The Duke of Danger

by Burke, Darcy

  He opened his eyes and stared down at her, slowing his pace for just a moment. She was so beautiful, so extraordinary. And he was lucky enough to have her. At least for now. But he hoped forever.

  She pulled his head down and kissed him, tangling her tongue with his in fierce abandon. He drove into her again, increasing the speed once more.

  Breaking the kiss, she cast her head back and cried out, her eyes closed tight. He watched the play of rapture across her face and lost himself completely.

  Once he regained his senses, he kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips, caressing her face with infinite tenderness. “Will you stay?” he asked softly.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He rotated, sliding off her and flipping to his back, pulling her with him so she nestled against his chest. He stroked her shoulder as she splayed her palm against his chest.

  He’d never felt so wondrous, so…complete. Her breathing evened, and he continued to trace his finger along her satiny skin.

  His mind went back to the events of the day, from her revelations about Townsend to her worry that he might want Marianne instead of her. Never. He wanted Emmaline. But it went far beyond that. He meant to protect her, to make her happy, to give her everything she desired. He loved her.

  And he’d tried to tell her, but she’d kissed him. Had she known that was what he was saying and wanted to stop him? It had felt like that.

  He didn’t care. Their relationship had already exceeded his expectations exponentially. He’d wait patiently for her to accept his love.

  And if she wouldn’t?

  He’d face that obstacle when—and if—it came.

  He kissed her forehead once more and whispered, “I love you.” Then he finally succumbed to sleep.

  * * *

  Emmaline wasn’t sure if she’d dozed, but it seemed she must’ve since the beginning of dawn was creeping beneath the edge of the curtains hanging in front of the window. She lay snuggled against Lionel, her back flush to his side.

  Turning, she stared at him, barely able to make out his features in the shadows.

  He loved her.

  She’d thought he meant to say it and had kissed him to stop the words. She didn’t want to hear them. Not from him. Not now. And maybe not ever.

  She wasn’t supposed to be with him. This marriage was a sham. Or it been until it had become something else.

  His even breathing filled the room, soft and strong. Like him. She nearly laughed at that. People would never imagine the infamous Duke of Danger could be soft, but he was. He cared so much about people and honor. Not just his honor, but those of the people he cared about. He would go to any length to protect them, that she knew.

  She could see how much the duel with Geoffrey had cost him. It hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted. It made her more curious about the other duels. Had the same thing happened? Had each one carved a little more of his soul away?

  How she wanted to take away his pain, to protect him as he did for others. She laid her head against his bicep. Did this mean she loved him?

  Perhaps. The emotion was certainly similar to love, but it wasn’t the same as any love she’d ever experienced. The love she felt for her family was borne of duty and responsibility. With Geoffrey, it had been excitement and a desire for independence. This was something completely different. It was wild and uncontrollable, and she seemed to have no say in the matter.

  No, she refused to accept that. She’d spent her life having no say, and she wouldn’t go back to that. One of the primary reasons she’d married Lionel was because he’d agreed to give her autonomy.

  And maybe that was one of the primary reasons she loved him.

  Her insides twisted. Loving someone meant giving them power. It also meant accepting the likelihood of pain. She didn’t know if she could do that again.

  Lionel’s arm twitched, dislodging her head. Before she could snuggle back up to him, his body shook in a violent spasm. She kept her distance and watched him, but he lay quiet.

  As she began to relax, he jerked again, his legs kicking out and his arm striking her in the abdomen. She backed away slightly, expecting him to cease again, but he didn’t. In fact, the movements continued. He grunted, his arms and legs crashing about the bed, disrupting the covers. He seemed completely unaware of his actions.

  “Lionel?” She gently touched his shoulder, but he smacked at her, his arm flailing. She tried again, more firmly grabbing his bicep. “Lionel!” She shouted his name and repeated it several more times.

  He came awake with a loud gasp, his body shooting off the bed. As he sat up, his breath came in deep pants.

  She gently touched his thigh. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, but took several deep breaths. He wiped a hand across his brow and, after a moment, turned his head toward her.

  There was enough light stealing beneath the curtains that she could see the torment in his gaze.

  “Oh, Lionel. Was it a nightmare?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe. I suppose. Can memories be nightmares?”

  The question broke her heart. She moved closer to him and took him in her arms, holding him close. She rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. “I think they can. If you want to tell me about it, I’ll listen.”

  He took a deep breath, shuddering in her arms. She twisted her body and moved up the bed, leaning against the headboard. He came with her, laying his head on her chest. And then he began to speak.

  “It always starts with my father’s death. We were at a gaming hell. I was young—two and twenty—and it was something we liked to do from time to time. My friends found it odd that I would go with my father, but I loved it. We had such a grand time together. And he was excellent at the tables.” His words were warm and wistful. “Just excellent.

