Knowing she might reconsider accepting his help, he smiled and drew her away from the shocking edifice and escorted her up the two steps leading into his tavern. “Not to worry, luv. The women who work there are perfectly nice. Now what say ye that we find ye somethin’ to eat?”
Wariness caused her brow to pucker. Leaning back ever so slightly, she resisted his escort just enough to convey a renewed degree of hesitance. “You won’t make demands in exchange?”
Seeing where her line of thought had headed, Carlton shook his head and made every effort to look as non-threatening as possible. Having her cooperation would be so much simpler than the alternative. And he really didn’t feel like chasing after her again.
“I don’t mistreat those under me protection. Ye understand?” When she still looked uncertain, as if the enormity of her decision to let him help her was finally sinking in, he sighed. “It would seem ye’ve had a rough mornin’. The fact that ye, a lady of the peerage, was runnin’ through St. Giles, would attest to that. Now as ye already know, there are worse men out there than me and since it would be a shame to see any real harm come to ye, I’ll offer ye shelter as long as ye need it.”
“But…why? Why would you want a woman like me on your hands?” She swung her arm out beside her in a helpless gesture. “I have no means of paying you for your hospitality.”
“Consider it an attempt on me part to cleanse me soul with a good deed.” Spotting his right hand man, a towering Scotsman with dense auburn hair, coming toward them, Carlton folded Regina’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Now ’ere’s someone I must introduce ye to right away since he practically runs this establishment fer me. Lady Regina, allow me to present to ye Mr. Blayne MacNeil.”
Without even thinking, Regina tightened her grip on Guthrie’s arm, anchoring herself to him like a capsizing ship in need of mooring. She was forced to tilt her head back in order to stare up at the giant of a man who stood before her. He was huge, like a monolith filling her vision.
Determined to hide her fear, she forced a smile and said, “Delighted.”
MacNeil’s eyes narrowed, creasing at the corners as if not trusting her sincerity. His mouth was set in a firm line, though it did appear to twitch slightly as if he attempted not to smile. “Likewise.”
He spoke more gruffly than Guthrie and with less finesse. For although Guthrie’s voice was uncultured, there was a flamboyant element to him that made him seem like a character from some fantastical tale. Of course, his attire, cut from vibrant velvet and silk, accentuated this aspect of him. And while most men would have looked comical dressed as he was, the clothes suited Guthrie, adding a larger than life appeal to him that intrigued Regina more than it ought to.
Had he been a sculpture, there would have been no doubt about the love and skill the artist had applied when he’d made him. By comparison, MacNeil resembled the work of a novice. His features completely lacked Guthrie’s elegance.
Eyeing Guthrie’s profile, she saw that even his cheekbones were perfect, which was probably an odd observation to make of a man. But if she were honest - truly honest - she had to concede that Guthrie was not only handsome, but lovely to look at. With the exception of his moustache. That part of him was downright hideous and she could not help but wonder what he might look like without it.
Not that she’d ever find out. She’d definitely never acquire the courage required to ask him to remove it. And he would never bow to such a request anyway. And why on earth did she suddenly wish that he would?
She had no idea how to answer that question.
She also wasn’t the least bit sure she’d made the right decision in coming here with him. For the fact of the matter was that she was a lady. She didn’t belong amid riffraff. And yet she was standing in the middle of a tavern with a man suspected of thieving, blackmail, and possibly murder. Come to think of it, she ought to be terrified. Yet she wasn’t. Not anymore. Which might be incredibly naïve, but the fact that he’d come to her rescue had eased her mind and encouraged her to trust him. If only a little.
Guthrie glanced down at her, frowned, and returned his attention to MacNeil. “Her ladyship’s ’ungry,” Guthrie murmured, and to Regina’s mortification, her belly answered with a low rumble. “Can ye arrange fer a breakfast plate?”
“Of course.” MacNeil’s expression remained somber. “Where should I bring it?”
