An Inconvenient Duke

by Anna Harrington

  He yanked at her bodice and the corset beneath, pulling it down far enough to bury his face in the swells of her breasts. The beast in him wanted to tear the dress from her back, to bare her to his hands and mouth, then simply devour her. But he’d settle for this maddeningly small taste of her and licked his tongue into the valley between her breasts.

  But when she slipped her hand down between them to unbutton his breeches and free his cock from the tight material, his restraint vanished. He grabbed her hand to close it over him, then thrust his hips into her palm. Her fist tightened around him, drawing a plaintive groan from him as he stroked himself against her hand. Aching, yearning, hard—and growing impossibly harder. When she smeared the drop of moisture that had formed at his tip over his smooth head with her palm, he groaned with hard-won restraint and clenched his buttocks tightly to keep from spilling in her hand.

  “Danielle,” he rasped and grabbed at her skirt to yank it up around her waist.

  Panting hard, he paused a moment to look down at her. Except for her stockings, she was beautifully exposed to his eyes…long stretches of bare thighs, feminine curls between her legs, and the folds below, already glistening wet from her desire for him.

  She stared back at him, confident and bold beneath his lustful gaze, then stepped her legs apart in wanton invitation. She reached up to cup the back of his head in her hand and bring his mouth down to hers in a kiss so heated that he couldn’t stop drops of his seed from trickling onto her fingers.

  His hand dove between her legs and stroked her hard and fast, grinding the heel of his hand against her pelvic bone, just above where her sensitive nub lay buried. A hot shudder of desire pulsed through her. She darted the tip of her tongue out to wet her lips in sweet anticipation, and he groaned at the unwitting gesture of seduction. And permission.

  He needed to be deep inside her, surrounded by her tight warmth and silky softness. Needed to hear her cry out in passion for him, to feel her writhe and shudder around him—

  Sweet Jesus. He needed her. Every bit of her. Now and always.

  His hands slid under her arse and lifted her into the air, her thighs clenching against his hips for support and her arms wrapping around his neck. Holding her in place against the wall, he stepped forward and impaled her with his cock.

  She cried out in surprise and swift pleasure, but her body eagerly welcomed his, taking him deep inside her. Locking her ankles together at the small of his back, she clasped herself to him and held on for this desperate, wicked ride.

  He planted his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders for leverage and thrust into her, twisting his hips against her with each plunge to go as deep as possible. He drove into her. Each penetrating thrust brought a cry of satisfaction to her lips, each retreat a whimper of loss.

  His hands grasped firmly at her buttocks. With every thrust and retreat, he yanked her up and down over his length in a galloping rhythm that soon had her bucking helplessly against him.

  “Marcus…” The strained sound of her voice shivered through him, and her body clamped around his like iron bands…arms, legs, all the tiny muscles inside her bearing down around him—“Marcus!”

  She came violently, screaming out as her release tore through her and slammed into him. The cry echoed through the brick building and filled him with an intense joy unlike any he’d ever known before.

  He thrust into her once more, twice—then he held her pinned there against the wall as his cock jerked inside her and his seed gushed into her, so powerfully that he yelled.

  She convulsed around him again as a second release consumed her, nearly as fierce as the first, then went limp in his arms. Only his body pressing against hers kept her from sinking bonelessly to the floor.

  Carefully, he loosened his hold on her. She slid down his front and found her feet beneath her, but her knees were still too weak to support her and buckled. He caught her and encircled her in his arms, holding her close to him while she struggled to regain her breath.

  He buried his face in her hair, which was still in its pins, in their desperation to make love not bothering to remove a stitch of clothing or a single pin. Never…never had he loved a woman the way he did her.

  “Don’t you see?” he murmured against her temple, tasting the faint flavor of perspiration that had sprouted there from the ferocity of their lovemaking. “We belong together, Danielle. In every way.”

  She continued to cling to him as residual shivers of release passed over her, as her breathing slowly deepened and her racing heartbeat calmed.

  Then he steeled himself to do the one thing he’d sworn he would never do—put her into danger. “One last vanishing, then.” He placed a kiss to her lips, still hot and trembling from his kisses. “But you’ll do it with my help and the help of the Home Office.” He tilted her chin up until she looked him in the eyes. He wanted no misunderstanding about this. “I’ll be by your side every minute.”

  She stared at him for a long while, long enough that the flush of making love eased away from her cheeks. Long enough that he suspected she might change her mind and refuse him after all.

  But then, with a capitulating sigh, she kissed him.

  “Yes, Marcus, I accept your terms of surrender,” she whispered, sending joy soaring through him. “I will marry you.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Dani hurried up to her room and to the writing desk positioned beneath the window, where she took out a piece of the plain stationery that she used to send messages for Nightingale. Quickly, she scratched out a letter to Beatrice. As she wrote, the burden of Nightingale lifted, but the guilt remained as strong as ever. She knew now that it always would, along with grief that it had ended, but she also knew that she’d made the right decision.