  “He was so good, in fact, that from time to time, people questioned whether he would cheat, but it was always done in jest. Everyone knew my father was a man of integrity and honor. Everyone but Lord Babcock. That night at the hell, Babcock had lost quite a bit. He was angry and frustrated. He accused my father of cheating. We laughed at first, but it became evident that Babcock was serious. He stood, his face red, and called my father out.”

  Emmaline felt his pulse quicken as he divulged the tale. She stroked his head, his shoulders, his back.

  “My father also stood, all color draining from his face. I thought he was horrified—and he probably was—but he was also ill. His body seized, and he dropped to the floor. He was dead a few minutes later. I told Babcock I would see him on the dueling field the next morning.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, kissing his forehead.

  He curled his hand around her side, and his fingers dug into her flesh. “I wanted to kill him. He’d killed my father.”

  Tears clogged her throat, but she didn’t want to shed them. This was about him, not her.

  “Neither one of us hit with the first shot. I remember it clearly. I was so angry, my hand shook. I shot wide, and I was furious with myself. I said I wasn’t satisfied and demanded another round.”

  Emmaline didn’t understand the intricacies of dueling, nor did she want to. She’d no idea one could even do that.

  “The next time, I didn’t miss, but I still didn’t hit him where I intended. I shot him in the arm. He never used it again.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “I was sorry he didn’t die.”

  “Are you still?” She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words cascaded forth.

  “No.” He laid his head back down. “The irony is that he was the only one I intended to kill, and the only one who didn’t die.”

  He took a deep breath, his chest inflating quickly, then deflating slowly. “I never imagined I would duel again. It certainly wasn’t something I wanted to do. However, four years later, I found myself in an untenable situation. I was at the park, and a father was abusing his son—both verbally and physically. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen, so I inter
vened. The man, Addison was his name, grew violently angry with me. I was with West at the time, and he interceded. Addison called me out. Despite our efforts to defuse the situation, I met him the following morning. Again, we tried to resolve the issue, but Addison was adamant. He meant to kill me. He was, fortunately, a terrible shot, and never came close to hitting me. I hadn’t intended to fire, but he ran at me, yelling that he would kill me with his bare hands if he had to. I shot and hit him in the shoulder. It was a minor wound, but he died five days later of infection.”

  Lionel’s heartbeat had picked up again as he’d related the story of the second duel. She waited for him to say more or his pulse to slow, but it didn’t.

  She sensed he was in turmoil, in pain. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. These are my crimes.”

  “How can they be crimes? You were protecting that boy, and you tried to avoid dueling his father. You can’t be blamed for his violent temper.”

  “I visited them after he died—the boy and his mother. They live in Suffolk. I offered them money or any other manner of support they wanted. The boy yelled at me and cried. Despite his father’s abuse, he still loved him. He told me I was an evil man because I’d stolen his father away. I knew right then that he would kill me if he could—just as I wanted to kill Babcock. I’d taken that boy’s father from him, just as Babcock had taken mine from me.”

  Emmaline couldn’t breathe. Tears stung her eyes, and she fought against the drowning sensation in her throat. She made some sort of ghastly, strangled sound.

  Lionel sat up and cupped her face. “Emmaline.” His gaze was stricken, his features drawn.

  She put her hands over his and couldn’t stop the tears that fell from her eyes. “Oh, Lionel.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

  Several more tears fell to his shoulder, and she worked to get her emotions back under control. This wasn’t about her. But she couldn’t stop her heart from breaking anew when she thought of the anguish this man lived with every day.

  After a few minutes, she pulled back, wiping her hands over her eyes and inhaling deeply as she leaned back against the bed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m just surprised you’re still here.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He held his hands out, the palms up in offering. “Now you see me for all that I am. A man of honor, yes, but also a killer.”

  “You aren’t. You were defending yourself against that man.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides and turned from her, moving to the other side of the bed. “That doesn’t change the end result—nothing can. And don’t forget your husband. I killed him too. But I will never raise a weapon against another human being again. I can’t.”

  She followed him, scrambling over the mattress. Grabbing his bicep, she stopped him before he could stand up. “Don’t go.”

  He didn’t face her. “You can’t still want me.”

  “But I do.” Lord help her, she did. She shouldn’t want to, and she still didn’t know if she could allow herself to love him—at least openly.

  He turned, his eyes bleak and haunted. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Does it matter? I don’t understand why we’re together, why this…works. It makes no sense. And maybe it doesn’t have to.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that. The deaths I caused—those didn’t make sense. It’s important the rest of my life does.” He stood, and this time, she didn’t stop him. Grabbing his banyan, he wrapped it around himself. “Go back to sleep if you wish. I’m going downstairs.”

  She watched him go, her emotions in tatters. He really was ruined. And she wasn’t sure he wanted to be restored.

  Chapter 15

  The coach rattled along, and every bump seemed to flay Lionel’s senses. He was still shaken and raw from baring himself to Emmaline in the middle of last night. He’d gone to his office and tried to sleep on the settee. But that reminded him of her. Hell, everything reminded him of her. And she reminded him of the crimes of his past.