Guthrie was silent a moment as if considering. After giving Regina another quick look, he said, “To me office.” Grabbing her hand, he strode toward a doorway on the opposite side of the room, pulling her along.
“Mr. Guthrie, perhaps we could simply remain here?” Years of perfect upbringing rooted in etiquette and the need to preserve her virtue, not to mention the apprehension of being alone with this man, revolted against his intention to spirit her away to his lair.
“Not a chance.”
“May I ask why?” She tried to dig in her heels but that just made her feet skid across the hardwood planking of the floor.
He came to a halt so abruptly she almost slammed into his broad back. A whiff of something wonderfully pleasant drifted toward her: a smoky aroma infused with a hint of sandalwood and coffee. Curiously, she was tempted to press her nose into his plush velvet jacket for a deeper inhalation.
Thankfully, he prevented her from doing something as foolishly improper as that by tersely telling her, “Because putting ye on display an’ lettin’ the world know ye’re here would be unwise. Seein’ as ye’re tryin’ to hide.”
Contrition forced her back a step. “Of course.”
He held her gaze, allowing her to lose herself in the fathomless depths of his dark brown eyes. When people considered the neutral color of brown, they often thought of it as flat and dull, lacking depth and vibrancy. But that simply wasn’t the case where Guthrie’s eyes were concerned. An almost-black umber ring surrounded the pupil. It turned to rich mahogany as it fanned outward and was overlaid by flecks of gold.
He turned away, breaking the spell even as he left her shaken to her core. She didn’t approve of the life he led or of the things he’d reputedly done. By all accounts he belonged in prison. To trust him would probably prove her a fool. And yet, the alternative was unthinkable. After having a knife pressed to her throat only half an hour ago, she had no wish to venture back into the streets of St. Giles on her own. And returning home so she and Stokes could be married was equally unsettling. Which left her with only one option, even if it was far from perfect.
They reached Guthrie’s office and he gestured toward a green velvet armchair, inviting Regina to sit. Without comment, he then went to pour himself a drink. Or so it seemed until he produced a handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it in the liquid and pressed it to the side of her neck where she’d been cut. She inhaled sharply, in part because of the sting, but mostly because of the unexpected touch. It was gentle and warm, even soothing and…over much too soon.
Regina blinked, heart pounding as she watched him retreat.
“Now then,” he said once he’d claimed the chair opposite hers and set the glass of brandy aside. “Do ye have a plan beyond runnin’ away?”
“Not really.” Ignoring the discomfort of his penetrating gaze, she sank into the cushiony plushness of her chair and instantly felt as if she’d received a loving embrace. How absurd. She allowed herself a moment to glance around the room. Every item had a rich texture, from the glossy surface of Guthrie’s desk, to the heavy satin drapes framing the only window, and the thick, silky pile of the carpets covering the floor.
After smoothing her skirts so they would not crease too much, she raised her hands to the ribbon securing her bonnet and began to untie it. The silk netting on the brim had been tucked and stitched into place to create a plump pleat. It was thicker on the sides where the ends had been turned back behind the bonnet ribbons and this caused the fabric to chafe at her skin.
“Ye’ve not considered what will happen once yer family finds ye missing?”
“Of course I have,” she said while she worked. “My father will be furious.”
“And you fear his wrath,” Guthrie observed. Removing his hat, he set it on his desk and raked his fingers through his shaggy locks.
Regina paused to stare, mesmerized for a moment before she managed to collect herself and avert her gaze. “I cannot deny it. But even if I didn’t, going through” —the bonnet ribbon came loose and slid between her fingers— “with the proceedings would have been a terrible mistake.” Carefully, so as not to catch any strands of hair, she lifted the bonnet off her head and placed it in her lap.
When Guthrie didn’t comment on what she’d said, she hazarded a glance in his direction. His eyes were fixed upon her with even greater intensity than before, his expression tight with some indefinable emotion that caused her stomach to flutter and tiny sparks of heat to creep over her skin. Reflexively, she sucked in a breath and quickly returned her gaze to her bonnet. She could not possibly be attracted to him, could she?
