Her Willful White: Dark Duke’s Legacy Book 2

by Andresen, Tammy

  Two, she was likely responsible for destroying his ship.

  Which meant he needed to ignore the attraction sizzling through him at all costs. He’d never met a female saboteur before, but he would imagine, in that line of business, being attractive was a real asset.

  She was pressed against him, and despite her petite frame, her curves were soft and lush. His jaw clenched tighter, as he squeezed her waist. “We need to talk.”

  He felt her jolt of fear and he winced.

  He was a hard man. Always had been.

  But even he could admit he had a soft spot for women…and children. Unlike his father, he’d never been one to hurt people weaker than himself, which made what he had to do next damned difficult.

  Tightening his arms about her, he lifted her off her feet.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to let out a scream. At least that’s what he assumed what she was going to do.

  Shifting her, he clapped a hand over her mouth and turned around, sprinting back up the walkway. Nearly tripping on Will who’d come up behind him.

  “My lord,” Will said, lifting both hands in disagreement. “Is this wise?”

  She started pushing on his chest, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to have any effect and another jolt of guilt rocked through him. “Go. You know your mission.”

  Will hesitated for a moment, his gaze flitting between Dez and the French woman. At last, he nodded and then moved up the dock, disappearing into the darkness. Dez turned his attention back to the woman in his arms.

  He needed to know what she knew, what she’d done. He had to question her, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Because that meant being alone with her and having to keep the desire coursing through him in check.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “You and I need to have a chat, that’s all.”

  His words, rather than comfort her, made her movements even more frenzied and he winced, slowing. Wiggling like this, he didn’t dare try to carry her up the plank and onto the deck of his boat.

  “Stop,” he said close to her ear.

  She didn’t.

  Part of him admired her commitment. “Listen,” he gritted out. “If you don’t stop, I’ll be likely to drop you. In your layers of clothes, you’ll never swim. You’ll sink.”

  She went from frantic to dead still in a second, her eyes growing even wider as she stared up at him. He couldn’t tell in the dim light, but he could have sworn she went paler.

  “Neither of us want that,” he said in some attempt to soothe her. She shivered in his arms, and he cursed himself. He cocked his head to the side. If she went around blowing up people’s ships, one would think she’d be prepared for capture.

  She shook her head.

  “I’d have to jump in after you.” He raised his brows. “We’d both be wet and cold.”

  Her hands clutched the lapels of his coat and they tightened.

  “Tell me what you know about my ship. That’s it. I’m not in the business of hurting women.” He gave her a meaningful glance.

  She tapped at his jacket, alerting him that she wished to speak. Very slowly and carefully he lowered his hand.

  She drew in a gasping breath. “I’ll explain everything but let’s converse here on the dock. Not on the ship.”

  His eyes narrowed. Was something wrong with his ship? Had this one been compromised too? Was she a spy who’d tampered with his boat and that was why she was so afraid?

  “Is my crew in danger?” He spit through gritted teeth.

  “No!” She shook her head furiously. “I am in danger if I allow a strange man to drag me off.”

  She had a point. But there was nothing to do for it. “Sorry. But we’ll talk in private. This is a conversation we need to have. And if you’ve done something to my boat—”

  She began struggling again.

  His teeth ground together. He’d meant what he’d said about her movements being unsafe.

  For a moment, he set her on her feet again, and sensing her opportunity, she stiffened to run.

  But before she could, he’d bent down and jammed his shoulder into the softness of her stomach. She let out a whoosh of air even as he lifted her up off her feet, half her body hanging down his back, her legs locked in his strong grip.

  She let out a scream as he sprinted up the plank. Her fists began pounding on his back. He was going to hell for this. But he’d started now, and he’d see it through.

  Besides, his entire family was likely to be there, so he’d been in their company for all of eternity.

  That thought made him groan. He’d tried to be a better person than the rest of his relatives. He’d not been excessively cruel like his father or abandon the family like his eldest brother.

  Dez had stayed, cared for his sister. He’d directed his other two brothers, Justice and Sayden, into legal, honest work rather than the criminal activity they’d been engaged in before he’d stepped in.

  But here he was, carrying a woman off to his cabin against her will. Granted, he only intended to ask her questions and she was likely a criminal. Though he had no idea why she’d commit such an act.

  And what he did with her after, he hadn’t a clue.

  But the answer would make itself clear soon enough. It always did. Dez prided himself on instinct. He followed the path in front of him and allowed no one to lead him astray. Will and determination saw him through life.

  “Put me down,” she yelled, giving him a punch in the side, directly in that sensitive spot that stole his breath for a second.

  Letting out a half breath, half groan, he opened the door to his cabin.

  She went wild, her feet kicking hysterically, her bonnet dropping to the floor, her hands showering his back with smacks and punches.

  Taking a deep breath of air, he bent again, setting her on her feet and then stepping back against the door. He’d not manhandle now that he had her here, but he couldn’t allow her to escape either. “Assure me again, you’ve done nothing to compromise my ship. Are we safe?”

