The Duke of St. Giles

by Jillian Eaton

  “Now who is grumpy?”

  Emily hissed out a breath and sat back. “Do you do it on purpose?”

  “Do what?”

  She gestured vaguely with both hands. “This. Whatever it is you are doing. Turning things around.”

  “Oh, that.” His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “Yes, I do it on purpose. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

  “Unbelievably so.”

  They lapsed back into silence for a few moments, each looking past the other, before Emily asked the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind since they’d left the inn. “What did you do?”

  West tilted his head to the side. A lock of dark hair tumbled into his eyes and he tucked it behind his ear. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific than that, as I am guilty of quite a few things.”

  “I’m certain you are,” Emily said primly, “but I am referring to Dora and her fiancée Aaron. What did you do to them?”

  “Chopped them up in tiny pieces and packed their bodies into a trunk.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t,” she breathed.

  “No, I didn’t.” West crossed his legs at the knee and leaned comfortably into his seat, stretching out his other arm. He flicked a glance out the window. Whatever he saw had him nodding his head before he returned his attention Emily. “Close your mouth, Princess. You’re going to catch flies.”

  Emily snapped her teeth together with a little click. “You should not make up such things,” she said with a disapproving frown. And you should not be so gullible, she told herself sternly.

  “Who said I was making it up?” West challenged. “I may not have chopped up the delightful Dora and her lapdog of a fiancée, but does not mean I haven’t done the deed to some other poor unfortunate soul. I am, after all, a rogue of the worst order. Your words, not mine. I gave them a stern warning and sent them on their way. You need never worry about them again.” Amusement lurked in the depths of his eyes, belying the casual sincerity in his tone and making it difficult for Emily to know what to believe.

  She slid her hands into her lap and began to tap her fingers along the edge of her thigh, the agitated movement brought on this time by uncertainty instead of boredom. “Have you… have you ever killed someone?”

  West didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  Staring into his eyes – eyes that had gone cold and flat the very moment she asked the question – Emily could tell without a doubt he was telling the truth. Well, she’d known he wasn’t a saint. Still, to think that he had taken another life… She swallowed hard, struggling to wrap her mind around the idea that the same man who had tucked her into bed so gently she didn’t even wake up was also capable of murder. “Did they deserve it?”

  “I thought they did.” He studied her closely, gauging her reaction. Whatever he saw in her expression prompted him to say, “I am not a good man, Princess. I’ve done things you couldn’t even begin to imagine inside that pretty head of yours.”

  She twisted her skirt between her fingers, pulling at a loose thread. “I – I know that.”

  “Do you?” His mouth thinned and he shook his head, muttering something under his breath she couldn’t quite make out. “We’ve almost arrived,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

  Emily immediately looked out the window and saw that they had, in fact, pulled off the main road and were traveling down a long, winding dirt path guarded by towering oaks on either side. Dust swirled up behind the coach, while ahead of it she caught the barest glimpse of a stone house through the trees. Scooting to the edge of her seat she pressed her fingers against the dingy glass, both eager and anxious to see where she would be spending the next few days…weeks…possibly even months, although her mind shied away from the possibility of being apart from her family for so long.

  When they rounded a bend in the drive and the house came into full view her jaw dropped. She did not know quite what she’d been imagining, but it certainly wasn’t this.

  Sitting up on a hill surrounded by trees the stone house – although mansion would have been a more accurate term – was comprised of three separate wings with a pitch gabled roof and an elegant portico complete with marble steps leading up to the front entrance. It was Palladian in design, which, courtesy of her fascination with architecture, Emily knew dated it back to the early seventeenth century. Yet despite its age the windows sparkled and the stone looked freshly scrubbed. The surrounding shrubbery was neatly tended and groomed. Gardens on either side of the mansion were in full bloom, the plants and flower bushes tumbling over each other in their eagerness to tip their brightly colored faces up to the sun. It was a scene plucked straight from the pages of a fairytale, and Emily found herself instantly enchanted.

  “It’s called Rosemore,” West said quietly.

  “It… it is enormous,” she said in awe as they reached the end of the circular drive and the carriage rolled to a halt.

