The Lady's Guard (Sinful Brides Book 3)

by Christi Caldwell

  The duke struggled to heave his rotund frame out of his seat. Tugging out an embroidered kerchief, he mopped at his damp brow. “Of course. Of course.” With his spare hand, he thumped Niall between the shoulder blades. “Remember, there is nothing to be ashamed of, son.”

  Son.

  Niall glared at Calum, which reduced him to another round of amusement.

  Apparently, with one humiliatingly penned note, Diana had also peeled away the duke’s cautiousness around Niall. God help him, she’d made him . . . human. Niall blanched and moved hastily away from Wilkinson. “Oi’m not scared of a goddamned thing.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  At Wilkinson’s placating assurances, Niall took a furious step forward. If the old nobleman uttered that false profession one more time, he’d personally show him—

  Ryker’s knowing eyes froze him in his tracks. This was the lack of control that had resulted in Niall’s ouster from the club. Niall took a breath. Forcing his shoulders to relax, he hooked his hip on the edge of the desk in a feigned nonchalance and waited.

  As soon as the door closed behind the duke, Ryker spoke. “Homesick?” he drawled, lifting an eyebrow.

  The duke gone, Calum freely gave in to his laughter. Doubling over, he caught his sides until tears streamed down his cheeks, and he snorted like a pig caught by Cook. And though Ryker’s insufferable command over their group had always grated, he gave thanks for the other man’s presence. Because one thing his brother did not tolerate was laugh—

  Ryker’s cool facade crumpled and he joined in, his booming hilarity thundering around the cavernous office.

  Apparently the fearless street leader had found his amusement. At Niall’s expense.

  Niall flipped up a middle finger. “Go to ’ell,” he snarled. “Both of you.”

  They only laughed all the harder.

  When they’d regained control, Ryker motioned to the sheet. “My sister wrote on your behalf.”

  Ryker hadn’t acknowledged Diana in more than a year. All of a sudden he’d claim her as kin? The lady who crept along alleys and visited parks alone in rainstorms deserved more loyalty than that. He blanched. Since when had he given a rot about what a noblewoman needed or deserved? Since she invited you to sit for pastries and stripped away the divide between you. That was the only reason for his loyalty in this instance. An undeserved one for the traitor who was happy to be rid of him. “So, she’s your sister now?” Niall taunted.

  Anger turned Ryker’s blue eyes a shade of midnight. He rushed forward, and, welcoming the fight, Niall brought his fists up.

  Calum swiftly inserted himself between them and placed a staying hand on each of their chests. “Enough,” he ordered, ever the peacemaker of their ragbag group.

  Tension seeped from Ryker, and then he quickly regained control of his emotions. Briefly smoothing his palms down the front of his black jacket, he stopped and pointed to the note. “You did not want the assignment.”

  No. He hadn’t. He didn’t.

  “Diana’s missive indicated you’re miserable here.”

  I was. Yesterday, in Hyde Park, when she’d revealed her intentions—or, rather, her lack of intentions—where finding a husband was concerned, he’d been so caught up with the implications on his future, he’d made no attempt to conceal his horror. Nor had he given thought that she would even care about his reaction.

  He’d hurt a lot of people. Maimed others. Killed some. Those ruthless crimes of his past had made him immune to feeling.

  Or that is what he’d believed.

  I hurt her.

  That truth hit him like a kick to the gut.

  Feeling Calum’s and Ryker’s stares on him, he wandered over to the window and stared out at the streets below. Niall gripped the edge of the sill and leaned forward, surveying the cobbled roads with an absent stare. Since he’d discovered her outside the alley, he’d proven himself to be everything he’d ever hated—a vicious bully.

  Just a few days ago, he wouldn’t have given a bloody damn if he’d hurt or harmed a lord or lady. But Diana was wholly unlike the satin-clad ladies who’d peered down their noses at the grubby-faced beggar boy he’d been.

  From within the crystal windowpane, Ryker moved into focus. He stood just beyond Niall’s shoulder. “It was unfair of me to ask you to enter this world you so hate,” Ryker began quietly. “For you and Diana.” Yes, it had been. “You are relieved. Calum will serve as Diana’s guard.”