Her throat dried up on that thought. Of course not. He was a St. Giles criminal for goodness sake. And even if he weren’t, he wasn’t well-groomed enough for her to consider in such a light. His debonair messiness ought to discourage her interest while his moustache should make her recoil from the idea of him possibly kissing her.
She forced herself to swallow past the thickness of her tongue. Where in blazes had the notion of his mouth meeting hers come from? As she glanced at him from beneath her lashes, the quickening of her pulse answered that question: the texture of those layered hairs and the need to discover what they might feel like against her lips was shockingly alluring. It awoke the same kind of impulse inside her that always prevailed whenever she entered a modiste’s shop. She never could stop from touching the fabrics, the urge to feel the grain slide against her fingers impossible to resist.
“Why?”
Regina blinked. “What?” Heavens, her voice sounded breathless.
Guthrie smiled, eyes gleaming as if he knew precisely what she’d been thinking. He leaned forward, bringing his rich fragrance closer. “Why would marryin’ a marquess be a mistake?”
Aware that her body was heating by several degrees, Regina struggled to face this self-possessed man without coming across as a timid nitwit. “Because I want more for myself than to be a pawn in my father’s plans,” she blurted, only to snap her mouth shut and stare back at Guthrie in shock. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. She also couldn’t believe how good it felt to do so.
The edge of Guthrie’s mouth lifted, slanting his moustache. “Ye’ve had enough of being the dutiful daughter, have ye?”
Regina sat up straighter, tamped down her rioting nerves, and looked Guthrie squarely in the eye. “I’m tired of having to sacrifice my own happiness to satisfy others.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Do you know, I’ve never been allowed to eat cake or go swimming?”
He frowned back at her. “Why on earth not?”
“According to Mama, cake ruins the figure while swimming exposes ones skin to the sun.”
“That’s not entirely untrue.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed, “but to deny a child the joy of such things completely is unreasonable.” They were also just two examples of all the things she’d been deprived of through the years for some absurd reason or other. Somehow, she’d managed to convince herself that her parents were always right and that they only had her best interests at heart.
“In that case,” Guthrie was saying, “I’ll have to ask the cook to prepare a cake for ye while ye’re here. As fer the swimmin’—”
“There’s no need for that. Since Mama wouldn’t let me take lessons I…” She swallowed while trying to push through the wave of riotous panic the thought of submerging herself in water instilled. “I never learned, so I actually prefer to remain on land.”
“A good thing too since I’d rather not go fer a splash in the Thames.” He crossed his arms. “I was only goin’ to say that swimmin’ won’t be as easy.”
“Oh.”
When he continued to watch her, she wondered whether she ought to say more on the matter but was stopped from doing so when MacNeil arrived with a tray. On it, she glimpsed a plate from which steam was rising in slow and inviting swirls. “When Cook learned this was for a lassie, he decided to outdo his usual efforts.” Clearing a space on Guthrie’s desk, he set the tray down. “Best eat it while it’s hot.”
Regina hesitated until Guthrie said, “Go on. I know ye’re itchin’ to taste it.”
“Do you have a minute?” MacNeil asked Guthrie while Regina began to sample the food. Her mouth had started to water the moment she’d smelled the bacon.
“Certainly.” Guthrie stood and followed MacNeil to the door. He paused there. “I’ll be back in a trice, me lady.”
Having just bitten into a slice of toast slathered in cherry preserves, Regina could only answer with a nod. Guthrie grinned and turned away, shutting the door behind him and leaving her to one of the tastiest breakfasts she’d ever had the pleasure of enjoying.
“Who is she and what do you plan on doing with her?” Blayne asked as soon as he and Carlton were alone. Arms crossed, his friend looked mighty intimidating.
Undaunted, Carlton leaned back against the wood paneled wall of the hallway. “She’s Hedgewick’s daughter.” He savored the impact of this information, the way Blayne’s eyes widened with surprise. “As to what I intend to do with ’er…I’d say that’s obvious now, ain’t it?”
