Stealing the Duke's Heart

by Shana Galen

  He followed her into the grotto, sitting beside her when she situated herself on the bench. The waterfall behind them was small enough that they didn’t have to raise their voices to be heard, but it would muffle their words and keep sound from carrying.

  Kate turned to him as soon as he sat. “Do you know how close to death you are?”

  “Can’t you ever begin a conversation in the usual fashion? Hello, Henry. How are you? How are your parents? What do you think of this lovely summer weather?”

  “I don’t care about the weather or your parents. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.” She carried a small white reticule with gold braided tassels, and now she reached inside and caught hold of the hilt of a knife. Henry doubted this one would retract upon impact.

  “Don’t be so hasty.” He clamped a hand on her wrist and held it tightly, keeping her from withdrawing the knife from the bag. “I think you owe me an explanation. I didn’t betray your trust. I did just as I said I would.”

  “You hired more pigs. The place is crawling with constables, watchmen, and Runners.”

  “Not that it stopped you. You must have made a nice profit in the quarter hour I saw you.”

  “I could have made twenty times that if half my cubs hadn’t been caught and tossed in the stone doublet for a fortnight.”

  Prison. Her gang was short on members, and that was why she was picking pockets herself. “Then you didn’t take my advice.”

  “What advice?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  “The advice I included in the letters I sent.”

  Her hand, so tense and stiff, relaxed slightly. “What letters?”

  With the immediate danger to his life slightly less, he couldn’t help but lower his gaze to the curve of her bare shoulder. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. It looked soft and sleek, and if her small wrist in his hand was any indication, it was all of that and more.

  “My eyes are up here, Lord Bexley.”

  He looked into her dark eyes, which weren’t quite so hard as before. “Forgive me. I’d forgotten how pretty you are.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The hair, the cosmetics, the dress—it’s all an illusion meant to distract foolish men like you.”

  “I was not looking at your hair or your cosmetics. I like your real hair much better than that profusion of curls, and you certainly don’t need cosmetics. Your skin is already perfect.”

  “If you think flattery will save you—”

  “You know me better than that, Kate.”

  She closed her mouth, and he thanked God she really did know he was not one for false compliments. But he was having a very hard time not sliding his gaze to her cleavage. The way her breasts pushed against the material of the gown made him wonder if she wore any undergarments beneath it.

  “We were speaking of letters,” she said. “I never received any letters.”

  “Are you still at The Griffin and the Unicorn?”

  “I can be reached there,” she said with a note of caution that he admired.

  “I sent the letters there, addressed to His Grace, the Duke of V.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t receive them.” Then, to his surprise, she looked away. “I didn’t expect you to send a letter.”

  “How did you think I would communicate?”

  “I...” She bit her lip. “I made a mistake.” She looked back at him, her eyes hard again. “I admit it.”

  “I very much doubt it happens often,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re still alive. After all these years, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  Her gaze met his, the warm brown eyes the same as he remembered all those years ago. He couldn’t help but look at her mouth and remember the kisses they’d shared then. They’d been little more than children and the kisses quite innocent, but he’d never forgotten the feel of her soft lips and the press of her sweet mouth against his. He wondered if she felt the same, and as if in response, she lifted her arm and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, cupping it. He didn’t resist, and his mouth slowly lowered to hers.

  “Duke, there’s someone coming.” The hissed words were like ice sliding between them. Kate released him.

  Her eyes had turned hard again. “One of your constables?”

  Henry blew out a breath. And he had thought he was overly cautious. “No one knows I’m with you except the two men out there with your man. It’s probably just stragglers from the ball.”

  “He wouldn’t have called out if it was only revelers.” She grasped Henry’s arm and pulled him back into the shadows. To Henry’s surprise, the grotto extended farther back than he’d expected. The passage became dark and narrow, but there was enough room for the two of them if they pressed together.

  That was when Henry knew Kate was not wearing any stays under her gown. He doubted she even wore a chemise. The stone around them was cold, and he could feel the hard points of her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her costume.

  “You’re enjoying this,” she said. Tangled together as they were, he could not hide his arousal.

  “Pure physical response,” he said. “I can’t control it.”

  “Does this happen every time you’re near a woman?”

  “No.” In fact, he was usually much better at controlling his body and his desires. “But I admit I have been remembering kissing you since I first realized who you are.”

  “I’ve thought of those kisses too.” Her low voice seemed to brush over him like velvet. He slid, his hands over her hips to envelope her and pull her closer.

  “Probably safer if we only remember them.”

  “Sometimes I don’t like to play safe.” Her arms went around his neck, and her soft breasts pressed against his chest.

  “Kiss me,” he said, the words half demand, half plea. He would have kissed her, but he hadn’t forgotten the knife in her reticule, and he didn’t want to end the night with a dagger protruding from his neck.

  She pulled him closer and, rising on tiptoe, locked her mouth with his.