  It was precisely what he’d wanted since Ryker had announced his plans for Niall—freedom from the unwanted role and the ability to return to his club.

  Niall pivoted on his heel. “Calum?” His heart thundered in its cage. “You’d have Calum watch after her?”

  Ryker’s second-in-command cracked his knuckles. “What in hell is that supposed to mean?” he challenged, taking a menacing step closer.

  Inspecting the tall, chestnut-haired man he’d known since they were lads fighting for the same scraps of food, he saw glimpses of that irascible boy. That thinly controlled fury at odds with the man who ruled with reason. “It means you can’t be her guard.”

  Calum swept his brown lashes low, veiling his eyes, but not before Niall detected the savage glimmer there. After all, it didn’t matter how much a man mastered his emotions. When a person questioned his capabilities, he had an obligation to prove his strength and worth. “Oh?” And Calum was spoiling for a fight.

  Niall balled his hands, eager to unleash his frustrations somewhere, even if it was his brother’s mocking face. He took a step.

  “Enough,” Ryker said, in a tone that brooked no room for challenge. “I’ve a meeting with Mrs. Smith.” The new bookkeeper. A straitlaced, severe-looking creature who’d taken on the accounting after a string of unsuccessful hires. “You”—he pointed to Calum—“will see to Diana. Niall”—he jerked his head toward the door—“you are free to leave with me.”

  Ryker stalked over to the door.

  Go. He’s letting you return to the world you belong to. His brother grabbed the handle.

  Niall’s panic swelled. “I’ve never failed at an assignment,” he blasted. This resistance was born from his need of mastery of himself and his emotions and the responsibilities charged to him. Nothing else.

  Turning back, Ryker leveled him with a probing stare. Then looked to Calum. Calum lifted his shoulders in a shrug conveying his befuddlement.

  Ryker caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed. “You’ve given Diana reason to believe you don’t want to be here.”

  No, he hadn’t. Niall said nothing. Nor did he want to, nor would he ever, call Mayfair home. “I don’t give up my responsibilities.”

  “Is that what this is about? Your responsibilities?” Calum delved into a question Niall’s own mind shied away from.

  He gave an uneasy nod, feeling the lie in that slight, silent gesture.

  Ryker let his arm hang to his side. “Very well. This is not forever. Either until you verify Diana’s well-being or until she weds.”

  There are no worries on that score. I’ve no intention of marrying.

  It was a detail as a brother, Ryker was deserving of. But something held the words back. The sense that Niall would be betraying a secret Diana was entitled to . . . even if it kept him trapped in her world. “Do you believe me a toff fit to care for her?” he snapped.

  Casual as you please, Ryker rolled his shoulders. “I believe I want your assurance that there is no threat. I’ve also hired runners to look into the lady’s concerns, as well.” Runners. As though those respectable investigators knew a bloody thing about the underworld. “Their efforts have turned up nothing.” He consulted the longcase clock in the corner of the room. “Have you found cause for Diana’s concerns?”

  This was a safe topic. One that kept Niall from wondering why he wanted to remain on as guard to Diana, instead of returning to his club. “I haven’t.” He proceeded to run through a cataloging of his searches of the duke’
s town house and Diana’s daily routines.

  At no point had there been a hint or threat of danger.

  Ryker nodded. “How long, then?”

  Niall started. “How long?”

  “Until you make a determination about the lady’s safety,” Calum clarified for Ryker.

  His mind stalled. If Killoran’s or Diggory’s henchmen intended Diana harm, surely there would have been some hint of it in the week Niall had been here. Yet there had been nothing. Not a curtain out of place. Not a suspiciously gaping window or door. Not an unfamiliar servant. A threatening note. Nothing.

  “Niall?” Ryker pressed.

  “It’s too soon to know,” he settled for, evading an answer that would mark his time here done. “I’ll not leave prematurely only to have harm befall Di—” Both Ryker’s and Calum’s eyebrows went up. “Your sister,” he belatedly substituted. He grimaced.