  I cannot rescue the girl you told me about—I am so very sorry. If you want to help her, you will need to do it yourself. Contact a man named William Jenkins through the innkeeper’s wife at the Golden Bell Tavern at the Strand and Fleet Street and tell him that you are with the network. Pay him well, and he will smuggle the girl back to Manchester for you. With faith in you…

  She paused to read over the letter, then signed it,

  Nightingale

  Her hand trembled. It would be the last time she ever penned that name.

  “Miss?” Her maid Alice hurried into the room, her face pale and worried. “The viscountess is downstairs, stirring up all kinds of fuss over hot chocolate and baths for you. Is there a problem?” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “With Nightingale?”

  “No.” A twinge of sadness struck her as she blotted, folded, and sealed the envelope. “There will be no more problems with the charity.”

  Alice frowned, not understanding.

  “Take this and deliver it to Lady Hartsham.” She held up the note. “Then send word to the Golden Bell as you usually do to notify Mr. Jenkins to expect a message about a vanishing.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Take no risks, but hurry back,” Dani called out as Alice scurried from the room. Her eyes fell onto the music box. “We have a vanishing to plan for.”

  The very last one she would ever do.

  Twenty-Five

  Wringing her gloved hands, Dani paced the length of the entry hall. Her long coat swished around her legs with every step of her laced-up half boots and made her flushed with heat, but she didn’t dare remove her outer layers. She had to be ready to leave immediately, the carriage due for her at any moment—

  The long case clock in the drawing room struck half past nine, and her shoulders sagged.

  No, the carriage was past due.

  She craned her neck to glance out the sidelight at the street. In the darkness, she couldn’t see anything beyond the halo of light cast by the oil lamp hanging over the door. With a frustrated groan, she began to pace again.

  Thank g
oodness Harriett had gone out tonight to a concert with Mrs. Peterson so she didn’t need to explain her behavior. Not that she could have given an explanation anyway. Not until Hartsham had been arrested and she knew that all the people she loved would finally be safe.

  Where on earth was Marcus?

  He’d sent a note to her that morning to inform her that Hartsham had finally contacted him about the woman and to give her instructions about tonight. She was to wait at home. After the woman had arrived at nine o’clock and been placed securely under the Home Office’s guard, Marcus would secretly leave Brandon Pearce’s town house in Bedford Square and come for her in an unmarked carriage. He would take her to Bedford Square, where she would wait while Clayton Elliott finished questioning the woman and securing whatever statements they needed to act against Hartsham. Then, Dani would bring the full resources of Nightingale into play one last time to create a new identity for the woman, rush her out of London to the docks at Greenwich, and put her on the first ship bound for America. They would give her the chance at a new life. How she chose to live it was entirely left to her.

  With that, their trap for Hartsham would be sprung. And not a moment too soon.

  In his note, Marcus had warned her that if the situation at the town house with the woman grew complicated, he might have to send another man in his place to fetch her—his friend Merritt Rivers, who had served with him in France and had now staked out a notable career as a barrister, a man who by all reports could be trusted to protect her with his life. But she wanted Marcus at her side tonight. And every night for the rest of her life.

  Oh, where was he?

  Motion caught the corner of her eye through the door’s sidelight. In the dark shadows of the street beyond the lamp’s glow, a carriage stopped suddenly in front of the house. Oh, thank God! She flung open the door to rush from the house, only to halt in midstep at the threshold when the door of the hired hackney opened and a woman hurried to the ground, gathered up her skirts, and dashed up the front steps toward her.

  “Miss Williams, thank goodness!”

  The woman stepped into the lamplight beneath the small front portico. When she pushed back her hood to reveal her face, Dani finally recognized her.

  “Mrs. Slater?” Dani took her arm and led her back inside the house. She couldn’t help one last searching glance into the darkness for a second carriage but found none. “What are you doing here?” And dressed head to foot in gray and black worsted wool, no less, looking nothing like a prosperous mill owner’s wife. The little hairs at Dani’s nape prickled with unease. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Danielle!” Mrs. Slater grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly, not letting go. “We desperately need your help.”

  “We?”

  “Beatrice and I—and the girl. We’re in trouble.”

  The girl. The tingle at her nape shot like lightning down her spine. “How?”

  Flustered and pale, Mrs. Slater rushed out the words. “We tried to rescue her on our own, but it all went so horribly wrong! Beatrice said that you could help us, that you’d done this sort of thing before.”

  Dread strangled in her throat. Dear God…had Beatrice told her about Nightingale? “You—you know about the girl at the brothel?”

  Mrs. Slater nodded emphatically. “Beatrice told me what she’d planned, and I couldn’t let her do it by herself.” Her fingers dug into Dani’s arm, and she lowered her voice, which vibrated with fear. “We went to the brothel tonight.”

  “You two went to the brothel?” An icy dread spilled through her. “By yourselves?”

  “We had a man with us. The brother of one of my footmen. He agreed to go inside the house and sneak the girl out while we waited in the carriage a few streets away.”

  Thank God that they were smart enough to do that. “What happened?”

  “Someone inside the house saw Martin leave with the girl and alerted the men guarding the door. They chased after him. And then they chased after us.” She released her hold on Dani’s arm, one hand flying to her mouth and the other to her chest. “I was so terrified! The team was racing so fast over the cobblestones that I thought we would be shaken apart. We nearly tipped over at the corners.”

