The Duke of St. Giles

by Jillian Eaton

  “There ye are,” Dora exclaimed in relief. “I thought ye would never get here.”

  “Ran into a bit of trouble downstairs,” the man replied in a deep gravelly voice. “It’s been taken care of. Is this her then?” He lifted his left arm, turning his wrist this way and that so the candlelight reflected off the razor sharp edge of the blade he carried.

  “It is.” Reaching behind him, Dora shut the door and turned the lock. “Be quick about it Aaron, before the duke finds us.”

  Her gaze pinned on the knife, Emily began to tremble.

  West managed to track Dora down in the pub, but the moment their eyes met across the crowded room she bolted for a back stairway. He knocked over five chairs and a table in his pursuit of her, inciting the anger of more than a few patrons. By the time he managed to reach the stairs he found the way blocked by a lumbering giant of a man with a pockmarked face and fists the size of hams.

  “Lenny,” West said, acknowledging the youngest of the brothers who owned The Three Pigs. If it had been anyone else he would have thrown a right hook and shoved his way past, but even he wasn’t so reckless as to insult a man inside of his own establishment. Not to mention he’d felt the weight of Lenny’s fists once before, and he had no wish to repeat the experience.

  “What are ye doing here, St. Giles?” Lenny growled, speaking around a whittled piece of wood he had jammed between his yellow teeth. “And why are ye spillin’ perfectly fine ale left and right?”

  The quality of the ale was highly debatable, but West wisely choose to keep his opinion to himself. Leaning back against a wooden beam he crossed his arms, giving the appearance of someone who had all the time in the world even as his gaze darted past Lenny and up the stairs. If he hadn’t been certain of Dora’s involvement with Emily’s disappearance, he was now. The maid knew something. Worse yet, if her startled expression when she saw him was any indication she was guilty of something as well. He gritted his teeth. If she hurt one hair on Emily’s pretty head…

  Lenny cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “I asked ye a question, St. Giles.”

  “A woman,” West said easily. “Isn’t all fine drink spilled over a woman?”

  Lenny seemed to mull it over for a moment before he slowly nodded. “Aye. That does seem to be the case, especially with you. I heard ye came in with a woman. A real fine looker at that, if a bit dusty around the edges. Do ye have a new lady bird, then?”

  West wondered what Emily’s reaction would be to being called a ‘lady bird’ and decided to test it out when he finally had his hands on her again. He hoped it involved a bit of nose wrinkling and teeth grinding. She really was cute when she got angry. “I suppose you could call her that. I was on my way up to see her just now. If I was a bit… over enthusiastic I apologize.” His teeth flashed in a wolfish grin as he let the insinuation settle. “Put a round on me, won’t you Lenny boy?”

  The behemoth stepped to the side. “Ye always were a charmer with the ladies, St. Giles. Enjoy the tup, ye handsome bastard.”

  West winked. “You know I will.”

  They clapped each other on the back and as he took the stairs two at a time West heard a roar of approval rise up from the crowd and knew Lenny must have announced the next round of drinks would be on him.

  He reached the second floor and turned left, navigating the dimly lit hallway with ease. Rumor had it he could see in the dark, and while those accounts were exaggerated, it wasn’t by much. He did have excellent night vision, something that had aided him countless times before on the perilous streets of London.

  A man and a woman wrapped in a fierce embrace jolted apart when he walked past. He tipped his head. “Carry on.”

  With the exception of the couple – who slipped into a room the moment he was past – the rest of the hallway seemed devoid of any activity, which wasn’t a surprise given everyone was likely below indulging in a free mug of ale.

  Everyone except for Dora and Emily.

  Bypassing the guest rooms he went straight for the servant’s quarters. It was even darker in this wing of the inn and cobwebs brushed against his shoulders as he hunched down to avoid striking his head on the low ceiling. He walked with the stealth of a jungle cat, his boots stepping silently across the floorboards. At every door he paused and cocked his head, listening for something that would tell him Emily was within.

