georgie? He has been kind to you?”
Georgie’s gaze turned sly. “He’s only doing it because he wants to please you, miss.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s sweet on you, miss.”
Eugenie tried to think of something to say but Georgie’s cheeky grin was unsqua
shable. In the end she shook her head at him and turned again to face Sinclair’s back, her face fiery and no doubt her freckles standing out.
It was a ridiculous suggestion.
She would rather have said Sinclair was cross with her. He certainly hadn’t been very happy when she insisted on bringing Georgie with them, but eventually he’d given way to her on the condition that once somewhere suitable was found they would leave Georgie behind. Of course Eugenie and Sinclair had different opinions of what “somewhere suitable” might look like.
She considered the duke as they rode. His bark really was worse than his bite. That gruff manner he affected when he was actually being kind, and the haughtiness that hid his uncertainties about himself. It was as if he believed his generosity was a weakness to be hidden. She felt as if she was beginning to know him rather well. Strange to think they had been so intimate, that she had touched him and kissed him and . . . well, she knew things about him she’d never tell—and yet it was only now that she felt she understood the way he felt and thought.
At first Sinclair didn’t see the men. They were up ahead, lurking in the shadows of the dripping trees. Waiting, as he later found out, for him. It was only as Sinclair and Eugenie drew closer that the two men rode out of the forest, hard-eyed, roughly dressed, and placed themselves directly in front of the little party. Blocking their path through the woods.
Every instinct warned Sinclair they were dangerous.
If he’d been on his own he would have ridden straight at them. Usually that ensured that anything in his way soon moved out of it. But there was Eugenie to consider and there was no way he could leave her to the mercies of these bandits—he knew instantly that was what they were. Thieves, ruffians, lawless highwaymen. No, he would have to stay and bluff his way out of trouble. As a duke he was used to being obeyed, and most people were used to obeying him. It came in handy.
“You are in our way,” he said loudly. “Move aside.”
They didn’t answer, their eyes watchful and wary.
Time to show these ruffians who was in charge, he thought grimly. Reaching into his saddlebag, Sinclair expected to place his hand on his pistol, which he’d placed in there during their stay at the tavern.