“I should caution you, Val. That—”
“Ye know better than to use that name,” Carlton snapped. No longer relaxed, he pushed away from the wall and gave Blayne his most condemning gaze. “I’ll not have ye ruin things fer me last minute by bein’ careless.” The thought of being banished from the place he called home was a fear that he lived with daily.
“Nobody here would turn on you if they learned who you really are. They like you too well.”
“Only because they think I’m one of them.”
Blayne held his gaze until he eventually bowed his head and said, “My apologies, Guthrie. I misspoke, which willnae happen again. But you cannot seriously want to use an innocent lass in your quest for vengeance. It’s downright diabolical, if you ask me.”
Carlton glared at him. “As much as I value yer opinion, it’s unwanted where Lady Regina’s concerned.”
“But keeping her here, surrounded by men and whores, will ruin her completely. She’ll never be able to return to Society.”
“As unfortunate as that may be, I cannot ignore this chance I’ve been given,” Guthrie growled. “It’s the only way I can think of fer Hedgewick to experience the sort of dread an’ loss he put me through. An’ as the person of greatest value to him, she—”
“Has he no son?”
“Indeed he does. But he’s just the heir.” Carlton smiled smugly. “That lady in there, she’s ’is ladder, an’ knowin’ what I do about the bastard, he’ll be carin’ more about that than anythin’ else in the world.”
“Maybe,” Blayne conceded, “but does she deserve what’s coming?”
“I ’ave no intention of findin’ out.” Christ, the woman had already caused doubt to hook itself in his conscience. Irritated, he tightened his jaw. “The last thing I need is to learn that I have a heart this late in the game.”
“That would be an inconvenience,” Blayne told him acerbically.
Carlton narrowed his gaze. “Ye’re not goin’ soft with age are ye?”
Blayne flattened his mouth. “I woulnae dare to.”
“Good to know.” Inhaling deeply and pushing the air back out slowly, Carlton forced the tension in his body to subside. “Ready me bedchamber for her.” Noting the horrified look on Blayne’s face, Carlton rolled his eyes. “Fer Christ’s sake, man, I’m not plannin’ to swive her. But me room is bigger than the rest, the furniture more in line with what she’s accustomed to. She’ll be most comfortable there and...why are ye smilin
g?”
“’Cause it’s starting to look like you may have a heart after all.”
“I’m just tryin’ to make her stay more comfortable. The happier she is with her accommodations, the less trouble she’ll be.”
Blayne snorted. “You can tell yourself that if you like, but it doesnae make it true.” He turned away, leaving Carlton with a muttered, “I’ll have the room sorted. Shouldnae take more than an hour.”
Agitated, Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Blayne was wrong about him having an ounce of goodness in him. Only an empty space remained where his heart had once been.
Lowering his hand, he raised his chin and straightened his spine. He then returned to his office where he found Regina licking the last remains of her breakfast from her fingers.
Something inside him unfurled, curling outward with promises of warmth, companionship, happiness...
Everything he’d lost when he was a boy.
And he didn’t like it one bit.
3
Regina glanced around the cluttered space she’d just been ushered into. A bright yellow velvet sofa stood to her left with a burgundy divan directly opposite and two chairs upholstered in turquoise silk in between. A low table stood at the center of the arrangement, its surface occupied by playing cards, a chess set, and a half filled decanter. Two bookcases stuffed to capacity reached toward the ceiling, their shelves bowing beneath the weight they carried. On the floor, pushed up against the walls, were hundreds of additional books all stacked in uneven piles. On top of one such pile sat a misplaced teacup while a candlestick stood on another.
Directly across from Regina, next to a blackened fireplace in which a low fire burned, was a large wooden chest, the lid propped open by the mountain of clothes inside. To the right was a desk, the surface barely visible beneath a melee of papers, trinkets, and various other items. The accompanying chair held an ivy-green top hat on which a tabby cat had decided to take a nap with its legs dangling over each side.
The Forgotten Duke Page 3
