My Dangerous Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  “Sir!”

  The guard’s distant holler reached them from beyond the ruined cottage. “We’ve got it open!”

  Rohan turned his head and yelled back absently, “I’ll be right there!” When he looked again at Kate, he found her soulful stare fixed on him.

  He reached out and caught a stray tear from her cheek on his knuckle. “I’ll be right back, all right?”

  She nodded bravely, but the vulnerability behind her feminine resolve turned him inside out. He tried nevertheless to lighten the somber mood with a mild jest. “Now, you take care of her for me,” he ordered, pointing at the horse.

  At this, the faintest trace of a grateful smile shone through her teary eyes.

  Pivoting, he marched off toward the work shed. “Parker! Mind your post here,” he called, gesturing at Kate as he stalked across the grounds.

  “And me, sir?” Wilkins asked from over by the simple country post-and-rail fence that hemmed the garden.

  “Keep looking for any sign of how this fire started. Just in case it was arson, whoever started the blaze might’ve left behind a trace.”

  “Aye, sir,” Wilkins said with a willing but skeptical salute.

  Rohan shrugged at him in answer. It was impossible to say for certain without a thorough investigation, but his instincts told him the fire had been accidental.

  Thatched-roof cottages like those throughout the countryside burnt down all the time—and that was with someone at home minding the candles and the fireplace.

  The hard truth of it was, though, they might never know. He dared not say it to Kate at the moment, but the chance to figure out how this fire had started was probably long past.

  He glanced back at her once more as Parker marched toward her. He knew the men had grown fond of her. Parker patted her on the shoulder as he joined her. She was still standing near the horse, with the blanket wrapped around her.

  Satisfied that she’d be all right for the moment, he arrived at the work shed, from which a lantern’s light now beamed.

  “Poor little mite,” Findlay remarked as Rohan stepped into Charley’s work shed. “How is she, sir?”

  “Ah, she’s tougher than you’d think. Wait here,” he added, glancing at them. “I’ll see to this.”

  He held up the whale-oil lantern and scanned the dusty space with its clutter of carpentry tools and garden implements, until he spotted the ladder that led up to the storage loft that Kate had mentioned.

  Crossing to it, he carried the lantern in one hand as he climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, stepping into the loft, he had to duck his head to fit under the slanted ceiling.

  Ahead, a large rectangular pile draped in burlap seemed to be stacked crates or something of the sort. He hung the lantern on a hook that he noticed sunk into a thick cobwebbed beam overhead. Then, dusting off his hands, he approached the pile and whisked the burlap covering away.

  He narrowed his eyes against the cloud of dust that puffed up from the mound of battered, but once-elegant leather luggage he had uncovered. The pink stitching and dainty proportions of the various portmanteaux and sea chests he had discovered certainly seemed to suggest the luggage had once belonged to a lady.

  Rohan flipped open the silver hasps on the first trunk atop the pile, then he lifted its barrel-topped lid and proceeded to search it. The contents had a musty smell: gowns, slippers, hair combs, gloves. An empty perfume bottle. An ivory-handled hairbrush and a matching hand mirror.

  He felt very strange sifting through the belongings of the Count DuMarin’s daughter. Never had anyone related to the Promethean Council seemed to him so much like an ordinary person.

  This realization only sharpened the guilt he carried with him at all times though all he had done was his duty.

  Nevertheless, it pained him to brood again on all the women and children in the periphery of this struggle who had been bereaved because of his excellent skill as an assassin.

  Beast.

  By God, the book he sought now might hold the answer to how he might break the Kilburn Curse, but when he thought of all the things he had done, he was not sure he deserved to break it. To be freed.

  Free to love.

  After all the blood he’d spilled, what made him think that he would ever deserve that? He wavered, anger and confusion pulsing through him. Taking a deep breath, he put all of Lady Gabrielle’s possessions back into the trunk and moved on to the next. This process was repeated several times until he reached the final piece of luggage at the bottom of the pile.

  He emptied its contents, piece by piece, then examined the base of the portmanteau with a frown. He pulled on a small strap he discovered tucked into the corner of the frame, and at once, a false bottom lifted away.

  Wrapped in a swaddling of unobtrusive brown cloth sat the same large book he had seen Lady Gabrielle DuMarin clutching to her all those years ago.

  His heart pounded as he moved the cloth away and stared at the strange symbols engraved on the aged leather cover, along with the title: Le Journal de L’Alchimiste.

  The Alchemist’s Journal.

  Wonder filled him as he opened the book and saw the writings of the very man who had cursed his family line. This was it, all right.

  He closed the book with a superstitious shudder. Anxious to get back to Kate, he did not linger. Quickly returning the rest of her mother’s things into the trunk, he closed it, then rebuilt the pile of luggage, hefting each piece back into place and covering the whole pile once more with the tarp.

  Carrying the book securely under one arm, he took the lantern off the hook, then climbed back down, rejoining his men below.

  The whole search had only taken him about twenty minutes. Given his line of work, after all, he was used to this sort of errand.

