One-Eyed Dukes Are Wild

by Megan Frampton

  Except her and him.

  She glanced to her left, where he was standing, just slightly behind her as though he were a menacing shadow. He was following her reminder not to speak, no matter what was said, since his speech would reveal that he was far more than just protection. She was able to modulate her accent so as to seem more like them, even if they could still tell she was different. She didn’t think he would be able to do the same. Not that she’d asked him; perhaps he was a remarkable mimic, but now was not the time to test that.

  His eye was flickering back and forth between her and the lady, and his hands were crossed over his chest, with one hand tucked into his jacket. She knew, since she’d seen it, that he had a pistol in there. It frightened her to think that perhaps a pistol was necessary, but she didn’t argue. Because it might be necessary.

  She couldn’t yet go speak to anybody in authority about the situation, since she didn’t know if there was a situation, and she was only one scandalous woman. He could have done something, certainly, but she didn’t want him to become connected to all this since their activities together—the nefarious ones and the farious ones, not that that was a word—would come to light, and he did not deserve that result, not when they’d gone to such lengths to keep their acquaintanceship quiet.

  “Acquaintanceship” was definitely too mild a word for what they had, but her brain shied away from naming what it truly was.

  “Let us go there, then, and speak to whomever seems to be in charge.” She spoke decisively, as though she absolutely believed in what she was saying, even though she had no such confidence.

  This was more than just rescuing some downtrodden or worse women—this was challenging a group of men, men who were no doubt pushed to their limits.

  He grabbed her arm as she began to walk. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he said in a low voice. “If you are hurt . . .” He paused, and she saw his throat work.

  “It will be fine. I have my fearsome protector, don’t I?” She patted his hand. “Come along and look frightening. You do that so well.”

  He opened his mouth as though to argue, settling for some sort of unintelligible growl before running his hand through his hair.

  Good, things were nearly normal. She could do what she had to.

  Georgiana and the Dragon

  By A Lady of Mystery

  Georgiana stared down at the naked former dragon, not sure what to do.

  How did one rouse a naked former dragon? Should one even try?

  Thankfully, he groaned and rolled over, but then Georgiana remembered he was naked, and now he was on his back, and she shouldn’t be looking, only she was.

  He opened his eyes as she felt her cheeks start to burn. She turned her head to stare somewhere other than at the supine naked man.

  “What happened?” His voice was rough, probably because he’d just been a dragon and still had smoke in his throat.

  “The princess changed you, and then she left,” Georgiana replied.

  He glanced down, his eyes widening in surprise. “I didn’t think this could happen.” He frowned as though puzzled.

  “Do you mean—do you mean you weren’t a human being before?” That would explain why he wasn’t very concerned about his nudity.

  He shook his head. “Not precisely. I’ve always preferred being a dragon. This is a big change.” He glanced up at her. “You’ll have to help me learn.”

  Chapter 23

  Lasham walked after her, the stubborn woman, wanting to clench his jaw and drag her back to his carriage, but knowing she would not accept that. And he couldn’t let her do this on her own.

  The woman who was guiding them to their destination seemed to have discovered a friend in Margaret, since she was chattering to her about all sorts of things, most of which Lasham didn’t understand. He heard mention of daily work, scuttles, darning, and tea being dear. Margaret, however, seemed to comprehend entirely, and respond appropriately. He knew if he were speaking to the woman, not only would he not understand, but he would likely reply in some poor way.

  He was usually grateful for his position, but even more so when he realized that he didn’t have to work to make himself understood. That was other nondukely people’s jobs.

  Meanwhile, they were heading for what sounded as though it might be a difficult situation, so he couldn’t be thinking about how his communication skills were lacking.

  He touched the handle of the pistol in his pocket. It was both reassuring and terrifying that he had it. He certainly did not want to have to reveal it, much less come close to using it.

  Despite what the gossip might say, he had never used a pistol to defend or attack anyone. He didn’t want to start now.

  “Here we are,” the woman announced, pointing to a plain wooden door with a weather-beaten sign hanging overhead. “And if you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll leave you here. My girls should be getting home soon, and I have to get supper ready.”

  Margaret nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Sally. I will be returning to find out how you and the girls are doing. Do go see Miss Carolyn at the Quality Employment Agency, as I suggested. She has work for women such as you and your girls.”

  The woman nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, I will.” She glanced at Lasham, but averted her gaze quickly when she caught his eye.

  He was both pleased and annoyed that he continued to frighten anybody who saw him.

  But he didn’t have time to ponder that, since Margaret was already pushing the door open and walking inside. He followed after her, hoping he wouldn’t be called upon to do more than look scary.

  “Goodness, it is dark in here,” Margaret said over her shoulder.

