West stared at her hand in disbelief. It was a delicate thing with long, tapered fingers concealed within a white linen glove. He imagined the skin beneath would be as soft and smooth as a lily, untouched by labor or hard work. So vastly different from his own.
He was a man who’d learned to survive by his fists and the scars running across the backs of his hands told of a life roughly lived.
For there had been nothing soft or smooth about growing up in one of London’s darkest, most rookeries. Some said hell was beneath their feet, but West knew where it really existed: in the twisted, debauched streets of St. Giles.
He’d taken his first beating on those streets, and given his first as well. He’d known hunger there. Fear. Hopelessness. It was in St. Giles he learned the taste of desperation. The scent of it. The sight.
It was a mother too drunk to nurse her own child.
It was a father who liked the sound of a belt striking flesh.
It was knowing you had been born from nothing.
It was knowing you would become nothing.
Until he’d become everything.
It took half a lifetime to claw and punch and stab his way to the top of the heap but he’d done it, and done it well. His title was well earned, and all the more deserved because it had been something he fought for, not inherited. West knew the peerage would never acknowledge him as one of their own, but the damned and the downtrodden of the bloodiest rookery in all of London knew exactly who he was.
The Duke of St. Giles.
And so he kept his hand to himself, knowing it would never merge with the likes of Lady Emily Wilmington, a woman who had all but been born with a silver spoon wedged between her pretty lips. Still, even though his blood ran red instead of blue he was nothing if not a gentleman… when it suited him. “Westley Green at your service, although you may call me—”
“The Duke of St. Giles,” she breathed, catching him off guard.
“I was going to say West.” A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. “How do you know who I am?”
“Oh, everyone knows who you are.” Emily absently tucked a loose curl behind her shoulder, drawing West’s eye to the elegant curve of her neck. Even though she’d removed her bonnet and her skirt was beginning to wrinkle and her hair was disheveled, she could not help but give off an aura of effortless elegance. It was bred into her bone, and he knew even if she stood before him naked – a rather deliciously tempting thought – she would still look every inch the princess she’d been born to be.
“Do they now?” he drawled, not a bit displeased with the notion that he was known in even the elitist of social circles.
Emily’s head bobbed. “They do. You are a very well-known criminal, Mr. Green.”
“West,” he said automatically.
“West?” Her dark brows, delicately winged at the corners, pinched together in bewilderment. “Why not Westley?”
“Because I prefer West.”
“That may be, but does no one ever get you confused with the direction?”
“The direction?” What the devil was the chit talking about now? He was trying to concentrate on what she was saying, he really was, but it was quite difficult when he kept getting distracted by the trickle of perspiration dampening the bodice of her dress as it slowly made its way down between her breasts. One would think sweat wasn’t arousing.
They would be wrong.
For such a tiny woman, Emily was quite voluptuous. Until now he’d only seen her twice, both times at a distance too far to judge her physical attributes, not that it would have mattered had he seen her closer. She’d been kidnapped for her money, not her appearance. It was only to the added benefit of his wandering eye that she looked like a princess plucked from the pages of a fairytale.
Her face was heart-shaped, her skin a smooth blend of roses and cream. Long, elegantly arched brows framed almond shaped eyes the color of a lazy summer sky. Her countenance was saved from perfection by a nose that tipped up just a bit too much at the end and an angular chin that hinted at stubbornness. Curls brushed against her cheeks and trailed down the length of her neck, drawing his eye far lower than it had the right to go.
“Yes, the direction.” Emily tapped one gloved finger thoughtfully against her chin. “Suppose someone calls out your name. Perhaps they are referring to you, or perhaps they are merely giving directions.”
For the first time in his life, West couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. He felt a rumble in his chest and some part of him vaguely recognized it as the beginning of a laugh, but like the need to comfort it was all but forgotten. St. Giles bred greed and discord, not kindness and laughter.
Turning his attention to the window he pushed the curtain aside and took one cursory glance of their passing surroundings before he let the dusty hanging fall back into place. “We should be at the inn before nightfall,” he said, deftly changing the subject. He glanced at Emily just in time to catch her blue eyes go wide, pupils darkening and deepening as she absorbed the implications of what he’d said.
“The inn? What inn? I thought you said we were going to an estate in Southampton.”
For some reason her obvious discomfort pleased him. This was the reaction he’d expected when he first climbed into the coach and for a man who despised the unexpected above all else, it was gratifying to finally receive what he had been waiting for. “Firstly,” he said, holding up one finger, “I never said an estate. Secondly, Southampton is a day long ride from London by horse, two by coach, weather permitting. We will spend the night in Guildford and continue on first thing in the morning.”
Emily’s face brightened. “I have friends in Guildford.”
“Do you? Maybe we can pay them a visit.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. I met them last summer. Their names are—”
“Princess, you do realize you have been kidnapped, don’t you? We are not on a bloody picnic, and we are not going to visit friends of yours!” His shout echoed in the tiny enclosure, and Emily visibly flinched.
