My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2)

by Bianca Blythe

  Juliet had achieved that herself.

  She would not let some highwaymen ruin things for her, and she would not let them ruin Genevieve’s reputation either.

  “We must return home,” Juliet said. “And no one should ever learn about this.”

  “Now where is home?” the highwayman drawled in an amused tone.

  “Er—” She glanced at Genevieve. “It’s dark. Difficult to find.”

  “You mean we should embark in the morning when it’s light?” Laughter rippled through his voice.

  Fiddle-faddle.

  Since when were highwaymen in possession of senses of humor?

  “I—er—mean...” Her throat dried, then she shook her head. “You can drop us at the nearest manor house. I’m sure the—er—butler will assist us to our homes from there.”

  “Ah.” The first highwayman nodded. “I believe the Duke of Ainsworth’s place is the nearest.”

  “Is it?” She squeaked and shot a glance at Genevieve. “That’s—er—too grand. Much too grand. I was thinking more of an—”

  The highwayman glanced at Genevieve. “Another place? Perhaps one that belongs to a member of the gentry?”

  “Yes,” Juliet admitted, hoping he would not suspect.

  The injured highwayman scowled at Genevieve, then turned to his companion. “Perhaps we should tie them to a tree.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Genevieve pouted.

  Juliet had to hasten. It didn’t matter if the first highwayman was not entirely unappealing. No good person chose highwaymanship as a career.

  At some point, the two highwaymen might realize she was the daughter of an earl.

  Didn’t highwaymen hold people for ransom? If the two men had any inclination to expand their business from stopping carriages to doing something more nefarious, this would be the time. Papa was rich.

  She swallowed hard. Her reputation would be ruined.

  A single night’s impulse, motivated by worry, would undo an entire decade of careful planning.

  Her heart tightened, and nausea invaded her throat.

  “You should consider another career besides being a highwayman,” she informed the first man.

  “Oh?”

  Though she didn’t see him raise his eyebrows, a definite amused skepticism emanated through his voice.

  It was irritating that his voice sounded so warm, like a Christmas negus. It was almost soothing. It let her forget he was a dreadful man, perhaps the most dreadful man she’d ever met, and that she loathed him.

  “There’s nothing strange about my statement,” she replied curtly.

  “Just some simple career recommendations?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Do you generally give people career recommendations?”

  “Only when necessary,” she said. “In your case, it is vital. Highwaymen are vile creatures.”

  “Does that mean you don’t think I’m sufficiently vile?” He turned his head, and her heartbeat quickened.

  Were she speaking with another man, one who had not forced her from her carriage and threatened to search it, she might have described his voice as flirtatious.

  She forced herself to think of Horatius.

  Lovely Horatius.

  Darling Horatius.

  Unfortunately, it would be easier to think of him if she remembered him better. True love had been such a powerful force that they’d become engaged soon after their first meeting, and it had been over a year since they’d last seen each other.

  She strove to remember Horatius’s voice. Perhaps it also resembled a Christmas negus.

  She tried to remember and frowned. The concentration hurt her head, as if she were conjugating Latin verbs.

  “Oh, he’s plenty vile,” the second highwayman assured her. “We call him Ten-Man Bobby.”

  “Ten-Man Bobby?” Juliet stammered.

  “Aye, aye,” the second highwaymen said, still speaking with that pirate accent. “On account of the number of people he stole from his first day on the job.”

  The first highwayman wrapped the bandage around the second man’s arm more tightly.

  “Ow!” the second highwayman exclaimed. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “I was checking it was on properly,” the first highwayman said with an innocent sound to his voice.

  The second highwayman rolled his eyes and returned his attention to Juliet. “See, he’s plenty vile.”

  Juliet’s heart thudded.

  The second highwayman seemed to be recovering from his wound. At any moment, he might try to rob them. She hadn’t taken off her jewels yet. It was curious neither of the men had grabbed her necklace or bracelet. Perhaps they assumed they were made of paste.

  Or perhaps they assumed they had plenty of time.

  She firmed her jaw. The gunshot still distracted these men. This was her chance. She glanced at Genevieve. She didn’t see Genevieve’s pistol on her, but since Genevieve had fired a shot, it probably needed to be reloaded. That was a level of detail with which she was not familiar.

  Still, these two men were bound to have weapons. Perhaps she could see in the second highwayman’s satchel.

  She inhaled deeply. Though the sudden influx of air was welcome, she hardly felt fully calm. Still, she would have to hasten.

  Juliet rose and grabbed the satchel as surreptitiously as possible.

  Genevieve’s eyes widened. She addressed the highwaymen. “So—er—how long have you been in this business? Was it always your dream to do this? Or did you—er—just topple into it?”

  The men glanced at each other, seeming perplexed by this question, then Juliet rifled through the bag.

  She found a pistol and pointed it at the men. “Stand up!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  FOR THE SECOND TIME today, Lucas stared into a barrel of a gun. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Charge her!” Sebastian exclaimed.

  “Said the person shot by one of these women,” Lucas grumbled.

  “Oh.” Sebastian’s voice lost its customary enthusiasm.