  It was. It was also redolent with smoke, and burning coal, and what was probably years of dust. Lasham’s vision cleared, and he saw the long wooden bar to the left, with an assortment of mismatched tables and chairs taking up the floor. A group of men were seated to the right and back of the room, while only a few of the other tables were occupied. Margaret nodded at the barkeep, whose mouth was agape, likely at having someone that looked like them walk into his establishment, then she proceeded to where the men were seated, Lasham close behind.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she approached. All of the men looked up, their faces registering varying degrees of surprise, which increased as they saw who was coming toward them.

  One man, of course the largest of the group, rose, a belligerent expression on his face. Wonderful, Lasham thought, reaching inside his pocket again to touch the pistol.

  “What do you want, lady?”

  Margaret did not appear daunted by the man’s general appearance, which both frustrated and impressed Lasham. Did nothing intimidate her? Not wandering into dark rooms with grouchy dukes she didn’t know were dukes, or facing ladies intent on art viewing, or challenging large and possibly revolutionary men?

  She was remarkable.

  “I would like to speak to you gentlemen about your activities here.”

  The man folded his arms over his chest, making him look even more impressive. Lasham took note of that, thinking he might try it one day himself. As though he might ever need to look more impressive.

  “What activities? Ain’t nowt wrong with us being here, is there?”

  Margaret shook her head in what appeared to be a conciliatory manner. “Of course not. It is just that I concern myself with some of the women who live in this area, and they have mentioned that you gentlemen might not realize just how you appear to these women. I wanted to ask you to behave like gentlemen around them.”

  “Who’s saying we ain’t been gentlemen?” Another man, this one smaller than the first, but with a more pugnacious expression. Lasham stepped forward so his legs brushed against Margaret’s skirts, trying to keep his expression neutral and yet also still intimidating.

  “Nobody. That is, a few of the women are concerned for their daughters. If I could ask you to be cautious. You don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention, do
you?” she said, making a quick gesture behind her toward Lasham.

  Wonderful again, he thought. Now she was using him as a potential cudgel. He hoped he wouldn’t have to be an actual cudgel.

  The smaller man nodded, glancing at the other man, whose arms were still crossed over his chest. “We don’t want that attention, do we? We have plenty to do here. If those lords hear of it before we’re ready . . .” He paused.

  Oh, so what they were engaged in was something he and his world would want to know about. Probably one of the things Meecham was always discussing. And if they knew who he was, they would be very much displeased. He would definitely be keeping his mouth shut, no matter what happened.

  The larger man didn’t seem convinced. He walked to stand just in front of Margaret, not even bothering to look at Lasham. “What business is it of yours how we act here?” His expression hardened as he looked her up and down. This was not good.

  Margaret shrugged. “It is my business as someone who is female, and who has interest in the women who live in this neighborhood, and others like them. That is all. If it seems as though I have interest outside of that concern, let me reassure you that I do not. I simply want these ladies to feel safe where they live. And many of them work, which helps their husbands feel more secure and perhaps able to think outside of their next wage. That is what you need, isn’t it, for your plans?”

  She tilted her head to the man and put her hands on her hips, waiting for his reply.

  His eyes narrowed as he thought. Behind him, the men were urging him to relax, and sit down, and not to make more of a fuss than was needed.

  Lasham’s fingers were on the pistol.

  The man gave a quick nod, then turned and sat back in his chair. “We’ll be cautious, like you said, lady,” he said in a grudging tone.

  “Excellent,” Margaret replied. “Thank you.”

  She turned to walk away, and Lasham could see she was shaking. Hopefully the men wouldn’t have noticed it.

  He took her elbow and walked her through the pub, holding his breath until they had made it outside.

  He glanced down the street to where he’d told his coachman to wait with the carriage. It was still there, with only a few people gawking at it. Hopefully they could return without being noticed.

  How had she thought this made sense at all? It was one thing to go help able-bodied women to find work, but another thing entirely to confront a group of men clearly bent on societal disruption with a plea to treat the women in their immediate area properly.

  A conversation he would be having with her as soon as they were in his carriage.

  She could tell he wasn’t happy. Mostly because she wasn’t happy, either; she had assumed she could just go in and take care of things, as she always had, but this situation was substantially different from what she had ever done before.

  He walked beside her, quickly, and she had to trot to keep up with him. She knew that the sooner they were out of there, the better, but she also suspected he was just—angry, and walking quickly was an outward result of that anger. But was he angry with her, or just upset about what they had just gone through?

  The coachman leaped down to open the door for them, shooing a few gawking children away, and Margaret sat, finally feeling as though she could breathe properly.

  He sat opposite her, not beside her, and her heart sank. He was upset with her. A fact that was eminently obvious when he spoke.

  “What did you think you were doing back there?” He raised his gaze upward, exhaling as he did so. “Did you even think through what you were doing? What you had gotten me into?”

  An answering anger flowed through her, and she spoke before she even thought about it. “You don’t have to be into this, as you say. I can do it on my own.” Even though she knew he was right—she’d had no idea what she was doing, and she was definitely in over her head.

  But she was too angry to admit that to him.