  She scurried to the corner, hunching down in its protection. “As far as I know, we’re safe.”

  Her hair hung half down her back in shimmering golden waves, her slender arms wrapping about her knees as stared up at him.

  “Right,” he grimaced, relaxing back against the door. “Why don’t we start with names, then. Mine is Lord Destrian White, second son of the Duke of Whitehall, but most call me Dez. Despite my family ties, I’m not much for formality.”

  “Obviously,” she bit back and that made him smile.

  First it was just a quirk of one side of his mouth but then the humor of the situation caught the other side and his mouth spread into a full smile, a chuckle finally rising up from his throat and bubbling out of his mouth.

  “And you are?” he asked as he stared into the bright emerald green of her eyes. Had he forgotten to breathe as he waited to hear? Damn. Even knowing she was likely a spy, he waited for her name with bated breath.

  * * *

  Fleur stared up at the man. A lantern glowed on the table, casting his face in half light. It both made him look more sinister and more handsome.

  Never had a man appeared so…mysteriously confident.

  She swallowed the warning of her father’s friend, LeBeouf, as it rang in her ears. She wasn’t trained for this. She should stay out of it and leave it to the professionals.

  He’d claimed the job dangerous.

  How she hated being wrong. But she’d never planned to participate in trouble.

  She’d only intended to witness Le Serpent in some act of crime and report him. She’d no intention of actually joining the action, but here she was.

  Then again, her father hadn’t joined the fray either. He’d only helped LeBeouf a few times that she knew of anyhow. And of course, he’d had a relationship, however fleeting, with Le Serpent. She’d seen them together. She should have listened to LeBeouf’s warnings. She’d known the danger Le Serpent brought about, but he wasn’t th
e only problem. In fact, he was of far less consequence than the man currently holding her against her will.

  “My name is Fleur.”

  “Fleur,” he repeated, his brow’s rising. “Just Fleur?”

  Did she give him her surname? Lie? Refuse to answer? What did she have to hide? “Why do you wish to know?”

  He frowned. “It’s the civilized way to go about having a conversation.”

  “Civilized?” she asked, hearing her accent grow thicker. That always happened when she was agitated. “What’s civilized about any of this?”

  He shook his head. “Certainly not the part where my boat and my cargo were destroyed.”

  She shrank back, realizing he might think her responsible. “I did not do any damage to your boat or your cargo. Now, please let me go.”

  He cocked his head to the side, casting his face in even deeper shadow. “Never in the history of people questioning villains did one of them say, ‘You’re right. I did commit the crime. Please take me to prison.’”

  Her mouth opened and closed. He’d brought her here because he thought her responsible. She pointed her finger at him, jabbing in his general direction. “You’re the villain. You’ve stolen an innocent woman and carried ‘er off to your boat. That is the only crime committed ‘ere.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Very well. I can take you to the Bow Street Runners and see what they think about the fact that you are French and stood alone in the middle of the night on the Dover docks, watching my ship burn. My ship full of English gunpowder bound for the shores of France. I think they might be curious enough to detain you for a while and question you. Thoroughly.”

  Her head spun as she realized the truth in his words. Her mouth went dry. Swallowing hard, she tried to find her voice again. If he took her to the Bow Street Runners, she’d be imprisoned while Le Serpent enjoyed his freedom, able to commit crimes against England and its people at will. Leaning back, her head rested in the corner where she crouched. “I did not make your boat explode.”

  She knew she’d not articulated herself particularly well, but she felt sick to her stomach and words were drifting away, particularly English words.

  “Who did?”

  Her eyes fluttered closed. She’d never felt weaker or less likely to complete the mission she’d embarked upon. Tears welled in her eyes. Why hadn’t she foreseen this? “If I tell you, will you help me?”

  “Help you what?”

  “Catch him.” Her head felt heavy as it rested back against the wood.

  It had been too long. Weeks had passed since her father’s death and she was no closer to catching the culprit. She didn’t even realize she’d been slipping into darkness until arms wrapped about her shoulders and knees. And then she was being lifted and then pressed against his hard body. “Would you rather lie on the bed of sit in my lap in a chair?”

  “What?” she moaned, trying to force her body to work, to stiffen and move away from him. He was a danger. How could she have allowed herself to succumb to the heaviness behind her eyelids in his presence?

  “Miss Fleur,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I have a sister. Lady Millicent White who is just eighteen. She means more to me than anything on the whole of this earth. Except for my business, of course. I swear on her life that I’ve no intention of hurting you. You’re pale as a sheet and you need to lie down one way or the other. I can put a pillow under your head on the floor if you’ll feel safer. But I’d prefer you not faint.”

  His words had the intended effect, and she sank into him, relaxing into the strength of his arms. He’d not physically harmed her, and he did, in fact, only seem to wish to converse. He was a businessman and a duke’s brother who needed to figure out who’d targeted him. Information she had. “The chair,” she murmured.

  She heard the scrape of the legs against the floor and then he settled both their weight onto the seat, her head snug against his chest and upper arm.

