The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  But those big hands roamed her body, even in her dreams.

  “I’VE been thinking, Lyle.”

  Max looked up. Lady Kate’s eyes sparkled with determination.

  “Have you? How terrifying,” he murmured. He’d wondered how she would behave after the night before.

  Crashing embarrassment, he’d expected. Shyness, yes. But not this bright-eyed goddess, full of purpose.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve been thinking I ought to learn how to defend myself.”

  If she’d stuck a knife in his ribs and twisted it, she couldn’t have reproached him more effectively for his neglect. “You don’t need to. I’m here.”

  She left the obvious unspoken. He hadn’t been there the previous afternoon. He hadn’t prevented that ring of bruises around her throat.

  “But don’t you think it would be a good thing for me to know? For instance, you could teach me to shoot.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “Many ladies shoot. Why, I’ve heard your own sister is proficient at the art.”

  “It’s not an art, it’s a skill, and it takes more than a few days to master. Besides, I am not letting you loose on the countryside with a pistol.”

  “You make it sound like I would go around shooting indiscriminately. And why do you say a few days?”

  He paused, eyeing her. She didn’t miss a trick. He ought to be more careful what he said around her. “I anticipate it won’t be more than a few days before your brother capitulates. It follows that you will have no further incentive to publish these silly memoirs of yours, ergo, the government agents who are trying to kill you will cease and desist. And we will all live happily ever after.”

  She observed him with speculation in her eyes, and he realized his tone had taken on a bitter edge. He swung away from her and stared out the window.

  “What about hand-to-hand combat, then?” she pursued, coming up behind him. Lord, she was like a terrier with a bone. “Aren’t there any tricks you might teach me to defend myself from—”

  He turned and took her by the shoulders, none too gently. She winced a little, and the reminder of her injuries inflamed rather than gentled him. He gave her a small shake.

  “Listen, Lady Kate. I am here to protect you and that’s the end of it. You do not need to shoot pistols; you do not need to know any physical tricks.”

  Her eyes widened. “No swords, either?”

  He gritted his teeth. “No swords.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose they are out of fashion nowadays. And it would be rather troublesome to carry one about with me all the time.” Her face lit. “I know! What about a dagger? A pretty little silver stiletto I could fit in my reticule, or—”

  There was nothing for it. He pulled her to him and kissed her, dimly aware he couldn’t stop her mouth any other way.

  But that motivation soon went up in flames as her lips clung to his and her arms snaked up around his neck.

  He shouldn’t do this. He needed to put distance between them. Yet she felt perfect in his arms, so soft and warm and scented.

  He crushed her to him, careful of her injured throat, but at the same time too urgent to treat her with delicacy.

  She didn’t seem to mind, returning his kisses with drugging passion.

  He drew back, looking down into her eyes, which were dazed and shining. Something shifted inside him, a dangerous, life-altering shift. This woman was too significant, too important to lose.

  He pulled away. “Don’t. Kate, I—”

  She stepped over to him and reached up to cup his jaw with her hand. “It wasn’t your fault. Yesterday afternoon. You did as I asked. You couldn’t have known he’d—”

  Shame stabbed his gut. “Thank you. You need say no more.” The harsh words and his dismissive tone made her recoil. She stepped back, letting her hand fall.

  Good. That was how it should be.

  He fed his anger with more words, like an engineer feeding coal into a furnace. “You’ve been nothing but trouble from start to finish, meddling in what doesn’t concern you. I should have let you go your own way when you tumbled out of that carriage. I should have let you get yourself killed. But I’ve sworn to protect you and that I’ll do until this tiresome business is over. Until then, you do as I say or you won’t like the consequences.”

  She’d been shocked by his outburst, but when he finished his tirade, she surprised him. A curious smile flitted over her lips.