  “Do it on your own?” He leaned forward. “Do you even think that is a possibility, now I see what foolhardy behavior you are capable of? To go into a place like that, being who you are, and to tell those rabble-rousers how to behave?” He shook his head. “I understand why you started doing what you do, but this—this is beyond what you should be doing.”

  Her anger unfurled. “What I should be doing?” Even as she spoke, she knew she was wrong, at least partially, but she couldn’t stop. Not when she’d been forced into situations because of her gender. “Helping these women out is more than just finding them positions so they can keep their husbands in beer. It is about giving them a sense of purpose, of safety, of—”

  He cut her off before she could continue. “I know that. You’ve explained it. I believe in it as well. I just cannot have you in danger, Margaret.” His voice was rough, nearly breaking, and she felt as though her heart turned over in her chest.

  “I know.” She leaned forward as well, putting her hand on his knee. He immediately curled his fingers over hers, gripping them tightly. “I—I did not think it through, entirely.”

  “At all,” he said.

  She bristled, but had to admit he was right. “At all. I—you just don’t know what it means to be as helpless as some of those women are.” She looked away, blinking as she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “If I were not willing to be a scandal, I would have ended up like one of them. Dressed in more elegant gowns, but still subject to a man’s whims, dependent on his fortune to keep me fed and housed.”

  She looked back at him, fierce desperation coloring her speech. “Those women deserve as much of a chance to—to cause a scandal, as I did,” she said, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, “if they want to, or be free of men who would control them, or to kiss a duke, if they feel like it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke so sincerely she couldn’t help but believe him, but—

  “Sorry for what?”

  He grimaced and resumed looking to the ceiling of the carriage again. “I’m sorry that you feel under so much pressure to right the wrongs done to you and to other women in your situation. I’m sorry that that problem exists, that we—people like me, in my position—haven’t done enough to fix it.” He shook his head, as though trying to figure out what to say. “You don’t have to do this alone, though. That is,” he added, looking rueful, “you’re not, and I am sorry I even suggested that you should. I want to help you in this so you can continue to refuse to marry unpleasant men and kiss the occasional duke. Hopefully me,” he said with a smirk that told her he knew she would not wish to kiss any other duke.

  And she didn’t. What was more, she didn’t want to kiss any other man, ever, and wasn’t that a depressing thought?

  Because, damn it, she’d fallen in love with him. And she’d sworn she wouldn’t get too involved, had promised him as much, and yet here she was, absolutely in love with him.

  She was disgusted with herself.

  Something of her thoughts must have changed her expression, since he was now looking anxiously at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Should I have not made light of kissing a duke?”

  He was so adorable. Not something one would normally say about a very large, very tall, occasionally frightening-looking aristocrat with only one eye, but then again, none of this was normal, so she supposed thinking he was adorable was now the norm.

  As well as the norm that she was now in love with the Absolutely Unattainable, Not to Be Wanted Anyway, Piratical and Awkward Duke.

  She was very glad she was not writing the story of her life, because she had no idea how to continue it.

  But she could write the next few hours, couldn’t she?

  “Are you up for another adventure?” she asked.

  He looked at her warily. “As long as it’s nothing involving rabble-rousing men in dusty pubs. I’ve had enough of that kind of adventure.”

  She laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. Can you tell your coachman to head toward Cremorne Gardens?”

&n
bsp; Lash rapped on the roof and the coach slowed. When it stopped, he opened the door and told his coachman where to go; thankfully, the man seemed to know where it was, since Lash himself had no idea.

  He settled back inside and nodded to her. “On our way. A garden, you say?”

  “Much more than that,” she replied. “It’s got restaurants, and balloon ascents, and dancing pavilions. It will be too early for dancing, but we can wander about for a bit, perhaps find something to eat, like oysters or an eel pie.” Her eyes sparkled in delight, and he found himself smiling in response, even though he most definitely did not want an eel pie.

  “It sounds enjoyable,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from being stiff.

  “It is, Gernie,” she said, her face alight with anticipation.

  Georgiana and the Dragon

  By A Lady of Mystery

  Georgiana hadn’t the faintest idea how to teach a man to be a man, much less teach a naked man how to join the world without causing comment.

  “Here,” she said, taking her cloak off and draping it over him. “The first thing we need to do is get you clothed. Dragons can go about with nothing on, but people frown on men doing so.”

  He sat up and drew the cloak around his body, thankfully covering some of the more . . . human parts.

  “And next we should go back home, to my house.” She swallowed as she thought of what her father and sisters would say. But the alternative—leaving him here—wasn’t an option. “We can get you more clothed, and possibly fed, and then figure out what to do.”

  He nodded as he rose. “Lead on, not a princess.”

  Chapter 24

  If there was anything more fun than watching the duke wander about bemusedly at a pleasure garden, Margaret didn’t know what that was.

  Well, she did know, but at least this they could do in public.

  “And that is where people go to dance?” he said, pointing to one of the raised stages in the open area of the gardens. “Outside and everything?”