The Duke’s Covert Mission

by Julie Miller

  Cade ignored the insult and the threat.

  Only after Jerome had dragged himself halfway up the stairs did Cade speak directly to Ellie. “I’m sorry.”

  He kept Smython in his sights, but turned her to remove the ruined shirt and toss it aside. Huddled in the oversized pants and strapless, black lace bra, she made a tempting, vulnerable sight. One that was way too dangerous for his newly awakened conscience. His mind should be on business, but something else seemed to be directing his thoughts now. He saw no other injuries but the mark on her face and breathed a sigh of untold relief.

  “You got the best of him, didn’t you.” Maybe a bit of praise and a smile would get a response out of her. He pulled off his mask and tossed it aside. There was no need for pretense with Jerome out of sight. Cade stripped off his shirt and slipped it over her head. With a little help, he pulled her arms into the sleeves and got her covered. The cotton knit stretched and hung past the tips of her fingers. “I’m sorry it’s wet. I’ll find something else for you.”

  Still no answer.

  “Ellie.” He whispered her name, trying to reach her.

  The shy stuff he could handle. When she didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure how to say it, he could tease her along or wait her out until she opened up or her temper betrayed her. He was even getting used to that arrogant lilt in her voice when she tried to cover up her fears by faking more confidence than she felt.

  But choosing to be silent. Shutting him out. How did he breach that?

  And why the hell did it matter so much to him that she wouldn’t even nail him with one of those holier-than-thou looks?

  Finally, after hearing Jerome collapse on the sofa on the floor above them, Cade accepted the blame where he felt it was due. “I screwed up. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

  He thought of Jerome. He thought of Tony Costa. He thought of their anonymous employer who was willing to sacrifice this woman to the whims of such men.

  He didn’t have much of a reputation to brag about himself. His one claim to fame had been his career as a soldier. But he wanted to be a better man. Better than his father. Better than the legacy his father had left him. He wanted to see respect when he looked into people’s eyes.

  He wanted to see it in Ellie’s.

  “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

  The promise echoed off the concrete walls and resonated in the recesses of his empty soul. It was only half a promise, really. He could protect her physically—with his life, if necessary.

  But he could sense that he’d already made inroads into destroying her trust. By signing on as her kidnapper, no matter what else happened, he’d already done damage to her innocent heart.

  Ellie’s shoulders rose with a quiet sigh and settled at a tougher, more defensive angle. Hugging herself, she slowly turned and lifted those big blue eyes to him. Cade could see how quickly this whole experience was dulling the dewy sparkle in those cerulean depths and making her wise to the wicked ways of the world.

  He braced himself for the certain kick in the teeth his conscience was about to get.

  “So who’s going to protect me from you?”

  “DA-DUM. DA-DUM. Da-dum, dum, dum.”

  Cade almost didn’t hear the sound over the percussion of fading thunder and steady rain falling outside. It was a soothing kind of storm, the kind he’d liked to sleep through as a child because it quieted the world and shut out the sounds of his parents’ arguments over money. As a professional soldier, he’d liked nights like this because they kept the enemy curled up in bed, too.

  With any luck, the rain would keep Tony Costa tucked away in his cabin for the night. Lenny had gone over and reported seeing Costa drive up in his truck. So “Sonny” hadn’t gone looking for Ellie. Yet. With any luck, he never would.

  Of course, luck hadn’t exactly been running Cade’s way lately.

  “Da-dum. Da-dum.”

  He paused at the top of the basement stairs and listened to the soft, melodic humming, interrupted every odd beat or so by the discordant clank of the chain.

  He was quickly learning to expect the unexpected from Ellie. On first impression, she seemed quiet, docile. Mousy, even. She’d been easy enough to overlook in the outside world.

  But now he didn’t think he could ever not notice her.

  His raw cheekbone reminded him that she packed a punch and had the heart of a lion. Shy didn’t mean weak, he’d learned. Quiet didn’t guarantee cooperation. There was always something going on in that woman’s head—planning, dreaming, learning. And she could say the damnedest things when she worked up her nerve.

  So who’s going to protect me from you?

  Hell. He was the one who was losing his whole perspective on this job. As surprising and troublesome as her efforts had been, at least Ellie understood what she needed to do. Survive. Escape. Curb her libido and tenderhearted urges and be tough. Sheesh. Arm her with a baseball bat and she’d be unstoppable.

  Cade, on the other hand, had lost his focus. This job should have been about learning the identity of who had really hired them. It should have been about getting out of this mess of bullies and hit men and altered time frames with his skull intact.

  It shouldn’t be about Ellie.

  But it was.

  He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Not as a threat to her life or safety. Not as a man who desired her.

  Yet she was smart enough to be afraid.

  And it was killing him.

  “Dum, dum. Da-dum, da-dum.”

  What was she up to?

  The evening storm drowned out the sound of Cade’s descent. At the bottom, he could only stop and stare.

  This was a new one.

  Ellie was dancing.

  As much as the chain draped over her left arm would allow.