  “Oh, dear! And they say we women are delicate creatures. I’m so sorry to have wounded your pride, my lord duke. But I never asked you to protect me, to take me away from my home and my friends. If I had wanted protection, I would not have asked for it from you. But now we are in this tangle, let me make one thing clear. I won’t tolerate being treated as if I am some troublesome chit who is importuning you to help her. I never wanted your help. And I’ll be—I’ll be damned if I’ll obey you when your orders are so nonsensical. Any number of situations might arise where you can’t be with me. I’d feel much more confident if I had some rudimentary knowledge of self-defense.”

  She looked at him straightly. “I am quite aware I’m no match for a man, but surely there might be ways to at least gain myself time to scream.”

  He held tight to his temper and spoke slowly and clearly. “You will not need to scream. No one will get within a hundred paces of you. Not on my watch.”

  Knowing Kate, if he armed her with fighting skills, she’d only become more daring. Foolhardy even. He couldn’t afford to let her gain confidence or she’d discount the danger that surrounded her, flout his orders, perhaps even jeopardize his plans to keep her safe.

  For a moment, she regarded him in silence, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Do you know, Lyle, it’s rather thrilling when you come over all masterful.” She stood on tiptoe, placed on hand on his shoulder, and touched her lips to his. If concern for her safety hadn’t been uppermost in his mind, his resolution would have dissolved there and then.

  He drew back and saw a purposeful glint in her eye. The little minx! He shook his head. “Cozen me all you like. You’ll not get your way in this, m’dear.” He removed her hand from his chest, ignoring her look of chagrin. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes, if you please, ma’am.” He bowed, and strode out of the room.

  As he shrugged into his greatcoat, he thought of the conversation they’d had and fought a smile. How many women would immediately search for a way to fight back? How many women would weep and cling rather than provoke him until he kissed her senseless? Life would never be dull with Lady Kate.

  “FANNY, don’t be absurd. You are not a whale,” said Louisa. “The merest suspicion of a bump, that is all, and you must be six months gone at least.”

  “My dear, you are too kind.” Fanny sighed. “But I daresay I outweigh the Prince Regent by now. Romney hates my being so fat.”

  “You know that’s not true.” Since Louisa’s big cousin doted on his wife in the most slavish and sickening way, Fanny could only be indulging in her high sense of drama to make such a foolish statement.

  Fanny shrugged her shoulders pettishly. “Oh, I’ll grant you, he’s jumping out of his skin with excitement over the new baby. He’s convinced it’s the son and heir. I hope,” she said pensively, “that it is a girl.”

  “Either way, the child will be well loved,” said Louisa quietly.

  A familiar pain stabbed her heart. How she longed for a child of her own! She was years older than Fanny and piercingly aware that the time to bear healthy children was running out.

  She’d tried to tell herself that some things could never be, yet a part of her had always hoped for . . . well, a miracle, she supposed. In the meantime, she’d be the best aunt and cousin the children in her family could wish for. She glanced at Fanny. At least she would not have to worry about her figure thickening.

  The thought should have cheered her, but it did not. Her flat, almost concave stomach seemed lacking next to Fanny’s swo
llen belly. This field lies fallow . . .

  Louisa took a deep breath and tried to put the matter out of her mind. The more pressing concern was to return the diary and the translation to her brother.

  As Fanny continued to rummage disconsolately through her extensive wardrobe, Louisa risked another surreptitious glance at the small watch that hung from a fob on her bodice. She needed to get away from London, but the way things were going, Fanny might never decide what to wear for the journey, much less what to pack.

  “What about the blue cambric? That’s pretty,” said Louisa. Please wear the confounded cambric!

  Fanny sent her a sharp-eyed look. “Is something the matter? You seem on edge today.”

  A commotion downstairs saved Louisa from answering.

  “Oh, that will be Romney,” said Fanny. “He’s as mad as a bear this morning. He hates being holed up in a traveling carriage with me when he’d prefer to ride.”

