The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  He reached forward and swung her about by the shoulders. She’d never been afraid of him before but now she saw the trained killer stripped bare of all his aristocratic polish.

  “His name, if you please.”

  She fought for courage. “So you can challenge him?”

  “So I can kill him. Very slowly.” Jardine flashed white teeth. “If I can’t have you, I’ll be damned if some limp cock of a smooth-talking bastard will have you, either. Good Lord, woman! Have you no discrimination?”

  She couldn’t tell him this was Kate’s diary, but then again, how could she admit to writing such things? If only she hadn’t given in to weakness and made that copy!

  “Let go of me.” She wrenched away from him. “The man in the diary is imaginary. I made him up! If you can’t see that, then you’ve syllabub for brains, you idiot!”

  Jardine’s brows snapped together. “You . . .” Light broke over his devilish features and the hint of a smile. “Why?”

  She stared at him, wondering if he could ever understand why a woman might weave these fantasies. Men were so free.

  Because I need someone. Because I’m so lonely sometimes I think I’ll shrivel and die. Because no matter how much you want me, you won’t ever stay.

  But all she said was, “I don’t know why.” She gathered the pages and crushed them between her hands, wishing she’d a fire to burn them in. “I was mad, I think.”

  As she crumpled those pages, she felt cold. And more alone than she’d ever felt before.

  “Come here.”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  His voice deepened. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me. All these years . . .”

  She’d never understood why he still wanted her, came after her time and again. She was no beauty. By contrast, he had everything—looks, fortune, position. He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he keep returning to her?

  “You know I can’t.” Her voice broke. “You know why! And it’s your fault. It’s in your power to change but you won’t do it. And then you hound me like this! I can’t stand it anymore, Marcus. If you cared for me at all, you wouldn’t—”

  He plucked her off her chair, banded his arms around her, and crushed her mouth with his. Her body, her mind, her soul, flew to him instantly. It was not wise, it was everything she’d vowed she would never do. She’d never leave herself vulnerable to him again.

  Louisa wrenched her head to the side, panting as if she’d run a mile. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her throat, seducing her in every way.

  But she whispered, “No.” And then she said, “No!” And gave him a forceful shove. Her whole body clamored with longing, but she couldn’t let him closer after successfully keeping her distance all this time. She couldn’t let him love her, knowing that at the end of it, there would only be good-byes.

  “Why do you do this to me?” she cried, taking in his stormy expression, the deep sensuality of that skillful mouth. “What do you want from me?”

  An arrested look came over his face. Then he turned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” Chest heaving, he looked back at her, as a starving man might look at a feast. “I only know I want you.”

  Her heart had broken so many times. One more fissure snaked through it. “But not enough,” she whispered.

  She gripped her hands together and tried to still the tremor in her voice. “If you care for me at all, you will stay away.”

  He gave an ugly crack of laughter. “Oh, I care. And I’ll find a way to have you, m’dear. You can count on it.”

  She gazed at him steadily, summoning all her strength. “Go,” she said quietly. “Your empty promises carry no weight with me.”

  Pain flashed across his face, but so swiftly she might have imagined it. “We might have parted ways, but I never surrendered the right to watch over you.” He pointed at her. “Remember that.”

  He turned and left by the window, as silently as he’d arrived.

  Louisa shivered. To have Jardine watch over her was far more dangerous than anything else that might threaten her.

  But she’d won this battle. At least, for now, he was gone.

  MAX stared into the dregs of his tankard. It was late. He couldn’t be bothered reaching for his timepiece, but judging by how much he’d drunk, it must be close to midnight.

  He was blessed with a remarkably hard head, but it was time to get back and relieve George. After the debacle with Lady Kate, he definitely craved something stronger, but he’d stayed with ale. A man needed his wits about him when Lady Kate was around.

  Besides her more obvious charms, what he chiefly admired about her was her wit, her poise, that desperate courage that drove her to blackmail to defend her brother.

  And now that someone had made an attempt on her life, did she cower in the corner? Not she! She’d nearly brained him with a chamber pot, insisted on learning to defend herself. Well, perhaps there were a few things he could teach her if it would make her feel more secure.

  His mind darkened. What if she refused to speak to him after what he’d done? It wasn’t rape. She hadn’t once said no or tried to stop him. He hadn’t been so far gone he couldn’t tell the difference between a willing woman and one who didn’t want him. But—

  A sudden hush fell over the taproom. Max looked up. Jardine stood in the doorway watching him, a cynical twist to his mouth.

  The patrons resumed talking, but in whispers, which probably meant they were gossiping about this newcomer in their midst. Apparently oblivious to the stir he caused, Jardine ordered a tankard of home-brewed and made his way to join Max.

  “Evening, Your Grace,” said Jardine, steel in his tone. “I didn’t know you were in the vicinity.”

  “Or else you might have stayed away?” Max raised his brows. “You’re not following me, by any chance?”

  Jardine sat side-on, with his forearm resting along the table, black-booted legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles.