  She had her eyes closed, her face tipped up toward an invisible partner. She skimmed around a small circle, three steps with each turn. His black knit shirt draped like a midnight waterfall over her rich, feminine curves, and hung down to where it kissed the tops of her thighs. She was barefoot now, and she danced the old-fashioned waltz with the grace and elegance of an era long past.

  Cade’s hormones stirred at the vision Ellie made. Other things stirred closer to his heart, but the only emotion he could readily identify was envy.

  Heroes and happy endings. Either it was a testament to the human spirit that the threat of death, failed escape attempts and attempted rape hadn’t crushed her, or the woman was a fool.

  Maybe he was the fool to just stand there and listen to her sweet voice and watch her dreamy expression and sway with the movement of her lush body. The fool for wishing he could take pleasure in something as simple as a waltz.

  When he realized he’d stepped off with his left foot to join the dance, Cade caught himself up short. His life had evolved beyond simple pleasures long ago. She wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion and he couldn’t afford to drop his guard and be sidetracked by her tempting innocence again.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, carefully pushing the edgy agitation he felt behind an indulgent smile and teasing voice.

  Ellie stopped midstride. Above the bruise on her cheek, her lake-blue eyes shot open wide. Either he’d shocked the hell out of her, or her acting skills were improving.

  “I didn’t hear you.” Her gaze dropped to the floor and swung to the sleeping bag.

  “Obviously.” He nodded toward the bag. “Hiding any sharp objects in there I should know about?”

  “No.”

  She knelt beside the bag and unzipped it. Then she flipped it open for him to see there was nothing inside. With her head still bowed she still managed to turn and lift that wide-eyed gaze to his. Asking for what? Trust? Approval? A promise that not he nor any other man would ever touch her again?

  He hated seeing that submission in her eyes. Hated that he had the power to transform the serene smile she’d worn a moment ago into that vulnerable expression that put creases be
side her mouth.

  Cade solved the problem by looking away. He’d brought down a seat cushion from the flowered couch upstairs to use as a pillow. He tossed it against the wall and watched it tip over before letting his gaze drift back to the sight of her ripe, round bottom bouncing up and down as she crawled across the sleeping bag, closing it up and smoothing out the wrinkles.

  With any other woman he would have suspected the sexy swish was some sort of seduction, a ploy to divert him from his purpose and get him thinking about the interested heat pooling around his groin, instead. But with Ellie? None of his experience with women had prepared him for the unpredictability of Ellie Standish.

  He plowed his fingers through his hair and rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. It seemed that guilt was giving him a constant headache. Maybe she wasn’t up to anything. Maybe she was just grateful he’d taken over all baby-sitting duties, sparing her Jerome or Lenny. And maybe he was just too tired to think straight anymore.

  “What’s the pillow for?” she asked, settling down into a cross-legged position on the sleeping bag and pulling the blanket over her lap.

  “We’re going to be roommates, so I thought I’d make myself comfortable.”

  “You’re sleeping down here tonight? Surely you’re not worried that I’m going to break this chain and disappear into the night before you can get your money’s worth out of me.”

  The flare of sarcasm at the end of her protest eased his conscience a fraction. At least she was talking to him now. She might be subdued, but she wasn’t down for the count.

  With that show of spirit, he gave himself permission to look right at her. He even summoned an amused grin. “After what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

  She ducked her head to hide it, but that tossed-off little compliment had made her smile, too. For a moment Cade almost felt like one of those heroes she believed in. Almost.

  “It’s not five-star, but I thought you’d appreciate some real food for a change.” From his pockets he pulled out fruit and a bag of pretzels and set them on the stool beside her.

  She made no move to accept his gifts. “Where’s Jerome?”

  “Upstairs. Asleep. Lenny’s on patrol outside.” He pulled a candy bar from the pocket of the black T-shirt he wore and held it out like a peace offering, understanding that she, too, was reluctant to drop her guard. “You’re safe.”

  She had a long way to go from sneaking a smile at a goofy comment he’d made to trusting him enough to believe in him.

  When she finally wrapped her fingers around the candy bar, Cade held on to the other end, binding them together and forcing her to look up and read the message in his eyes. Willing her to see that, despite all that had happened—all that had yet to happen—he refused to let any more harm come to her. He couldn’t tell her the words, but he could say it with his eyes.

  But she didn’t understand the message. When that pretty face frowned in confusion, Cade surrendered the chocolate. He should give up trying to make any kind of connection with her and just see this mess through until the end and pray that he walked away from it in one piece.

  She nibbled at the chocolate and caramel, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor with an Mmm of approval. “Something with taste. Thank you.”

  When she smiled her gratitude, Cade worried he’d just made another tactical mistake. He was getting hooked on that rush of unfiltered pleasure that lightened his mood each time he made Ellie smile.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He grabbed a handful of pretzels and sat on the bottom step to enjoy the rainy-evening picnic with her. It was a ridiculous feeling, really, this sense of camaraderie he felt with her. It was almost cleansing—healing, in a way—to spend time with a woman who was completely oblivious to her charms and talents. A woman who didn’t play games—who probably didn’t even know what games were out there to play. When she was happy, she smiled. She called a rogue a rogue and demanded that she be treated fairly and nothing more.