West took a deep, steadying breath. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he needed to do something to make her understand the gravity of her situation. The damn woman was so calmly oblivious she didn’t realize the danger she was in. Not from him, of course. West may have been guilty of many things – forgery, robbery, and smuggling, to name a few – but he never had, and never would, harm a woman.
The memories of his father striking his mother were still too sharp, even though he hadn’t seen either of them for the better part of a decade. They could have been dead for all he knew. Most likely were, given their many vices and the number of people they’d crossed during their lifetime. He didn’t concern himself one-way or another. They may have born him, but they were not his parents. The rookery had raised him, and it was to the rookery he owed his allegiance, not a swindling card cheat and a drunken prostitute.
“There is no need to raise your voice. I can hear perfectly fine.” Emily’s eyes were wide and wary, her knuckles white from being wrapped too tightly around the bench seat. Her cheeks were pale, and when her lower lip trembled West felt an unexpected pang of guilt.
He hadn’t meant to frighten the chit, only make her aware they’d done more than step out for a cup of tea. This wasn’t a luncheon. It was serious business, and she needed to treat it as such. She also needed to stop looking at him as though he’d just kicked a small defenseless puppy. “Listen Princess, I—”
“Furthermore,” she said, effectively cutting him off and leaving him gaping at her in astonishment for no one, but no one, interrupted the Duke of St. Giles, “I am quite aware of my current predicament. I am not a fool, Mr. Green, merely a realist.” One eyebrow lifted. “Once again, if you think I would be better served crying and pleading for my life, then I shall do it, but I would much rather save such theatrics for when they are absolutely necessary. Am I frightened? Certainly. I have been kidnapped by one of London’s worst criminals. I have heard the rumors same as e
veryone else. You devour innocent children for breakfast and eat defenseless women for lunch.”
West scowled. “Now see here. I may be a criminal, but I would never hurt a child or a wom—are you laughing at me?” he asked incredulously when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker escape from the corner of Emily’s tightly compressed lips.
“Not laughing, no.” The fear was gone from her eyes, replaced with a glimmer of amusement West could not begin to understand. Perhaps she was a tad deranged. It would certainly explain her behavior, not to mention why, at the relatively spinsterish age of three-and-twenty, she was still unmarried.
The hardest part of the kidnapping process so far had been, without a doubt, selecting the right woman to kidnap. He’d found that women with husbands were watched more carefully than those without, not to the mention the fact that a worried husband was more unpredictable than a worried father. Husbands tended to want to take matters into their own hands. They were also, for the most part, young and able, while fathers were rapidly approaching old age. The Duke of Brumleigh was no exception.
Emily had been on a short list of eligible ladies, none of them married. She was the oldest on the list by far, and while at first West had assumed she was still unwed due to her father being one of the overbearing, overprotective types, he now knew it was more likely because she was a bit touched in the head.
Everyone knew all the nobles had a trace of lunacy in their bloodlines. It was unfortunate a woman as pretty as Emily seemed to have inherited more than her fair share, but then West of all people knew firsthand that life wasn’t always fair.
It was cruel and heartless and would slap you down as soon as pick you up. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, just as Lady Emily Wilmington was learning it now.
Another glance beneath the curtain revealed they were only a few miles shy of their destination for the night: a small, nondescript inn he’d stayed at on more than one occasion. Off the beaten path and frequented only by those who learned of its existence by word of mouth – which meant it would be well free of anyone who could potentially recognize Emily – it boasted a pub below and rooms above.
West rolled his shoulders, already stiffening from sitting in such a cramped space, and stretched his legs out a bit further. “We are almost there,” he said gently, speaking to Emily as he would a small child or wounded animal. After all, it wasn’t her fault she didn’t understand what was happening. The poor thing probably thought he was her brother or her cousin, come to fetch her for a weekend in the country. “Do not worry. No harm will come to you.”
She eyed him dubiously. “You think I am touched, don’t you?”
West sucked in a startled breath of air. It went down the wrong pipe and he coughed, tipping forward as his entire body shook. Emily swept her skirts to the side and waited for him to finish. Red faced and out of breath, he slumped in his seat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I am not, you know,” she informed him coolly. “Touched, or crazed, or whichever you would prefer to call it.”
“I never said—”
“Your tone implied it. Your awful, condescending, patronizing tone. One I have heard more times than I can count. I said I was not hard of hearing, Mr. Green, and nor am I dimwitted. Quite the contrary, in fact. I am very intelligent and I refuse to hide said intelligence behind vacant stares and incessant giggling. You are not the first to find me odd and I know you will not be the last.”
“Now see here—”
“If you would prefer a lady who does not speak her mind or show her emotions as they come, perhaps you had best let me go and kidnap someone else.” Emily lifted her chin and glared down her pert little nose at him, making West feel for all the world as though he were a student being chastised by a teacher. A very beautiful teacher. A very beautiful, very opinionated teacher. “There are several I can recommend.”
He couldn’t help but smile. Any other woman in Emily’s situation would have been tongue-tied with fear, and yet here she sat, bold as you please, giving him a lecture that would have put most men firmly in their place. Fortunately for West he wasn’t like most men, just as he was beginning to realize Emily wasn’t like most women.