  Around the third door it struck West this was quite a bit of effort to be going through for a woman when he could be below with the rest of his ilk drinking until sunrise and bellowing out raunchy tunes. Then again, Emily wasn’t just any other woman. She was beautiful, witty, intelligent… His mouth thinned at the direction his thoughts had taken. She was the daughter of duke. That’s what he’d meant to think. That’s all that really mattered.

  He was at the fifth and final door when he heard it. A soft, mewling cry that instantly set the hairs at the back of his neck on edge. West didn’t hesitate. In his line of work a man learned to move on instinct, or he didn’t move at all. There was no waiting. No hesitation.

  Grabbing the knife he kept strapped to the inside of his boot he flipped it in the air, caught it expertly in his right hand, and with one powerful thrust of his leg broke down the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Her gaze pinned on the knife, Emily swallowed convulsively as fear the likes of which she’d never felt before ran like ice water through her veins. “Now let’s not be hasty.” She held up her hand, imagined the blade sinking into her palm, and quickly dropped it. “I am certain we can come to an arrangement that will benefit all of—”

  “Dora, hold her arms behind her back,” Aaron said indifferently. He might as well have been asking his fiancée to help him lace up his boots for all the emotion that showed on his narrow face.

  Emily’s eyes widened and a soft whimper of distress slipped from between her lips when Dora stepped towards her. “Please wait,” she implored, twisting to the side in a hopeless attempt to avoid the girl’s grasp. Her hip struck the side of the bed and she hissed out a pained breath. “If you let me go I swear I will not tell Mr. Green. I shall go straight back to my room and it will be as though none of this ever—”

  The door crashed inwards with a loud BANG. It caught Aaron unaware and he was thrown hard against the wall. Both Emily and Dora screamed, but it was Emily who came to her senses the quickest. She’d seen the knife fly out of Aaron’s hand when the door hit him and she dove for it now, dropping to all fours and launching herself across the floor. When her hand closed around the blade’s handle she sprang to her feet in triumph… and for the second time found herself face to face with a solid wall of muscle.

  “Mr. Green,” she gasped, tilting her head back.

  “Princess.” West stood where the door used to be, his legs planted wide and his arms stiff at his sides. There was a dark gleam in his eyes she didn’t recognize. A menacing violence that caused her shoulders to twitch in apprehension. This was the man Dora feared. This was the Duke of St. Giles.

  Sparing her little more than a cursory glance he said, “Give me the knife before you hurt yourself.”

  The knife. Heavens, she’d forgotten she was even holding it. Grateful to be rid of the awful thing she gave it over readily and he tucked it, blade down, into the waistband of his trousers.

  “Now step behind me while I deal with these two.”

  He raised his arm and Emily slipped beneath it into the hallway, once again obeying him without question. For a fleeting moment she considered running, but as though he could read her thoughts West swiveled his head and raised one eyebrow.

  “Try it,” he invited in a soft voice that sent shivers racing down her spine.

  “I – I think I will remain here.”

  “Good choice.” He turned back to Aaron and Dora, both of whom had recovered enough to retreat to the furthest possible corner of the tiny room. Dora’s face was drained of all color and her fiancée didn’t look much better, especially now that he’d lost his one a
nd only weapon.

  West advanced a step, giving Emily a better view. She peered around the side of him, the fear she’d felt mere moments ago now replaced by a healthy dose of curiosity. How did one criminal deal with another? It seemed she was about to find out.

  “Now see here,” Aaron began, but one glance from West had him swallowing whatever words he’d been about to say next.

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak,” he said quietly. “Do you know who I am?”

  Both Dora and Aaron gave jerky nods.

  “Then you know what I am capable of.”

  More nodding. Emily actually began to feel sorry for them, until she happened to glance at Aaron’s hand and saw his fingers were still wound tight around the coil of rope he’d been intending to use on her. Her nose wrinkled. They were all scoundrels, the lot of them. West included. No matter that he’d arrived just in the nick of time. If not for him she wouldn’t even be in this predicament!