  “But you got away.” Dani soothingly rubbed her hand up and down the woman’s arm to reassure her, although she also did it to ease her own guilt. She hadn’t simply refused to help the girl; she’d told Beatrice to rescue her herself. If she had known how the night would go, she never would have written that!

  “Barely.” Mrs. Slater shook violently, unable to tamp down the lingering terror and agitation from the chase. “At one point, they nearly caught us. We had to leave the carriage and run on foot. That was when Martin left us.” Her voice broke with disbelief as she explained, “He just ran…ran away into the darkness and left the three of us there alone on the street. At night. With those men still chasing after us and the girl crying—crying so loudly! And she wouldn’t hush, no matter how much we begged…”

  Dani hugged her and repeated forcefully, “But you got away. That’s what matters.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Slater swiped a hand at her eyes. “We’ve managed to avoid them for now, but they’re still out there searching for us. I know it!”

  She placed her palm against Mrs. Slater’s cheek to make the woman focus. “Where are Beatrice and the girl now?”

  “At the warehouse in the Strand where we were supposed to have met up with Mr. Jenkins so he could take the girl out of London. But he wasn’t there.”

  “Which warehouse?”

  “The one near the Golden Bell. Mr. Jenkins suggested it in his message when he agreed to help us. But he wasn’t there!”

  “I know.” When a fearful tear slid down the woman’s cheek, Dani wiped it away. “But I’ll take care of you. Everything will all be all right.” Dear God, she hoped so! “You need to go back to the warehouse and wait with Beatrice. I’ll send a message to the other men I know like Mr. Jenkins, to have one of them come to the warehouse and collect the girl from you.”

  “There isn’t time! That’s why Beatrice sent me here to you.” She grabbed Dani’s hand and tugged at it. “You have to come with me.”

  “I can’t—”

  “We don’t know what to do!” She wrung her hands in distress.

  “If you wait at the warehouse, one of the men will come for you,” Dani explained, purposefully making her voice calmer the more agitated Mrs. Slater became. “He’ll know how to take care of everything.”

  “If we wait, those men will find us and kill us!” Her face twisted with fear. “You have to come with me and help us—now.”

  Mrs. Slater’s panic flooded into Dani and warred with the uncertainty inside her. Beatrice and the girl needed her, but Marcus was coming for her at any moment. Looking for an answer of what to do, she glanced out the open door at the dark street, still empty except for the hired hackney that continued to wait by the footpath.

  Mrs. Slater clutched at Dani’s sleeve. “Please, Danielle! You’re the only one who can save this girl.”

  As she bit her bottom lip, her gaze fell to the small travel bag waiting by the door. She’d filled it herself this afternoon, as she had with every other vanishing that Nightingale had ever committed. Two changes of clothes, a night rail, enough money for a few weeks’ room and board, documents that established a new identity—everything the woman at Pearce’s town house would need to escape and start a new life. Had Beatrice even thought far enough ahead to assemble this kind of escape kit for the girl? Did she know to hide with the girl at an inn under a false name if none of the men came to collect her from the warehouse tonight, an inn far enough away from the Golden Bell and the brothel that no one would see her and suspect who she really was?

  Of course she didn’t. Beatrice was scatterbrained under the best of circumstances, but tonight, when everything was going wrong aro
und her, hiding in the darkness with a crying child, fearing for her life—

  Dani’s heart ripped. “Yes,” she reluctantly agreed, ignoring the unease prickling at the backs of her knees and making her decision. “I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Mrs. Slater’s face lit up with gratitude and relief, although Dani suspected more of her tears might yet fall. “Let’s go now, and we’ll—”

  “Wait here. I have to collect a few things from my room that we’ll need.” She forcibly wrenched her arm away from the woman, who clung to it as if terrified that Dani would change her mind and run away, the same way their hired man had. “I’ll be right back.”

  Calling out for Alice, she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. She yanked open the doors to her armoire and looked hopefully inside, only for her chest to sink. What on earth did she have in her wardrobe that a twelve-year-old girl would fit into? So she snatched up a short cloak, an old spencer, and one of her bonnets. They would have to do. Somehow.

  When Alice hurried into the room, Dani thrust everything into her arms before she could blurt out any questions. “Find a travel bag and put all this into it, along with soap, a flannel, woolen stockings—whatever a young girl might need for travel. Then hurry back.”

  Alice nodded sharply, bewildered but knowing from past experience that now was not the time to press for answers. “Yes, miss!” she called out as she ran from the room.

  Dani sat at her writing desk and quickly scratched out a message to the innkeeper’s wife at the Golden Bell, giving her a list of men who had worked for Dani in the past and asking her to have them come to the tavern as soon as they could to carry out the rest of the vanishing. If the girl was gone by the time they arrived, they would still get paid, but the man who arrived first would receive triple his pay. An excellent incentive for them to hurry to help. And if none of the men came to the tavern, then the girl would be hidden there in an attic room until tomorrow, until Dani could vanish her completely. Even if it meant driving her to Manchester herself.