  Louisa didn’t answer. Her mouth dried so quickly and completely she could barely swallow. Her pulse raced and her breath shortened, the way they always did when—

  Heavy steps sounded on the stairs, and she knew, just knew whose steps they were.

  Gripping her hands together, she trained her eyes on the door.

  It flung open and he stood there, the great, sleek brute with grim purpose behind the devilish smile. That detestable smile.

  “Lord Jardine!” Fanny gasped as he kicked the door shut behind him. “What are you doing?”

  He leaned his shoulders against the oak panels, ignoring the shouts and hammering of the footman who’d chased up the stairs after him. “I am settling an old score.”

  How very apt! “He has come for me, Fanny,” said Louisa quietly. “Do not be alarmed.”

  “I don’t care who he has come for. Romney will kill him if he finds him in my boudoir.”

  Genuine amusement flickered across Jardine’s features. He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.” He turned, locked the door, and pocketed the key.

  Fanny gasped, planting her hands on her hips. “Lord Jardine, this is outrageous behavior. I demand you leave at once!”

  He held his gloves in one hand, slapping them on his palm in a rhythmic, meditative, and wholly insolent way that nearly drove Louisa mad. How was it that his mere presence, his slightest gesture could overset her so?

  To Louisa, Fanny’s scandalized tirade faded into background noise. The world had narrowed to just her and Jardine, the slap of his gloves, the rasp of her ragged breathing, and her heartbeat, pounding in her ears.

  Ignoring Fanny, Jardine strolled towards her, and it took every ounce of self-possession for Louisa to remain where she was.

  He halted before her, too close. “If, by some miracle, Romney did succeed in killing me, would you be sorry, Louisa?” Leaning down, he murmured, “Or would you rejoice in your . . . freedom?”

  All the warmth drained from her face. She tried, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. Her lashes lowered.

  She didn’t wish him dead. It was an agonizing possibility—a likelihood—she endured every day. And he hadn’t the slightest idea what it cost her or he wouldn’t have asked that question.

  His fine, black brows arched. “Ah. I think I have my answer.”

  “Really, Jardine! What is this about?” Fanny’s voice sounded less scolding now and more intrigued. Her black eyes snapped with curiosity.

  Louisa shot her a quelling glance and drew a steadying breath. “My lord, if you wish to speak with me, I suggest you call in Mount Street. It is scarcely appropriate—”

  “I’ve called in Mount Street. Several times,” he answered with another of those smiles. “And now I discover you’re here, on the point of leaving for the country.”

  How had he found out? She’d sworn her mother to secrecy. “I’m not obliged to advise you of my movements, Lord Jardine.” She looked him straight in the eye and said the words clearly, daring him to argue. “You have no claim over me.”

  Utter fury flooded his countenance. Inwardly, she quailed, but she managed to maintain her surface calm. The least sign of weakness and he’d take full advantage of it. Jardine was a ruthless killer and master manipulator. It took strength, determination, and guile to get the better of him in any encounter.

  He held her gaze, and suddenly, his face softened, his beautiful mouth taking on that sensual curl that never failed to fill her with hopeless yearning. She tore her gaze away.

  In command of himself once more, he slapped his gloves on his palm. “I’ll follow you.”

  “What?” She gave a startled laugh, though nothing about his assertion was remotely amusing. “You most certainly will not!”

  Jardine strode to the door and turned the key. “Just try and stop me.”

  Yanking open the door, he stepped back fluidly, causing the footman he’d eluded to stumble into the room.

  Jardine’s hand shot out and grasped the man by the cravat. He pulled the footman up so they were nose to nose and spoke very succinctly. “You let a strange man walk into your lady’s house, right up to her boudoir.” He twisted his fist, and the footman gulped for air. “Don’t. Let it happen. Again.”

  He released the footman, who slumped, dazed, against the doorjamb. Then with a flamboyant swish of his driving coat, Jardine left.

  Louisa waited until the footman scrambled out of the boudoir and the street door slammed shut. Then she sank into the nearest chair.