  Ryker nodded slowly. “Very well. When . . . if you determine there is no threat, then you may return.”

  With that decree befitting a king, Ryker stalked off. Calum followed after him.

  As soon as they’d taken their leave, Niall made for the doorway.

  Now there was the matter of finding the fiery chit who’d attempted to have him sacked.

  Chapter 11

  Niall was leaving, and Diana knew so because she’d orchestrated his departure. It is my fault.

  Standing at the window, she shielded her gaze from the bright sun hanging in the early-morning sky. She forced her gaze down to the street, to the black lacquer carriage below bearing her brother’s ominous crest.

  Two lions locked in battle. It conjured death and power and darkness—a perfect symbol for the men who ruled the underbelly of London. Diana absently traced a lone raindrop left from the violent thunderstorm.

  What must Niall’s life have been like as a boy, and then as a man, that he’d become filled with so much hatred? His loathing for the nobility contained a palpable life force. He saw Diana as one of them and hated her for it, not knowing she’d been cast out of their fold. And she never wished to rejoin it. There was no point in thinking of him or wondering about him, because he was not long for here.

  Ryker and Calum had arrived a short while ago and been ushered into Father’s office.

  She’d been expecting it. Having sent her brother a missive last evening, Ryker would be here to free Niall of his responsibilities. There would be no goodbyes or teasing smiles or those hated rhetorical questions. She sighed and let the gold curtain go. It fluttered back into place, shielding her view of the streets.

  Better to not think about it.

  Niall would leave, and just as servants moved in and out of this household, so, too, would the man assigned to her by Ryker. She’d spied Calum entering and knew he would take Niall’s place.

  The floorboards groaned, and Diana turned, colliding with a towering, muscular frame. A cry sprang to her lips, and she shot a fist out.

  Niall easy caught the blow before it could find its mark. He is here. “Niall?” she breathed. Had he come to make his goodbyes?

  “Expecting someone else, princess?”

  Princess. It was that scornful address that hinted at his displeasure.

  He released her quickly. A muscle jumped at the corner of his left eye.

  What reason did he have to be displeased? Surely Ryker had not denied Niall the right to return to his club? She darted her tongue out, trailing it over the seam of her lips, and his hooded eyes settled on her mouth. His irises turned dark and volatile like a thunderstorm. Diana immediately ceased that distracted movement. “Did you come to say goodbye?” she ventured. He didn’t strike her as one of those who cared much with making goodbyes.

  “Do I strike you as the manner of fellow who worries much with goodbyes?” he asked on a silken whisper.

  “Uh . . . no.” He struck her as a man who didn’t worry much about anything. Society said the same thing of Diana, too, and she knew the lie there.

  “No,” he confirmed. With languid, menacing steps better suited to a tiger about to pounce, Niall started forward.

  Oh, dear. “You are angry,” she observed, moving hurriedly around the mahogany side table and putting the upholstered sofa between them. It wasn’t that she feared Niall, per se, but she had witnessed firsthand the power of his fury and would rather not be burned by that volatility.

  “I am angry.”

  That silken whisper ratcheted up her nervousness. Gulping, Diana continued her hurried retreat.

  “Do you know why that is, princess?”

  “Diana,” she hurriedly corrected, backing up. “Uh . . . no.” His eyebrows dipped. “Yes?” Actually, she had no blasted idea. She could only begin to venture.

  He stopped coming, leaving five paces between them. “Which is it, princess?” Niall crossed his arms at his chest and waited.

  And then his fury made sense.

  “Ryker would not agree to your reassignment.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The wrong conjecture, to be precise. Another gasp burst from her lips as he pounced. Diana stumbled over herself in her haste to keep some space.

  “Oh, he agreed,” he purred, and her heart lurched.

  He’d agreed. Which meant Niall was no longer for this place. “This is you coming to say goodbye, then.” A pang struck her heart. It was silly. Their parting had been inevitable. If it wasn’t when he caught the person who wished her harm, then it would have been in five weeks’ time when she boarded a clipper bound across the Atlantic. But blast it all . . . she’d enjoyed his being here. He’d been the only person—lord, lady, servant, or family member—who treated her as more than a fragile, brainless miss. Fighting back the twin waves of sadness and regret, Diana extended her shaking hand.