  He appeared at his ease, but he surveyed the room in that instinctive way they all did, watching for trouble, mapping out the exit routes. “Now, why would I do that, old fellow? I have utter confidence in you.” He paused. “You might be interested to know that Lady Kate’s solicitor has been making a small noise at the Home Office about Lady Kate’s disappearance.”

  Max straightened. “The devil he is!”

  “Oh, no need to trouble yourself, dear fellow. I made certain he was fed that tale about the sick aunt. I doubt he believes it, but he’s been brought to acknowledge he’ll do the lady’s reputation no favors if he makes a hue and cry.” Jardine sipped his ale. “Have you made any progress with Lady Kate’s literary offerings?”

  The swift change of subject startled Max. He almost reacted, but then he remembered which literary offerings Jardine meant. Jardine could have no idea of the erotic fantasies that had tormented Max’s every moment since he’d read them that afternoon.

  He marshaled his wits. He needed to try to throw Jardine off the scent. “Are you so certain the memoirs exist? She might have fabricated the entire thing.”

  “I’ve read the first chapter,” said Jardine.

  “Yes, but perhaps there isn’t any more,” said Max, and the idea seemed less far-fetched than he might have thought. “What, exactly, was in that first chapter?”

  Jardine waved a hand. “Oh, it was all rather ephemeral. Nothing damaging per se. Mostly hints and innuendo about what was to come. The lady’s instructions were to publish it in the event of her disappearance or demise, but as I have the only copy and you have the lady, we are safe for the time being.”

  “Did you get a sense of what we might expect when the rest comes to light?” said Max.

  Jardine took a sip of ale. “Reading between the lines, I’d say Lady Kate knows a great deal that might fluster our esteemed members of Parliament, but there was no indication of any major revelation in the offing. I could be quite wrong on that score, though.” He met Max’s eye
s. “I want those memoirs. It’s time Faulkner had his congé.” He frowned. “I’m thinking of giving up fieldwork.”

  “My God, could you survive?” mocked Max.

  “As head of operations, very well, I imagine,” said Jardine, staring before him contemplatively. He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you never wish to settle down while you were in service, Lyle?”

  “To what? Marriage?” Max shrugged. “Our line of work doesn’t mix with marital bliss. Can’t say I was ever tempted, no.”

  “But now you are free to do as you wish. You are a duke. You can have any woman you want.”

  Max thought of Lady Kate. “But things are never that simple, are they?”

  Jardine’s features hardened, and the devilish look deepened as he flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “No, my dear fellow. That they are not.”

  “MESSAGE for you, guv.” George stepped out of the darkness to join Max in his vigil.

  Max took the screw of paper and smoothed it out. “Who brought it?”

  “Young lad Perry,” said George. “Said you told him where you was heading.”

  George’s disapproval was palpable.

  Max sighed. “You’ve never liked Perry, have you, George? What do you have against him?”

  “Nothing specific, as you might say,” said George, shrugging. “Don’t like the cut of his jib.”

  Max smiled to himself. Perhaps a little jealousy might be at work here. Perry had been something of a protégé of Max’s, ever since that incident with the boy’s father. He’d been pathetically grateful for his rescue . . .

  Max read the letter by the chancy light of his lantern. “Good news,” he said quietly. “Holt has agreed to talk.”

  “Ah, guv, you’re a clever cull and no mistake. You knew he’d talk if he thought his sister was in danger.”

  “Yes. A masterstroke.” Max couldn’t help feeling bitter at the necessity. So many lies he’d told her.

  Folding the letter, he put it in his pocket. “I’ll need to go to London. We can’t free the vicar until we’re certain he’s given us the right information.”

  He closed his eyes momentarily. He hated to leave matters with Kate still in shreds but he needed to go to London and get this business over with. Perhaps it would give her time to forgive him.

  He dismissed George and sat down to plan.

  Or at least he tried, but his mind kept flipping back to Kate.

  Despite his best intentions, he’d ravished her like some rutting beast up there. If only she’d looked vulnerable and delicate when he’d arrived, he might have been able to rein in this fierce passion he’d conceived for her. But she’d spat fire at him, thrown things at him! He’d wager the elegant Lady Kate had never lost her temper like that before.

  Looking back, how could he have resisted her? That diary had him so worked up he couldn’t see straight, and then she’d pummeled him and shouted at him . . .

  And he could have sworn she’d . . . If he didn’t know better, he’d think she might have . . . No. His lips twisted. That was his masculine pride rewriting history. She couldn’t possibly have come in such a fast and furious encounter. Not a woman who preferred her men slow and gentle, like that phantom lover. Hell, he wished the man was real, so he could hunt him down and punch his daylights out.

  But he couldn’t fight an ideal. Could he ever be that man for her?

  He glanced upwards, wishing his sight could penetrate the floorboards. Did she sleep? Or was she in as much turmoil as he was? He hated to think of her huddled in bed, perhaps weeping at his brutish behavior.

  She wouldn’t want him to see her like that. But the fact remained that he needed to talk to her. If he left, if the men he hunted turned out to be as desperate as he suspected, he might never see her again.