  “Who are you?” West lifted his arm and pointed the knife he was carrying at the middle of Aaron’s chest. The blond-haired man blanched and took another step back, subtly positioning Dora between himself and the door.

  “Aaron W-Weatherby, sir. I mean, your grace. I mean—”

  “And you?” West asked, shifting the tip of the blade to Dora.

  The maid’s face was still pale, but there was a haughty note of arrogance in her tone when she said, “Me name is Isadora McDougal and I’m not afraid of ye, duke or no. You canna hurt me. The brothers would have your head served up on a platter.”

  “Over one insignificant wench when there are a dozen more waiting to take your place? I doubt that. Tell me, what were your plans for my lovely companion? And don’t lie,” West warned, “for I shall know if you do, and for every untruth that leaves your lips I will take a slice of flesh from your friend here.”

  Aaron made a low gurgling sound of alarm.

  “We were going to tae her and hold her for ransom. It was his idea,” Dora said, glaring sideways at her fiancée. “I only wanted tae help her, poor wee lass that she is.”

  “You lying bitch!” Aaron cried.

  Emily was of a like mind. “You cannot kidnap someone who has already been kidnapped!” she exclaimed, darting back into the room. When West growled at her to return to the hallway she spun on him with her finger raised. “Do not act all high and mighty now, Mr. Green! Why, you are no better than these two! All three of you should be ashamed of yourselves.” She stomped her foot to emphasize her point. “Do you hear me? Ashamed!

  Aaron, at least, had the good grace to flush and lower his head.

  Dora pursed her lips and looked away.

  West didn’t so much as blink. “Princess, you need to—”

  “And stop calling me Princess!”

  That was enough to cause his eyes to flash, and too late Emily realized she’d just shouted at a man holding a knife. “I mean,” she said weakly, “I would prefer to be called Lady Emily. If you’d like.”

  “I would like,” he said in a dangerously low voice, “for you to return to the hall and stand there quietly until I am finished with these two. Do you understand?”

  Emily opened her mouth to object – she wasn’t accustomed to be told what to do as though she were an ill-behaved child – but one more fleeting glance at the knife had her teeth clicking together. “Very well. I will go back to the hall. Not because you want me to, but rather because I find the company in this room most displeasing.” She walked past West with her shoulders as straight and her chin as high as a queen’s, deliberately making it a point not to look behind her, even when she was out in the hall. Instead she faced the wall, tuning out the low murmur of voices as West continued his interrogation.

  When it was finally over with he took her arm and marched her back to their room with military precision. She didn’t say a word and neither did he, the silence growing like a living, breathing beast between them until it roared to life in a fury of words the moment the door was closed.

  “I told you to stay here!” West snarled, his façade of deadly calm vanishing in the blink of an eye. If Emily had known him better she would have realized his raised voice was a good thing. It meant he’d gone from furious to angry, a very important distinction.

  Wrenching her arm free she stalked to the washbasin and, after a quick inspection of the contents – which, thankfully, seemed to have been changed during her absence – splashed cool, clean water over her face. “Why should I listen to you?” she said, her words coming out muffled as she dried off with a rough hand towel. “You are a horrid, horrid man and I wish I’d never met you! In fact, I wish I’d never even heard of you! And I wish I were home! And I wish – I wish…” Her throat closed and her eyes began to burn. “Oh, not again,” she muttered, throwing the towel aside before she went to the corner of the room to stare blindly out the window. The night stared back, the darkness all-encompassing.

  “Princess?” For the first time there was a ring of uncertainty in West’s voice, and when she glanced at him over her shoulder she saw his expression was oddly blank in the flickering candlelight. “Are you… are you crying?”

  “Certainly not,” she sniffed.

  A floorboard creaked as he took a step closer. “You sound like you are.”