  Handing the lantern back to Mercer and Findlay, he ordered them to nail the broken door closed using the tools and extra boards near Charley’s workbench. He didn’t want anyone coming in and fooling with Lady Gabrielle’s possessions before he could send a wagon to come back and collect them all for Kate to keep somewhere.

  “When you’re through here, follow me. I want to get her back to the castle.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  He left them to their work. As he marched back across the garden, he spotted Wilkins. “Did you find anything?”

  “No, sir.” The guard shook his head glumly.

  “Very well, you and Parker can wait for those two. I’ll get started home with Kate.”

  “You found it!” she murmured warily, staring at the book under his arm as he strode toward her.

  He nodded. “Let’s look at it later.” He went past her and stored it safely in his saddlebag. “Feeling warmer?”

  “I suppose.” She shrugged. “I think I could develop a taste for whiskey.”

  Rohan and Parker exchanged a wry glance at her halfhearted attempt at a jest.

  “Come on. Up you go.” He lifted Kate up onto his hunter, then told Parker to stay behind with the others.

  “Aye, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Be careful goin’ back, sir.”

  “You do the same.”

  Parker saluted him, then marched off to see if Findlay and Mercer needed help.

  Rohan took hold of her horse’s reins and tethered the docile gelding to the back of his hunter’s saddle. Finally, he mounted up behind her, gathering her onto his lap.

  “Come, sweeting,” he whispered. “Let’s get you back to the castle.”

  “I missed you,” she mumbled, letting herself lean against him a bit.

  “I’m here now.” As he took up the reins, he could still feel her shivering, probably due as much to the shock she had received as to the cold. His own body heat would help to warm her now. Nevertheless, he was determined to get her back to his home, where he could care for her.

  Scanning the moonlit countryside, he saw no source of threat, but with Kate and The Alchemist’s Journal both in his possession, he knew he must stay on his guard now more than ev
er.

  No matter. He had been born for this.

  With fierce determination stamped across his countenance and one arm wrapped around Kate’s waist, securing her before him, he squeezed his horse’s sides with his calves and clucked to her gelding trailing behind them. They set out for Kilburn Castle with daylight already fading in the east.

  Chapter 13

  The ride back was cold and long and silent.

  The distance seemed so much farther now that her world at one end of the journey had ceased to exist. Life as she knew it was over. The only solid thing left for her was the man guiding the horse they shared.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to lean back against him, accepting the sturdy shelter Rohan offered, the warm, hard comfort of his body.

  Though she was touched by his promise of protection, she did not want to be a burden. At least her enemies hadn’t taken her pride. Still, her mood was bleak. Loss and wintry cold had seeped into her blood, making her numb and weary and indifferent.

  After another three hours, they rode into the courtyard in front of Kilburn Castle.

  The weary horses clattered to a halt before the same portcullis entrance where the smugglers had brought her the first night.

  Little could she have known then that, within a fortnight, she would be glad to be arriving here, that the forbidding stone castle would come to seem like the closest thing she had left to a home.

  Rohan dismounted, got the book out of the saddlebag, and returned to help her down. She took it from him, and in turn, he lifted her easily out of the saddle. But instead of setting her on her cold-numbed feet, he carried her tenderly toward the door.

  It opened before they reached it.

  Warm orange light spilled out onto the flagstones as Eldred let them in, while a groom rushed out from the stable to tend to the horses.

  “Is she hurt?” the butler asked in alarm, looking at Kate.

  “Not physically,” the duke murmured, carrying her past him.

  “Where are the others? Was there trouble?”

  “Everything’s under control. They’ll be along by morning.”

  Eldred hurried after them, clearly unsettled by her air of defeat. “Is there anything I can do, Your Grace? Miss Madsen? Some warm negus? Or there’s soup—”

  “I don’t want anything,” she rallied herself to mumble. “Thank you, Eldred.”

  “Give him the book,” Rohan murmured to Kate. “Eldred, hide this away in the safe. We’ll look at it tomorrow,” he added with a glance at her.

  Kate shrugged.

  Eldred took the book without a word, then Rohan gave his wiry-haired butler a taut nod. Eldred dropped back as Rohan marched on, carrying her through the dark corridors.

  Still draped in her snow-dampened cloak, Kate laid her head on Rohan’s muscled shoulder, her gloved hands clasped behind his neck.

  In her despondency, she was past the point of arguing about anything, nor did she bother to object as he climbed the dimly lit stairs, moving with relentless strength, the dark woolen skirts of his greatcoat flowing out behind him.

  She merely stared at his jawline and breathed in the smell of him as he carried her up the stairs; somehow his natural, masculine scent had become so familiar.

  The castle had become familiar, too. It made her feel better to be back here, where she knew she was safe—but for how long? And then what?

  It was so strange knowing she could never go back to the way things had been before. She wished she could have had at least had a little time to say good-bye to her old life before she had been kidnapped. It was too late now.

  When they reached the upper hallway, Rohan stopped at the door to the solar instead of taking her to the guest room. Her heart skipped a beat, but she did not protest as he stepped into the master chamber and nudged the door shut behind him.