  Niall slapped something in her palm.

  Blinking wildly at the crumpled ball, she slowly unwrinkled it, revealing a letter. She lifted her gaze to Niall’s sardonic one.

  Her letter, to be exact.

  Ah, this was the reason for his anger. Diana set down the creased page on a nearby rose-inlaid table. “Oh.”

  His life-hardened eyes glinted. “That is what you’d say?”

  Diana wet her lips. Apparently the wrong utterance, yet again.

  “You wrote my brother—”

  “My brother, too,” she reminded him.

  His mouth opened and closed like a trout plucked from the Thames. He sputtered. “You are not my sister.”

  “I didn’t say I was.” A man whose kiss set her body afire, and who occupied her waking and sleeping thoughts, was certainly not one she held brotherly sentiments for. “I was merely pointing out that Ryker is my brother, and you and Ryker are also—”

  “I said I am not your brother.”

  “Brothers who do not share blood.”

  He pressed his palms over his eyes. His mouth moved as if in silent prayer. Then he dropped his arms to his sides. The stoic, always-in-control lord of St. Giles was back firmly in place. “You told him I miss home.”

  Apparently they were done on the debate about the sibling business. Diana sighed. “I believe we’re both aware of the contents of my note.” Except . . . “Furthermore”—she raised a finger—“you do miss home,” she felt compelled to point out. It wasn’t as though she’d penned a lie. Did he find shame in that?

  Niall’s arm jerked reflexively into the easel. Diana shot her hands out, catching the frame. She righted it and favored Niall with a frown . . . and registered the wintry frost in his eyes. She swallowed hard. Oh, dear. Diana took a small step and then another. “You should be relieved.” The back of her leg caught the edge of the sofa, and she winced, but continued her retreat. “You are free to leave.”

  “You’re right. I should.”

  Pleased that she’d finally broken through his usual stubbornness, she smiled and bumped into an easel. The wood frame shook, toppling sideways. Hurriedly, Diana moved behind it, catching it before it fell, while placing the small piece between
them.

  Niall arched an eyebrow.

  She gulped. Who knew even an eyebrow could be menacing? Everyone had them. Then, anything and everything about this man exuded danger. “You do miss your club, do you not?” That black eyebrow slowly fell back into place. “So it was not really a lie.”

  He strolled closer, springing her back into movement. Diana collided with the door, effectively halting her escape.

  Niall shot out a hand, and her breath caught on a gasp. But he only reached around her and turned the lock.

  He’d locked them in here. Alone. Waiting. Watching.

  Oh, dear.

  He’d stay here until the crows came home. “You don’t want to be here,” she tried, reasoning with him.

  “No.”

  Diana frowned. She should appreciate that candor. “You don’t like me,” she reminded him. Though he certainly didn’t require a reminder on that score. Bitterness tasted acrid in her mouth, and she slid her gaze past his shoulder.

  He brushed his coarse, scarred knuckles over her jaw, forcing her stare back to his. That gesture was surprisingly tender. The aromatic hint of cheroot and bergamot that always clung to him flooded her senses, and her lashes fluttered wildly. It was an odd blend, both masculine and sweet, and it conjured images of him taking a blade to those rigid cheekbones and scraping away the dark growth that covered his jaw in the late evening hours.

  “Oi don’t loike anyone, Diana.”

  Diana. At last he laid possession to her name, his street-roughened tones primal and raw and so very beautiful for it. So different from the dandies and gentlemen who’d once courted and called. Men who’d proven themselves spineless, seeing nothing more in her than her rank as duke’s daughter. And now seeing a woman with tainted blood. Whereas this man knew precisely what evil her mother had worked with her hands and treated Diana as he did anyone else. Concentrating on drawing air into her lungs, Diana sank against the door. She angled her head back to meet his piercing eyes. “That isn’t true, Niall.” Her reminder emerged breathless. “There is Helena and Ryker and Calum and Adair. And no doubt the employees in your club. You care about them.”