  She was all curves and softness, from the silky curls of her hair to the fullness of her breasts and hips. He couldn’t connect the colorless wallflower he’d known her to be in the outside world with this sensuous ingenue who made the blood surge through his veins just by popping her fingers into her mouth one at a time and licking the melted goo off the tips.

  When she picked up an orange and began stripping off the peel to reach the naked fruit, Cade drew in a shuddering breath. He had to keep talking before he completely forgot his reason for keeping Ellie prisoner in the first place.

  “Why were you dancing earlier?” he asked.

  Her cheeks blanched, then flooded with embarrassment, intriguing him with the secrets hidden inside that pretty head. “It was a silly daydream, that’s all.”

  “A way to escape from all this?”

  “It’s the reason I’m here in the first place.” He waited for her to explain. She lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug. “All I wanted was one stupid dance. To dress up and go to the ball. Like some modern-day Cinderella. Only, instead of my carriage turning into a pumpkin, I ended up here. Jerome and Lenny are the evil stepsisters, and you…” How did he fit into her skewed fantasy world? She shook her head, editing his role from her story, and went back to peeling her orange. “It seems ironic that I never got that dance.”

  Cade popped an orange section into his mouth, but tasted nothing but his own bitterness. “Life isn’t much of a fairy tale, is it.”

  “No. Cinderella found Prince Charming and lived happily ever after. There are no princes in my life. And by this time tomorrow, I’ll be dead.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Yeah, I’ll accept the charges.” He shoved the empty pizza carton off a chair and sat.

  He’d been so young before that call.

  “Dad? What are you doing calling in the middle of the week? Is everything all right?”

  Bretford St. John’s voice was deep and smooth as always. “I wanted to check how you were doing.”

  Should he be worried? They’d just talked on Sunday.

  “I’m fine, Dad. We’re up late studying for midterms.” Okay, so technically he and his roommate had been playing chess, but his father had never had ESP before, and he’d certainly never been a fanatic about whether Cade stayed on task or not. “What’s up?”

  “I just—” His father stopped suddenly. Cade sat up at attention in his chair. His father was never at a loss for words. “I just wanted to apologize for spending your trust fund.”

  That was old news. The money had been gone for two years. That was why Cade was at a state-run university and not a private one. This was too weird. “Dad, what’s going on?”

  Cade twisted in his sleep. He hadn’t had the dream for a long time. He didn’t want to have it now.

  The house was quiet. Too quiet.

  Cade set his backpack down in the foyer and flipped on the light. He squinted against the sudden glare of the chandelier reflected in the black and white marble tiles on the floor. Without any furniture or curtains to soften the bright light, the house felt cold and unwelcoming.

  “Dad?” Cade had never walked into the house before without someone there to greet him. Where was the housekeeper? He knew the other servants had been let go one by one over the past year, but Mrs. Breen should have been there. She’d always been there for his family. “Dad? Mrs. Breen?”

  He’d skipped his last two midterms and boarded the train that morning after his father’s chatty phone call, worried Bretford had gone on another gambling binge. The problem was there was nothing left to wager. Nothing in the bank. No land left to sell. The house itself was waiting for the new owners to settle their affairs and move in.

  “Dad?”

  Something like sheer panic rattled through his young, lanky frame. He needed to find his father. Now. The man needed help. And Cade was it. He was all his father had left.

  The worry that had brought him home exploded into outright fear. Cade r
an from room to room. A cold sweat broke out on his back and upper lip. “Dad?”

  Not in the bedroom. Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Not in the conservatory he loved so well.

  Every room was empty. Sterile. Bleak. Cold.

  “Dad!”

  He stopped outside the door to his father’s study—the room where Bretford St. John had juggled multimillion-dollar real-estate deals and signed his divorce papers and placed stupid bets and wrestled with his little boy on the imported Persian carpet, much to his housekeeper’s chagrin.

  Cade took a deep, shuddering breath and opened the door.

  The carpet was gone, sold long ago to pay overdue utilities or some such thing. The books were gone from the shelves, donated to a local library to help defray taxes. The only furniture in the room was the antique Chippendale desk and matching chair.

  For a moment in time, Cade looked to the desk and smiled with a relief so profound he nearly fainted.

  No. Cade fought the feeling in his sleep. It was all a setup. This wasn’t right. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t stop the pain from barreling into him and showing no mercy.

  His father was asleep at his desk. Cade stepped into the room. “I’m too young for a heart attack, Dad. You really ought to…”

  Cade would never be young again.

  “Dad?” His lungs abruptly refused to work right. “Dad!”

  He ran to the desk. He reached out to touch, but pulled back. He wanted to pick up the note. But all the blood. There was too much blood.

  He sank to his knees. Shock and horror racked his nineteen-year-old body. The grief would come later. Years later. But for now he was cold. So cold. Too damn cold to ever feel warm again.

  Cade wrestled his demon to the floor of his father’s study and fought to wake himself from its chilling grip.

  “Cade?”

  In the predawn hours of the morning, after the rain had ceased and the earliest of the birds had started to chirp at the sunrise, the soft voice called to him.

  The demon clawed at him, but the will to survive was stronger.