  Chapter Four

  THE KISS WAS EVERYTHING she’d hoped and more. She brushed her mouth over his, and that seemed all he needed to respond wholeheartedly. His mouth slid over hers in a way both familiar and novel. His lips were smooth and skilled, his mouth teasing her with sensual promises. She remembered the thrill of his tongue touching hers when they’d been young and in love. Now when she opened her mouth and his tongue invaded, everything was the same and also wonderfully different. He’d kissed other women, and quite a few, that much was clear. He knew what to do to make her hand fist in his hair and a sigh followed by a low moan escape her lips.

  But she had kissed her share of men. None had ever kissed her this tenderly, but she was not wholly without ammunition. And she wanted to slay him. She wanted him to feel as dizzy and hot and needy as she did.

  And so she met his tongue thrust for thrust, deepening the kiss, moving closer, taking all he had and giving it right back. His hands tightened on her waist, and he pushed her back against the cold, hard rock. His leg parted her thighs, and she felt the warmth of his knee between her legs. Given another minute, she might have been carried away enough to press back against his knee and relieve some of the tension coiling in her sex. Instead, she drew back and slowly broke the kiss.

  She was the Duke of Vauxhall first and Kate Dunn second. The kiss had been for Kate—a momentary lapse of judgment. Now the duke was back, and she had business.

  “Kate,” Henry whispered, his voice ragged and so full of heat it almost undid her. Instead of drawing him back to her, as she wanted, she pushed him and stepped away from the rough wall.

  “Nice to know my memories were accurate,” she said.

  He gave a short laugh. “Mine were sorely lacking.” He pulled her back into his arms. “Kiss me again. I can’t get enough of you.”

  She put a hand on his chest, and that was all it took. His hands dropped,
and he stepped back. She was momentarily stunned at how easily he had acquiesced to her wishes, but then she did not surround herself with men who knew anything about respecting women. Henry’s father had never been anything but respectful of his wife, and he’d taught Henry to be the same. It was the reason Henry had never done more than kiss Kate, though he’d been older and could have easily taken advantage of her. Henry might have wanted to touch her budding breasts or feel under her skirts, but he’d always kept his hands firmly on her shoulders when they’d kissed.

  She gave a brief whistle, imitating the sound of an owl. A moment later, she had her reply. The unwelcome guests had moved on. Kate scooted along the wall of the grotto until a beam of light once again penetrated the darkness. She did not go out into the open. She didn’t want Red to see much more than a glimpse of her so he would know she was well.

  “You said something about letters,” she said to Henry when she had her breath back.

  He moved closer to the light as well, and in the semidark, she saw him nod. “I suppose most of your gang can’t read.”

  “A few can, and if they’d known to look for letters, they would have brought any that came to me. As it is, your notes were probably used to wipe someone’s arse.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Tell me what they said.”

  “They said I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m assuming the proposition was not that you would retire as Prinny’s lackey and withdraw the additional constables.”

  “The security measures are inevitable, Kate, whether you deal with me or another man.”

  “I think you forget how persuasive I can be.”

  He gave her a wry look. “You can’t kill us all, and with that in mind, I suggest you join us.”

  Her hand was around the knife hilt again before she could stop herself. “I should have killed you at The Griffin and the Unicorn.”

  He held up a hand. “Far too messy.”

  “Not as messy as trying to hide a body in Vauxhall Gardens.”

  “Before you make any unfortunate decisions, hear me out. I promised a solution that is mutually beneficial. I need servers and lodgings. I could use your men to serve guests at the forthcoming events, and I would happily recommend The Griffin and the Unicorn as the prince’s choice lodgings in Lambeth.”

  “The prince has never been to The Griffin and the Unicorn.”

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s the association with his name that matters.”

  “And why would I give you men to serve wine and thinly sliced ham to rich nobs? How does that benefit me?”

  “You want blunt. That’s why you’re picking pockets. I’ll pay you.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Honest work? I’ve tried it and I nearly starved. I can make more begging on the street.” She had heard enough. She started away, too disgusted to even gut him as she should.

  “I’ll pay your men fairly, and what they lose in profits as servers, you will make up with the crowds I’ll send to The Griffin and the Unicorn.”

  Kate paused. “Crowds?”

  “The Griffin and the Unicorn makes a convenient flash ken for your gang, but did you ever think about legitimizing it? The location is ideal. You could fill the public room and all the bedchambers every night Vauxhall is open.”

  “That’s only three nights a week.”

  He spread his hands. “But you can make up for your losses on the other four days with the overflow of revelers during the prince’s celebration. Think about it, Kate. The inn has untapped potential.”

  She was thinking about it, and she was thinking she’d been a fool never to have considered taking this route before. Not assisting Henry with serving at the gardens—that was a losing proposition. Her cubs would end up causing trouble or forget not to pick pockets, and that would be the end of that. But managing an inn... She had enough people. They only needed direction. Vauxhall would close for several days after tonight. In that time, the inn could be made ready for dozens of guests and the public room rearranged to accommodate more guests as well.