  Lucas wasn’t a highwayman. He’d only wanted to be helpful. If only Sebastian hadn’t had that beastly idea, and if only Lucas hadn’t agreed to it. Lucas’s discomfort in the Lake District had inspired him to abandon his normal caution.

  A horrible thought struck Lucas. He couldn’t have anyone find out he’d accosted a coach: his reputation would be harmed. Though Lucas wasn’t fussy about reputations, a damaged reputation might make it difficult for people to believe him. He had his suspicions on who was responsible for the counterfeit money flooding the region, suspicions shared by various cabinet members, including Lord Arthur Carmichael, Marquess of Bancroft, but the charge would be difficult to make.

  The British government couldn’t investigate the duke openly, and they’d asked Lucas and Sebastian to make discreet inquiries about why counterfeit money emanated from this idyllic, isolated region.

  “Great Olympus,” Lucas said. “What do you want me to do?”

  The worst part was that he’d met Lady Juliet. She might recognize him. It was good everyone dismissed him as a scientist. It was a persona that had been useful during the Napoleonic Wars, earning him invitations to France by key operatives. It had seemed good to use Honoria’s knowledge, a way to keep them close together, even when Lucas was sneaking about foreign lands. His heart twisted, as it always did, when he remembered Honoria.

  Still, the idea had been sound. Nobody noticed a scientist. Even at their most passionate, people dismissed them, seeing their interests in numbers and chemical elements and laws of physics as signs of a timid personality who’d not yet discovered the joys of brandy and gambling and horses. Botanists were seen as innocent creatures, and a love for botany easily explained why he might have wandered over the borders of somebody’s property accidentally.

  Fortunately, nobody noticed his invitations to various conferences rarely involved speaking, and that he spent more time murmuring praise when he
wasn’t sneaking into the rooms of the other invitees.

  Sebastian eyed the weapon. “Perhaps we better do what she says.”

  “Very well,” Lucas said.

  “Oh?” Lady Juliet’s eyebrows leaped upward.

  At another time, he might have found the expression adorable. Personally, he preferred women without a penchant for firearms. She was betrothed to the Duke of Sherwood. Soon, she would be a powerful woman.

  He glanced again at the gun.

  She was already powerful.

  He strode toward the horses.

  “Don’t do anything funny,” she blurted.

  “I hadn’t intended to share my best jokes with you. Though there was a time when a duke, an earl, and a viscount walked into a public house...”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I won’t pull anything. I promise.”

  She gazed at him oddly, as if puzzled why he’d bothered to add the last sentence.

  “You’re not what I expected a highwayman to be like,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “I’d rather not have weapons pointed at me.”

  She stared at the pistol in her hand

  “I’m—er— terrified.” He handed her the reins, even though his motivation was compelled more by practicality than fear. “Please—er—spare my life.”

  Her lower lip dropped in a manner that was almost becoming. She needed to return to her manor house. He only hoped the real criminals weren’t about. Most likely they’d spotted the commotion and taken another route. Still, if Lady Juliet wanted a horse, she would get a horse. He had no intention of having more injuries occur this night.

  He patted Galahad. Lady Juliet would give him a good home.

  “Take care of him,” Lucas said.

  “I will,” she promised. She took the reins, eying him warily.

  She was clever to suspect him. Had he desired, he could overpower her, even if she did have a firearm clasped between her dainty fingers. But he had no intention of tying her to a tree or of slinging her over his shoulder, like in certain stories.

  Horse trotting interrupted them.

  Horse trotting that did not derive from Galahad.

  Horse trotting that made him grab her pistol.

  “Sorry!” he shouted, noting her surprised face. “I’ll need that.”

  Sebastian scrambled up.

  “You should take care of yourself,” Lady Juliet’s friend warned Sebastian.

  “I’m trying to!” Sebastian shouted, before heading toward the road.

  A carriage and several horses with riders were approaching.

  Were these the criminals?

  Lucas glanced at Sebastian, and his heart pounded with excitement.

  “Why, that’s our carriage,” Lady Juliet’s friend exclaimed.

  Lucas tensed, suddenly conscious of the icy wind. He wasn’t going to catch the counterfeiters: instead, his operation might be discovered. Lucas doubted the driver would have returned without assistance.

  Lucas’s stomach fell in a manner resembling when he’d last been on a ship, and it had met with a thunderstorm. At the time, he’d wondered whether he might die. That same concern occurred now.

  Lady Juliet and her friend might recognize their carriage, but Lucas also recognized horses and riders accompanying the carriage.

  Sadly, they belonged to his own staff. It seemed impossible, but yes, that was clearly Stanley, and those were clearly his footmen.

  Great Olympus.

  Sebastian and he needed to leave at once.

  Perhaps Lady Juliet hadn’t recognized Lucas from their brief encounter at a house party in Dorset, but his butler and footmen would have more recognition capabilities.

  Lucas climbed onto Galahad, relieved he would not have to give him up. Sebastian sprinted to Lucas and leaped onto the other horse.

  “Have a marvelous night, ladies!” Lucas said, then turned the horse toward his cottage.

  THE LAST TIME JULIET had heard such trampling and thudding of hooves had been at Ascot. The highwaymen had entered quickly, and they left with an equal expulsion of energy and enthusiasm.