  She hadn’t slept well in days. That was surely the problem. “My name is Fleur Dupont.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” His voice reverberated through his chest and into her, further soothing her. “Where are you from, Fleur Dupont?”

  “My mother is from Dover. We’ve returned to her family cottage. But I grew up in the south of France.”

  “I couldn’t tell.” He chuckled.

  She liked the way his laugh felt. Warm and comforting against her cheek. “She was on holiday when my parents met. My papa, he was very handsome then, and exciting I suspect.” It had become a great deal easier to share with him. She noted that her accent had lessened with her tension. Oddly, for a woman who had just accused him of kidnapping, she felt…safe.

  “Some women do go for that sort of thing.”

  That made her mouth quirk up into a smile. “I suppose they do.”

  “And where is your papa now? Is he still in France or here in Dover?”

  “My papa is dead,” she answered softly, her eyes finally opening to meet the dark depths of his. They were near black in the dim light. “That is why I am here. It’s why I was on the dock the night your ship exploded.”

  “I don’t follow,” he answered, bending nearer.

  She swallowed, wishing she could sit up. It would help impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. Then again, he likely knew. “I’m here to find a murderer.” She lifted a hand to touch the rough skin of his cheek. Her fingers tingled where they touched his skin. Why did men make roughness look so good? “The man that murdered my father.”

  His jaw flexed under her fingers. “Go on.”

  “It is my belief, Lord Destrian White, that we are searching for the same man. The one who killed my papa is the same one who blew up your boat.”

  His arms tightened about her, even as her eyes fluttered closed again. “Miss…it is miss, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” she answered, sinking deeper into him. Now that the fear was gone, she felt bone tired and, for a man who was so hard, he made an exceptionally good pillow.

  “Miss Dupont, you can’t fall asleep yet. I’m going to need more information.”

  She tried to open her eyes. “I need to return home. My mother will be worried if I don’t.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  That made her bolt upright, her hands clutching his front again. “Please, Lord White. After what happened to Papa, I can’t cause her worry.”

  “Who is the man you seek?”

  She worried her lip as she eased the grip on his jacket. If they were truly searching for the same man, what was the harm in telling him? “I don’t know his real name but ‘e works for the French government and goes by the name of Le Serpent.”

  Chapter Three

  Le Serpent? She had to be jesting.

  The biblical reference was far from lost on Dez.

  His father had been a religious zealot as he’d grown older. He’d built an entire home with Gothic Revival architecture to show his enthusiasm for the old ways and more strict religious code of conduct.

  Dez didn’t fault him for any of that. But what he did object to were his father’s often cruel lessons in order to make his children less sinful. Dez didn’t blame the religion. It was the man who had wielded it who was the problem. And as a duke, his father had had the power to wield it over many.

  As the light of day began to penetrate the room, he could see the dark circles under Fleur’s eyes. No wonder she’d nearly fainted. The woman looked exhausted.

  He needed to know so much more. “Tell me everything.”

  Her tongue came out to lick her lips and he ignored the pull of the gesture that reverberated straight down to his loins. “I can’t. I told you, I need to go home.”

  Dez growled out his dissatisfaction. If she were telling the truth, and he insisted on keeping her here, he’d be ruining a woman’s life. Though to be fair, she was the one who’d been sneaking about the docks at night.

&n
bsp; But if she were lying…he’d allow a criminal to escape. “You understand why I cannot release you, don’t you?”

  She trembled. “Please,” she whispered her hands tapping at his collarbone. “If I tell you what I know, will you consider allowing me to go free?”

  He gave a terse nod.

  “I know for certain that he is an expert poisoner. I know that he sabotaged your ship in the name of France, but I do believe that not all of his actions are for country. My father’s murder for example. Le Serpent could not have been under French orders…there was no need.”

  Dez raised his brows. His father, the former duke, had died six weeks prior. As he and his brother had begun sifting through the estate, one thing was becoming clear. Dead men had many secrets. Those of his own father were slowly coming to light. They’d recently discovered they had a bastard sibling they were now attempting to find. And that, it seemed, was only the beginning of the secrets that layered through his father’s past.

  It was possible that Fleur did not know her father’s business nearly was well as she thought. “How do you know?”

  “I…” Her face tightened, etched in pain. “I heard him. My father and Le Serpent were arguing shortly before my father’s death.”

  He sucked in his breath. “Arguing?”

  “Please,” she said, flattening her hands on his coat. “I’ll tell you all of it. Tonight. But right now, I must go.”

  “Will you sleep?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Not more than a little. Otherwise, my mother and uncle will grow suspicious.”

  Dez stared down at her, her eyes dilated in fear. He didn’t exactly know how a female spy would act if she were attempting to act her way out of being captured but the frightened features of her face looked real enough to him.

  Perhaps she was afraid of him. He’d been told he looked rather formidable. Then again, she had settled in his arms. Nicely. His hand splayed out on her back as her fist curled into his shirt. He curled her a bit closer, the feel of her far too enticing.