  Emily turned back to the window, bracing her fingers against the sill. Paint chips broke off and fluttered down, sticking to her skirt. “If I were crying – which I am not – it is only because I miss my father, and my home.” She drew a deep, trembling breath. “I miss Petunia and all the servants. I miss the horses. I even miss the smell of my room. I want to go home, Mr. Green.” Emotion caused her voice to waver and she pinched her lips together, afraid to say another word for fear of breaking down in sobs. After such a long, trying day she was exhausted in every way a person could be exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. She felt drained down to her very bones, so much so that when she felt West’s hand on her shoulder she didn’t even flinch.

  His other hand went to her opposite shoulder. His fingers began to knead the tight muscle, probing deeper with each stroke. Emily tried to remain rigid, but it was impossible not to melt a little bit into West’s hands as he continued to expertly massage the knots of tension out of her neck and back.

  “You need to rest,” he murmured against her ear. “You are overwhelmed, and rightly so. Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.”

  Emily’s eyes began to drift closed. “Tomorrow,” she repeated on a sigh as visions of her London townhouse danced in her head. Tomorrow she would see her father. Tomorrow she would hug Petunia. Tomorrow she would—

  “Yes. It will only take one more day to reach my estate and you should be much more comfortable there.”

  Emily’s eyes shot open and she jerked to the side as though West had just dumped scalding water over her head. “Your estate?” she sputtered, staring at him in disbelief. “Do you truly mean to say you are not returning me to London?”

  Looking genuinely confused West said, “Why would I ever do that?”

  “Because,” Emily exclaimed, gesturing wildly with both arms, “it is the right thing to do!”

  His golden eyes narrowed. “And what makes you think I am a man who does the right thing? Nothing has changed, Princess. You’re still kidnapped, and I am still holding you for ransom, whether you like it or not.” One eyebrow lifted as he drawled, “I suggest you get accustomed to the idea.”

  “You are hopeless,” she decided.

  “And you’re helpless.” His mouth twisted into a mocking sneer. “Quite a fine pair we make, don’t you think?”

  She crossed her arms and turned her head, looking stonily at the wall. Shadows danced across the plaster, growing darker with each passing second as the candles in the room burned down to the quick. It felt quite late, and she wondered at the time even as she brought her hand up to stifle a yawn.

  “You are all but teetering on your feet, Princess. I shall save my lecture on the futility o
f escaping for the morning. You need to rest.”

  “Do not tell me what I need,” she muttered.

  West chuckled. “I know you said you missed your father, but take heart. No doubt he’s relieved to have a small respite from such a stubborn daughter.”

  She whirled to face him, small hands bunching in angry fists at her waist. As she was a sweet soul by nature, Emily’s temper rarely had cause to rise above seething, but it did so now. She may not have delivered many cutting remarks herself, but she’d been around enough catty women to see how it was done. “Do not presume to know anything about my father, Mr. Green. Just because your sire is no doubt a worthless drunkard does not give you the right to belittle me and mine!” It was a horrid thing to say and Emily regretted it the moment the words were past her lips, but she comforted herself with the thought that it was no less than West deserved.

  “And the little kitten unsheathes her claws,” he said quietly.

  Emily dared a quick glance at him beneath her lashes. He stood motionless in the middle of the room, his arms hanging languidly at his sides, his head tilted slightly to the right. She would have thought him calm if not for the fire that smoldered in his eyes. They were the eyes of a wolf, cunning and ruthless and far too intelligent.

  She bit her lip, unable to ignore the guilt that weighed uncomfortably on her shoulders. Now she remember why she never made cutting remarks. Because she always felt horrible after. “Mr. Green, I do apolo—what are you doing?” she squeaked, her voice rising two octaves when he slipped out of his waistcoat and began untying his cravat.

  “Undressing.”

  “I… I can see that. But why are you undressing in here?”

  Finished with the cravat, he pulled it off his neck and draped it carelessly over the foot of the bed. “I do not know about you, Princess, but I have an unusual habit of undressing in the room where I am going to sleep.” He knelt and began to unlace his boots with nimble fingers.