  Immediately, Fanny flew to her, pelting her with questions.

  Louisa made no response. She didn’t know the answers. She couldn’t even begin to guess. Jardine pursued her as relentlessly as he’d ever pursued the most hardened criminals. Why now, after all these years?

  When they’d first fallen in love, Max had forbidden the match—as well he might, for he’d witnessed first hand the dark side of Jardine’s character, the ruthlessness that lurked beneath the polished surface. Young, headstrong, barely eighteen, Louisa hadn’t heeded Max’s warning that nothing mattered to Jardine more than his dangerous profession. Until the day Jardine sacrificed her in the line of duty.

  Never again. Never again would she trust him with her heart. Never again would she call him her love. At least, not out loud.

  Years had passed since she’d sent him away. What had made him renew his campaign to win her in spite of it all?

  Louisa shivered. Jardine always caught his quarry in the end. She couldn’t let that happen to her. She’d known deep down that running away was not the answer.

  She must gather the courage to fight back.

  THE short journey to Hove was accomplished largely in silence. Swaying with the movement of the carriage, Kate stole a glance at Lyle. He slouched in the corner, apparently at ease, but his vigilance showed in the tense line of his jaw and the glint of watchful gray eyes under his hat brim.

  Between kissing her with such incendiary passion and handing her into the carriage, Lyle had assumed the air of a soldier on a mission—impersonal, uncaring, brusque to the point of rudeness.

  As if he hadn’t made furious love to her last night. As if he’d resolved to succeed in his appointed task at all costs— even at the expense of whatever lay between them.

  Rather sourly, Kate admired his single-minded determination. By contrast, every cell of her body clamored for the feel of him—surrounding her, covering her, inside her. Even when she closed her eyes, she smelled him, sensed his taut, expectant energy. His presence filled her senses utterly. Every breath she took, she breathed him in.

  Lyle’s restless tension had nothing to do with desire. Protecting her, finding the rebels, was serious, dangerous business. She wished her wayward, treacherous body would understand that, instead of yearning for his touch. His words at the ball came back to her: “This is not a game . . .”

  Kate battled to marshal her scattered wits. Lyle had the right of it. She needed to regain her focus, too. Far more important than her passion for the man beside her was her brother’s predicament. Lyle
had the power to arrange for Stephen’s release. She needed to persuade him to exercise it. And if that meant annihilating whatever fragile trust had built between her and Lyle, so be it. Stephen was her kin, her blood. His safety was paramount. It had to be.

  She respected Lyle’s reasons for hunting those men. But surely there was another way to find them besides locking up her brother?

  Having rehearsed what she’d say in her mind until she was word perfect, Kate cleared her throat. “Lyle?”

  His gaze flickered to her and out the window again. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been a congenial traveling companion, have I?” He hesitated. “I was thinking of the fire.”

  Her prepared speech withered on her lips.

  Lyle blew out a breath. “There were four in line for the dukedom before me, did you know that? They all died that day.”

  Kate swallowed hard and remained silent. Expressing sorrow or regret seemed wholly inadequate.

  Lyle stared at the countryside that passed steadily by, until it seemed he wouldn’t continue. Kate started when he spoke. “Please don’t imagine it affected me in a personal way,” he said. “They weren’t my immediate family. In fact, I’d never met any of them before.”

  Sensing that he wanted to speak of it, perhaps unburden himself in some way, Kate asked, “How did it come about that so many died that day?”

  His lips tightened. Moments passed before he opened them. “Those who expected a legacy from the old duke gathered in the muniments room for the will reading, while the rest of the family waited in the drawing room in another wing of the house.” He blew out a breath. “All who heard the will read died. Every one of them.”

  Kate gasped. “How awful.” She hadn’t realized what utter devastation the fire had wrought.

  “I wasn’t there. I . . .” He looked down at his hands. “I detested the old duke. It would have been hypocritical for me to attend his funeral. My brother was abroad, thank God.”