“That will not be necessary,” he drawled, letting his gaze wander with lazy purpose down her exquisite little body. Her curves were more pronounced than he normally preferred, but he found he rather liked the way she filled out the front of her dress. He couldn’t wait to see the back. “I believe I am quite content with my choice.”
When his eyes lingered on the area of her bosom her jaw hardened and she flushed before she reached down, snatched up her cloak, and draped it across her chest. “Mr. Green, I thought you said no harm would come to me.”
His smile turning distinctly wolfish, he shrugged his shoulders. “What is the harm in looking?”
“It is the way you are looking.”
West draped both arms across the back of his seat. “And how is that?”
“Suggestively.”
The carriage rocked side to side as it hit a bump in the road. He waited until they’d steadied out to say, “I am afraid I cannot help that, Princess. I think you will find I am a very suggestive sort of fellow.”
Her brow creased. “If I am going to be kidnapped—”
“If?” he interrupted. “There is no ‘if’, Princess. You have been kidnapped.” West quite fancied the way she gritted her teeth when she was annoyed. He would have to remember to incite her temper on a regular basis during their time together. It didn’t seem as though it would be too difficult. Emily was right on the mark when she said she didn’t hide her emotions. In fact, he’d never met a more expressive woman in all his life. One moment she was distressed, the next cheerful. Offended, then annoyed. It was all he could do to keep up with her, but he was quickly discovering he rather enjoyed the challenge.
He’d planned on accompanying Emily to his house in the country and then handing her off to one of his men to watch, but now he wondered if it would not be a better idea to stay. Only for a day or two, of course. Three at the most. He had business to attend back in London.
Still, a break might be just the thing he needed. He’d been weary of late. Tired of the day in and day out life of crime. Tired of the lies it required. Tired of the deceit. The double-crossing. The constant pressure to look over his shoulder, never knowing what direction the next knife in the back would come from.
West had everything he’d ever dreamed of: wealth, the respect of his peers, notoriety in the ton… but the cost of it all had been steep; a debt he feared would forever go unpaid.
When would enough to be enough?
It was a question he had asked himself more than once over the past few weeks. A question he didn’t know if he was ready to answer. A question he didn’t know if he would ever be ready to answer.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as from outside the carriage he heard the coachman shout a brisk command and the horses dropped from a rumbling trot to a weary walk.
“Are we here?” Emily asked apprehensively.
“We are,” he confirmed after pulling back the curtain. The sun was setting and light flooded the interior of the carriage, bathing everything in a soft orange glow. Emily shaded her eyes and leaned forward to look out the tiny window. Her cloak dropped, pooling around her waist in soft folds of blue muslin.
“The inn seems rather small,” she said, biting at her bottom lip. “And I cannot quite make out the name.”
West didn’t need to look at the wooden sign hanging crookedly above the front door to give her the answer she sought. “The Three Pigs.”
Emily sat back. “The Three Pigs?” she repeated, tucking a curl behind her ear. “From the children’s fable? That actually sounds quite nice.”
‘Nice’ had nothing to do with it. The Three Pigs got its name from the three brothers who owned it, each one more of a swine than the last. They’d been running the inn into the ground for the bette
r part of a decade, but it was still a popular destination for those who wished to pass on through to Southampton without notice.
“Yes,” he lied without a sliver of guilt as he slanted Emily a sideways glance. “That is precisely where they got the name. Now there are a few things we need to go over, Princess, before we go inside.”
“I do wish you would stop calling me that.”
“Why?” One dark eyebrow shot up. “I like it.”
“Regardless of whether you like it, I am not a princess.”
“You are the daughter of a duke,” he reminded her. “You might as well be royalty.”
Emily sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘pick your battles’ before she said, “Very well. What would you care to discuss?” Her eyes narrowed, and wariness crept back into her tone. “You are not going to bind my hands or place a foul rag in my mouth, are you? I promise not to attempt an escape. It would be a foolhardy endeavor, as I have no idea where we are.”
The battered coach creaked to a halt. There was a loud thump outside the door as the coachman dismounted, followed by the muffled sound of voices as footmen from the inn came forward to assist in unbuckling the trunks from the roof.
In a less seedy establishment West wouldn’t have bothered unloading all of his belongings, but he knew the sort of crooks that frequented The Three Pigs, just as he knew anything left behind in the carriage would be gone by morning. It was the main reason he’d elected to travel in his oldest coach, a rickety old beast of a vehicle that would neither incite jealousy nor attract undue attention.
“I told you,” he said, swiveling his head to face Emily. She watched him like a hawk, her blue eyes intent on his face and her lips compressed in a thin white line. “We are in Guildford.”
“I do not know where we are, but this is certainly not Guildford. You lied to me,” she accused, jabbing a finger at his chest.
West shrugged. “So I did. But I could hardly let you know exactly where we were going, could I? You have been kidnapped, Princess. I really do not have to tell you anything.”
The Duke of St. Giles Page 2