  He crossed the room toward the crackling fire in the hearth, still carrying her, until at last, he deposited her gently in the toasty leather armchair before the fireplace.

  “Now then,” he whispered, assessing her condition with a deep and probing stare.

  Kate gazed back at him in dull, despondent silence.

  “Right.” He measured out a worried exhalation and drew off his riding gauntlets. He walked away to lock the door, took off his greatcoat, and returned.

  He crouched down slowly before her, searching her face in concern. “Is there anything at all that I can do for you?”

  He said that a lot, she mused, staring wistfully at him. A lump rose in her throat at his goodness, but she shook her head.

  “Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re frozen, poor babe. Do you want a blanket, some tea?”

  “Thanks, no.”

  “Surely you can think of something I can do for you. Give me a task, Kate. Or I may go quite mad.”

  A wan smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

  “It’s not a far jaunt for me,” he added in soft coaxing. “What, with believing in ghosts and curses and such, I’m already halfway there.”

  The other corner of her lips turned up slightly.

  “There’s that pretty smile,” he whispered, gazing at her, but when he cupped her cheek, her eyes misted with pensive appreciation for his kindness. He frowned. “Don’t cry, sweet. You’re safe now. That’s what matters, isn’t it? I know it hurts, but everything you’ve lost—it’s all just things. Things can be replaced. Not so, when it comes to life and limb.”

  “I know, of course, you’re right.” She lowered her head, but she could feel him watching her. “Stop worrying about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He furrowed his brow, studying her with a dubious look for a moment. “Let me take your cloak.”

  It was wet from the snow. She hadn’t even bothered to lower the large, draping hood but had sagged down in the chair, an exhausted traveler. He lowered the hood for her, pushing it back tenderly from her face. He unfastened the thick, wooden button-latch at the neck and pulled the cloak away; her borrowed livery costume was revealed.

  He smiled faintly. “My little page girl. You make a charming footman, you know.”

  “Except that I don’t like being told what to do,” she mumbled.

  “So I’ve noticed. Actually, I find it an oddly endearing quality.” He reached up behind her head, untying the ribbon that had bound her hair neatly beneath the hood.

  His gentle fingers brought her tresses tumbling down about her shoulders. “There, now you’re a girl again.” He gave her a rueful half smile, but when she began untying the damp neckcloth that had been keeping her throat warm, the helpful fellow took it upon himself to assist.

  “Perhaps someday I’ll teach you how to tie a proper cravat,” he remarked, as his deft fingers plucked at the knot at her throat, then slid the length of cloth away.

  With the makeshift cravat removed, the deep V of the white shirt went slack against her skin and fell open to the middle of her chest, where the waistcoat hugged her bosom. Rohan’s gaze slid down her chest, but then, he averted his eyes with a look of determination.

  As the fire crackled, he sat back slowly on the ottoman across from her chair.

  “Come, Kate. I need you to rally. We are going to get through this, but we’ve still got a fight ahead. You can’t quit now.”

  “I don’t intend to quit,” she forced out. “It’s just—now what? What am I supposed to do?”

  “I told you that I would take care of you.”

  “Rohan, bless you, but I can’t live off your charity.”

  “I wasn’t offering charity,” he answered in a low tone.

  She looked at him in question.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, loosely clasping his hands. “I was thinking about something you said to me that night at our celebratory dinner when you first got here.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Was this something I said before or after all those different wines?”

  He just smiled.


  “What was it?”

  “You weren’t happy out there, Kate. All alone at the edge of the moors. You said you felt trapped.”

  “That is true,” she admitted, dragging a hand wearily through her hair. “I suppose I’ll just have to figure out what to do next.” She shrugged. “I have some money left in the bank, though it’s not enough to live on if I have to buy a house and furniture. Dishes, drapes. The basics of everyday life. And clothes. I don’t have a stitch of my own clothing left.”

  He studied her as she shook her head and let out a cynical sigh.

  “Ah, well. I think my only choice now is to find someone to marry. That is what women usually do, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, usually.”

  “Unfortunately, most men don’t want a bluestocking for a wife.”

  “No, they don’t,” he agreed. “Or a wife who’s more intelligent than himself. I’m afraid, Miss Madsen, you are too clever for most men out there.”

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am!” she replied, bemused that he was not telling her what she wanted to hear—that she could easily find a groom.

  He smiled faintly at her in roguish approval.

  Settling deeper into the armchair, she was beginning to feel much better as she reviewed her options. Something about him made everything seem like it would be all right.

  She stared absently into the fire. “Maybe I could start some sort of little shop in London.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” he said mildly.

  “I don’t?”

  “No. Good to see some color coming back in your cheeks, by the way.”

  “I’m finally starting to warm up. So, why don’t I want to own a shop?”

  “You don’t want to deal with nagging customers all day. Be at everybody’s beck and call? The wealthy don’t pay their bills for years at a time these days, you know.”

  “Really?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes. Everything’s on credit now. When the shop-keepers finally turn to the sponging houses to help them collect, even the bailiffs are afraid of offending the upper class. Thus, the aristocracy is filled with the worst deadbeats.”

  “I had no idea!”