  He still couldn’t quite believe he’d exposed himself to her like that. He hadn’t ever spoken of those things to a single person. Hennings, Tulk, West, they all knew various things, but not the entire story. That she comprehended what he’d done and offered support and understanding drove him to his knees. Her kindness brought into stark relief just how very much he didn’t deserve her.

  He loved her, but he didn’t deserve her. Furthermore, it might be that she couldn’t really love him in return. She’d expressed her hesitation, and once she considered all that he’d told her in the light of day, she’d realize their future was over before it had even begun.

  The coach rolled to a stop, and Lionel didn’t wait for his coachman to open the door. He wanted out of the confines of the vehicle. No, he wanted out of his own goddamned mind.

  He strode into the Bow Street office and introduced himself, then asked to speak to a runner. After waiting for a few minutes, he was shown to an office off the main hall where a rather large man stood up from behind the desk.

  The runner sized him up briefly. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  Was it? Just barely, perhaps. Lionel wasn’t terribly aware of the time today.

  “I’d like to speak with you about an investigation.”

  “Please sit.” The man gestured toward a chair opposite the desk. His hand was wide and thick, and Lionel imagined he could beat the hell out of someone with it. “I’m Teague.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Teague. I’m here to report an instance of extortion.”

  Teague’s head was nearly bald, but his brows were thick and dark. One edged up. “Someone is extorting you?”

  “Not me, and indeed it was in the past. Last summer, actually. Lord Townsend attempted to extort money from a friend of mine.”

  “And you called him out. I recall that duel.” The runner possessed dark, assessing eyes that likely never missed a detail. He narrowed them to great effect—Lionel wasn’t sure he’d ever been scrutinized so thoroughly. “I don’t like duels. They’re illegal.”

  Lionel shifted in his chair. “I don’t like them either.”

  Teague let out a soft grunt. “You could have fooled me.”

  Perhaps he’d made a mistake in coming here.

  “Please continue. I’m delighted you’ve decided to allow us to handle this instead of flouting the law.” The runner’s sarcasm lashed along Lionel’s nerves. He wasn’t making this easy, which was exactly what Lionel deserved.

  Nevertheless, he’d come here with a purpose. “I’ve recently learned that one of my friend’s retainers sold or shared the information that was then used as the basis of the extortion.”

  “Lord Axbridge, I would appreciate if you would speak plainly. I will not disclose the facts of the matter unless it becomes necessary in a court of law. Who is your friend, and what is this information?”

  There was no point in keeping it from the runner, not in the name of justice if it could be had. “Lady Richland has a son. Her husband, who is recently deceased, is not his father and was not aware of that fact. Townsend threatened to make the information public unless she paid him a large sum of money.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty pounds.” The amount sounded in Lionel’s brain like a bell. Fifty pounds. The same amount Mullens had asked for. It was likely a coincidence. Nevertheless, Lionel’s pulse began to race.

  “Has the extortion continued?” Teague asked.

  “No.”

  “Because Townsend is dead.” Teague grunted. “Why would you think there was anyone else involved?”

  “Townsend didn’t know the Richlands, and Lady Richland can count the number of people who knew her secret. We determined her maid had shared the information with her son’s nurse, who I believe may be related to a tailor who claims Townsend owed him money.”

  Teague closed his eyes briefly. “Forgive me, but this is not a terribly convincing story
. Why is it odd for Townsend to have owed a tailor money?”

  “It isn’t. What’s odd is the connection between all these people and the fact that Lady Richland was the focus of an extortion plot. Mullens—he’s the tailor—is the link between the information that was obtained by the nurse and the person who committed the actual extortion: Townsend.”

  The runner sat back in his chair and clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed briefly as he stared somewhere past Lionel’s head. When he refocused on Lionel a moment later, he sat forward and folded his hands on the desk. “You’d like me to investigate this tailor, Mullens, and the nurse? What is her name?”

  “Yes.” Lionel’s tongue tripped as he realized he didn’t know her name. If he did, perhaps he’d know for certain if she was related to Mullens. He felt quite foolish for not asking, but then his last appointment with Marianne had ended rather abruptly, and he didn’t want to pay her another visit. “I don’t know her name, I’m afraid. But you can call on Lady Richland to find out.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to do that.” Teague sounded a bit harassed by the entire affair.

  “Isn’t that your job?” Lionel asked.

  “Indeed it is. Where can I find this Mullens?”

  Lionel gave the address, and Teague wrote it down on a sheet of paper. “As a somewhat new tailor, he’s done rather well for himself, from what I can tell,” Lionel said.

  “Perhaps he’s just that good.”

  He was good, but Lionel wasn’t convinced. “I ordered a shirt from him, so I can let you know.” In fact, maybe Lionel would go pick it up right now.

  “All right, Lord Axbridge, I’ll look into this matter. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m inclined to believe Townsend was the problem since the extortion hasn’t continued.”

  “That I know of,” Lionel said. “Perhaps it has continued, and the victims are paying the demand.”