  “You frightened them away!” Genevieve clapped her hands. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I was helped.” Juliet stared at the approaching riders, and Genevieve turned toward them.

  “We’ve come to save you,” Timothy shouted, waving his hat from his perch on the carriage. “We have firearms! And men!”

  “We won’t let any women here come to any trouble,” a man on a horse said. His hair pointed up in all directions, no doubt a testament to the speed of his horse and the never ceasing gusts.

  Wind in England always seemed to be in a hurry, blustering hastily over the valleys and dales, as if eager to be rid of the isle and reenter the channels and seas that surrounded the country.

  Timothy stopped the carriage. He leaped from his seat and headed toward them. “Are they still here?”

  “You frightened them,” Genevieve said.

  Timothy beamed. “I frightened two highwaymen. Imagine! Me!”

  Neither Genevieve nor Juliet chose to remind him that Timothy had also abandoned them, leaving them to the highwaymen’s surprisingly tame wiles.

  “Do you want us to go get them?” the man on the horse asked.

  Juliet did not like to ponder what these men might do to the highwaymen. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Not necessary?” Timothy’s jaw dropped. “They could have bludgeoned you to death!”

  “Or done the thing worse to death,” a man in a uniform that resembled that of a footman said. Perhaps the man simply enjoyed dressing formally.

  “We’re happy you’re safe.” The wild-haired man’s voice boomed in an authoritative manner.

  “I’ll take you back,” Timothy said.

  “Will you—er—” Juliet looked down. Asking for discretion seemed presumptive.

  The wild-haired man sighed. “We’ll be quiet.” He turned to the other men on horses. “Won’t we?”

  The other men murmured assent quickly. Clearly, they saw him as their leader.

  Timothy opened the door to the carriage with a flourish.

  Juliet followed Genevieve into the coach. Genevieve hung the lantern back on its hook inside.

  “All set ladies?” Timothy asked.

  “Yes.”

  Timothy beamed and shut the door. Shortly after, the carriage moved again in the direction of Genevieve’s parents’ manor house.

  Clearly, Timothy considered the search for Horatius over. That was fine. All Juliet desired was to return to her uncle’s manor house and pretend none of this had occurred. Leaving the manor house had been a mistake. She shouldn’t wonder that highwaymen had targeted her carriage.

  Juliet’s chest remained tight. She had accomplished nothing, except learning the world was as dangerous as everyone warned.

  “Will anyone find out?” she asked Genevieve.

  “Timothy is discreet. Besides, he won’t want anyone to know we were temporarily abandoned.”

  Juliet nodded, somewhat reassured. “I didn’t find Horatius though.”

  Genevieve’s expression sobered. “No.”

  Uncertainty moved through Juliet when she reentered the manor house. Music still played gaily from the ball. A few men and women were in the hallway, but their mouths didn’t drop open, and their brows didn’t furrow.

  Perhaps no one had even recognized their absence.

  “Maybe your betrothed arrived late for the ball,” Genevieve said.

  “Perhaps,” Juliet said uncertainly. “Though he doesn’t tend to be late. That’s one of his many wonderful qualities.”

  Genevieve gave her an odd look, and Juliet realized Horatius had not only been late, he’d been absent, and he’d provided her with no notice.

  She reentered the ballroom, searching for the man’s tall figure. It should be easy to spot him. He would be surrounded by a
circle of goggling women.

  But no women goggled.

  “Juliet!” Her stepmother’s voice startled her. “You have mud on your dress.”

  “Do I?”

  Her stepmother nodded, though not a strand of her still-blond hair fell from her chignon. “I would have thought you would know it is unseemly to bring mud into another person’s manor house.”

  Juliet didn’t mistake the distinct tone of glee in her stepmother’s voice, and her skin warmed. Her stepmother was right: she knew better.

  “It is a pity you were not more careful.” Her stepmother’s lips curled, as if in anticipation of witnessing Juliet’s discomfort.

  Juliet refused to tense. Instead, she lay her hands casually at her side. Her hands might be warmer than before, even though the temperature had only fallen as the night lengthened.

  Most of Juliet’s friends longed for their parents to be less watchful, less observant, less prone to give orders.

  Juliet’s father differed.

  When Juliet had accompanied her friend Margaret to a house party, her father hadn’t raised an eyebrow, much less ventured into a lecture on the importance of safety. Similarly, when she’d accompanied that same friend to Gretna Green, her father had been unperturbed, despite the obvious impropriety of her actions.

  Her father was occupied: with her stepmother. An unmarried Juliet dashing about the countryside hardly compared to her stepmother’s frequent tirades and monologues.

  Her stepmother may have once been the housekeeper, but she’d grown accustomed to the finery her new husband could provide. Perhaps, because she’d been poor, she appreciated it more.

  “Have you seen the Duke of Sherwood?” Juliet asked.

  “No,” her stepmother replied. “I suppose he thought this was an unimportant gathering.”

  Juliet knew it must be some comfort that her stepmother didn’t believe Horatius was lying helpless in a ditch, but the words failed to keep Juliet’s heart from beating a frantic rhythm.