  He wouldn’t tell her that, of course. He’d have to trust Jardine to look after her if something happened to him. Jardine had given his word, and he’d do it, too. Despite his vagaries, the man was solid as a rock when the worst came to pass and his honor was unimpeachable. Romney was a good man in a fight, but he was about to become a father. Jardine was better. He had no emotional ties and his ruthlessness was legendary.

  Max stepped outside the tower and whistled the particular tune he and George had devised as a signal years ago. Once again, his gaze lifted to the floor above.

  He needed to tell her good-bye.

  HE knocked this time.

  Kate pressed her fingertips to her temples in an attempt to massage away an incipient headache. She wanted to tell Lyle to leave her be, but if he refused to go she wouldn’t win that fight. Better to remain dignified if possible.

  So she dragged herself off the bed and straightened her gown as best she could. “Come in.”

  The faint hope that her visitor was Lady Louisa, or perhaps even Lyle’s taciturn manservant, died as that familiar dark head emerged through the trapdoor.

  He quirked an eyebrow, humor playing about his mouth. “No missiles this time?”

  “Well, you did knock.” She tried to keep her voice light, her tone utterly polite. “Did you leave something behind?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “So that’s how it will be between us.”

  She glanced away, fingering the bedpost. “How else could it be?”

  He expelled a sharp breath. She could tell he wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, and the worst part was, she wanted his hands on her, in anger, in passion—any way he chose. Longed for it, in spite of herself.

  His restraint was almost palpable. Through tight lips, he said,“I must go to London for a few days.”

  She couldn’t suppress a derisive snort. He was running away. Typical man! Why couldn’t she ever rely on anyone, least of all the men in her life?

  “And leave me unprotected?” She let a faint undercurrent of sarcasm run through her voice. She refused to betray her fear. She wouldn’t beg him to take care of her.

  He glanced at the shards of china that still lay scattered on the floor, and his mouth twitched upwards at the corners. “You’ll have to improve your aim, won’t you? But you needn’t worry. George will guard you, and there’s my cousin Romney, too. This is his house. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  She licked her lips. “I could come with you. I might be useful.”

  “You would be very much in the way,” he said bluntly. “And I want you to do something for me while I’m gone.

  Think about who might want to kill you. What were you going to write in those memoirs of yours?”

  “No one but you even knows about the memoirs. How could that be the motive?”

  He hesitated. “I’m afraid that’s not the case. You said you made sure you had insurance in case something happened to you. A former colleague of mine at the Home Office paid your solicitor a visit.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “He did not hurt poor Mr. Crouch?”

  “No. But you may be sure that the Home Office has read that first chapter of your memoirs and knows all about your little scheme.” As he said it, he wondered if it were true. If he were gunning for the top job, it was likely Jardine had kept the memoirs to himself.

  Still, Kate needed to know the gravity of the case. He didn’t spare her. “Where that information might have leaked is anyone’s guess. If a government minister or some other associate of yours has taken your threats to heart, they might well want you eliminated.”

  Kate turned cold. She’d never meant matters to go this far. She would never actually carry out her threat to publish those memoirs, but still, she couldn’t admit that to Lyle.

  She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temple. “I— I can’t think at the moment. I’ll have to go through everything in my mind.”

  “What about your diary? May I fetch it for you while I’m in London? That might give us a clue.”

  Kate hesitated. Could she trust him? It seemed she had little choice. “There is no diary. I made it up.”

  He scrutinized her face for a moment,
as if to divine the truth. Then he nodded. “I thought as much. Well, needless to say, I’d rather you didn’t commit any more of these charming anecdotes to paper, but think about it, all the same. What’s the most damaging thing you know about someone in a position of power?”

  “But I don’t know anyone who would kill—”

  “You never know what someone’s capable of until they’re driven to it. Let me be the judge of that.”

  She shivered. An acquaintance—perhaps even a friend— might be the killer? That made it so much worse.

  Her hands shook. She gripped them together in her lap. “What about my brother?”

  “He’s the reason I’m going to London.”

  Kate’s head jerked up. “He has agreed to give evidence? How can that be? They haven’t hurt him, have they?”

  “Of course not,” he said, frowning. “I told you I had methods of persuasion. Your brother has seen sense and has agreed to tell us where those rebels are hiding. If his information proves correct, he will be released.”

  Kate narrowed her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t believe Stephen would agree to betray his principles like that.”

  His expression was unreadable. “That remains to be seen. I’ll know more when I get to London. In the meantime, you have your assignment. And for God’s sake, don’t write anything down.”

  “What do you take me for? Of course I won’t.”

  Lyle took a step towards her, then stopped. “Good-bye, then.” He gave her a strained smile and turned to leave.

  She didn’t want him to go. Playing for time, she said quickly, “Am I allowed visitors while I’m here? What about fresh air? May I not walk in the gardens?”

  He turned back. “You may see Louisa. And Fanny, too, if she cares to brave the staircase. But I don’t think it’s wise to go outside—you’ll be an exposed target. No one can save you from a chance bullet. There are too many places the killer could hide here. If you crave exercise, take a turn in the barn.”

  She glanced out the window to where the barn stood, only a few feet from the tower, and made a face.

  His expression softened. “It’s only for a few days, my dear. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”