  “You like the idea,” he said, his gaze on her face. She didn’t like that he could read her so easily, but then, she’d lowered her guard with him.

  “I’m thinking it over.”

  “Why don’t I give you an extra incentive?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because we’re old friends.”

  She raised one brow.

  He sighed. “Because I very much want you to consider suspending your criminal activities in Vauxhall until after the prince’s celebrations.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Lovely Kate,” he said with a conciliatory smile. “Charming Kate. I like how you consider all the different outcomes. For now, let’s focus on one. Will you consider my proposition?”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Good. Then factor this in as well. If you agree to it, I will do all I can to ensure The Griffin and the Unicorn is a success.”

  “That’s the incentive?”

  “Part of it. The other part is you will work closely with me.”

  She almost smiled. Instead, she crossed her arms. “How is that an incentive?”

  “Give me a chance, and I’ll show you,” he said. He might call her charming, but he was the charming one. She could hardly resist him.

  “Come to the inn tomorrow afternoon. We’ll discuss it further.”

  “Tomorrow? I—”

  She cut him off with a finger to his lips. She wasn’t wearing gloves—men were easily distracted by bare arms—and his mouth felt warm under her fingertip. “Lord Bexley, I am the Duke of Vauxhall. When I call, you come.” And damn his other plans. She wouldn’t be put off so he could sip tea at a garden party or some such nonsense.

  “I’ll be there.”

  She lifted her finger. “This had better not be a waste of my time.”

  “If it is, you can always slit my throat.”

  “I’d already planned to,” she said, turning away to hide her smile at the horrified look on his face. She wouldn’t slit his throat. She wanted him to kiss her again too much.

  But if he betrayed her, then even his persuasive lips would not save him. She’d do much worse than slit his throat.

  HENRY SOMETIMES WONDERED how he managed to get himself into these sorts of messes. He wondered that upon strolling into the public room of The Griffin and the Unicorn and facing three thugs with wicked daggers drawn.

  “Good day,” he said, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “I believe the duke is expecting me.”

  The blond he remembered from the first night when he’d been abducted lowered his knife. He didn’t sheathe it, but he pointed it toward Henry’s foot rather than his heart, which was somewhat reassuring. “I’ll see if the duke is ready for you,” he said.

  That left Henry alone with the other two thugs, who did not lower their knives or so much as offer him a seat. He stood, shifting uneasily, for what seemed quite a long time. But then the minutes did drag when one’s life was hanging in the balance.

  This was the first time Henry had been held at knifepoint by thugs (if he did not include the incident with Kate in her bedchamber), but not the first time he’d wished his life had taken a different path. No one had held a knife to his throat when he’d become a viscount, but they might as well have. He’d had about as much choice in that matter as he did with the actual blades before him. He’d never wanted the title or the responsibility. Henry had wanted to become a barrister. He’d gone to school and opened a little office with a school chum of his. The two of them had starved and frozen, but they’d begun to gain traction—mostly by taking the cases no one else wanted—when his father died.

  It seemed Henry had hardly recovered from that blow when his cousin was done in by the careless riding, and before Henry knew which end was up, people were addressing him as Lord Bexley and shoving him into Parliament. He was responsible for estates he had never seen,
tenants he had never met, and a fortune he had never anticipated. Though as to that fortune, the account books were so tangled and the entries so haphazard, he was not certain whether he was rich or in debt up to his eyebrows. There was much he could and should have been doing these past months. Instead, he’d been forced to call on the Prince Regent almost daily in order to convince the mercurial prince that adding to his plans or embellishing them was not truly in his or the country’s best interest.

  And now, on a day when the prince was likely still abed and suffering from the effects of too much indulgence, Henry was not at his desk, scratching his head over illegible ledgers, but standing in the public room of a shabby inn with knives pointed at his heart.

  Idly, he surveyed the room, noting small changes here and there that would enliven the place and make it look newer and more fashionable. Kate had never been one to notice fashion. As a girl, she hadn’t seemed to care about the latest dress styles or coiffures. Henry had always thought that was mostly because she could not afford the expense associated with the latest fashions. She had not been the sort to covet or whine about her misfortunes, so she’d simply ignored what was beyond her reach.

  Henry thought he could be of some use in suggesting minor changes to the inn—for example, doing away with the knife-wielding thugs who greeted patrons. That was if she was receptive to his suggestions. Which seemed unlikely, considering she had seen fit to make him wait the past quarter hour.

  Or perhaps she was busy with a previous engagement. She might have more hands to smash.

  Or a lover in her bed.

  Henry did not know where that thought came from, and he liked even less the reaction he felt. He wasn’t a jealous man, but then, Kate was different. She’d always been different. She was the only female he’d ever been friends with. The first girl he’d kissed. The first girl—the only female—he’d ever loved.

  But that was before. They’d been children. Now, he was Viscount Bexley and she was a criminal. Despite the kiss they’d shared—a kiss he thought about far more often than he should—their positions in Society made any relationship between them impossible.