  “Why thank you.” West leaned past her to open the door. It swung wide and he jumped down, landing gracefully atop neatly raked red stone. A grin lingered in the corners of his mouth as he offered his arm and said, “That’s what they all say.”

  Ignoring his arm, Emily rolled her eyes before she hopped down beside him with a little huff of breath and, shading her countenance against the afternoon sun, took a more thorough study of West’s home while he spoke with the driver; a thin, weasel-faced man whose name she could not remember.

  It really was quite impressive, made even more so by the fact that he hadn’t gained it through inheritance. Her father’s country estate was nearly twice the size, of course, but she knew of more than a few earls and viscounts who would have turned green with envy at the sight of such a large, well-tended mansion.

  It was also quite isolated, and her shoulders slumped as she realized escaping from here would not be nearly as easy as the inn, not that that had gone exactly as planned.

  “Why the long face, Princess?” West stepped up beside her, his towering frame throwing her smaller one into shadow. Behind them the driver, assisted by a footman who had appeared from behind the house, began to unload the trunks from the roof of the coach and carry them inside one by one.

  “What is in those?” Ignoring West’s question, Emily pointed at one of the trunks. She’d meant to ask him when they’d arrived at The Three Pigs and she had seen the trunks being unloaded then as well, but with everything else happening the question had slipped her mind. “More things you’ve kidnapped?”

  “I suppose you could say that. Hold a moment, Niles.” Loping forward, West motioned for the driver to set the trunk he’d been carrying down on the ground and lifted the lid.

  Unable to control her curiosity Emily stepped forward as well… only to gasp in sheer outrage when she saw the haphazardly folded contents inside the trunk.

  “Those – those are my dresses!” she accused, instantly recognizing a blue muslin morning dress with white lace trim as one of her favorites. She stabbed a finger at the trunk first before turning it on West. “You stole my dresses?”

  West closed the lid and nodded for Niles to continue inside before he turned his attention to Emily, his expression vaguely puzzled. “I thought you would be happy.”

  “HAPPY?” she screeched, throwing her arms wide in disbelief. “Happy you – you went inside my home – inside my bedroom – and stole things that belong to me?”

  “Well, I suppose when you put it that way—”

  “What other way would you put it?” Emily didn’t know why, after everything that had happened, the stealing of her clothes would make her so furious; she only knew she was madder than she’d ever been, her slender body all but trembling with rage. “What else did you steal? Was I not enough? Tell me,” she demanded when West’s mouth thinned and a severe line appeared in the middle of his brow.

  “You are tired,” he said tightly, reaching out with one arm. “And emotionally distraught. Let me take you—”

  “You are not takin
g me anywhere. And do not touch me,” she hissed, slapping his hand away when he would have closed his fingers around her wrist. “Perhaps I am distraught, but it is only because of everything I have been through. Everything you have put me through! It is bad enough you kidnapped me, but to have gone through my things… To have taken my personal belongings…” She retreated one step, then another, her vision blurring as tears flooded her eyes.

  Some dim part of her mind recognized it was not the contents of the trunks that was truly upsetting her, but rather the cold, hard finality of acceptance. Until this very moment she’d been imagining it all as a bit of a game. An exciting adventure that would end with her safe return home. But now here she was, further from home than she’d ever been, faced with living in a strange mansion, and absolutely no hope of rescue.

  What would happen when West discovered her father didn’t have the money to pay his ransom? What would happen when he realized she was worthless to him? Would he let her go? She’d like to think so, but beneath that charming smile of his was a cold-blooded murderer – he’d said as much himself. And it did not matter how much she wanted him to be good. Wanting did not keep you alive. Wanting did not keep you safe.

  Her breaths started to come in quick, panting little gasps. She brought her hands to her chest, flattening her palms over her heart and pushing in a vain attempt to slow the erratic beating.

  “Emily.” It was the first time West had ever called her by her given name. He spoke to her as though she were a wounded animal, his tone low and soothing. “Emily, I know you are upset. Come inside, have a cup of tea. It doesn’t have to be this way. I thought you would be glad to have your own clothes. Your own dresses.”

  “I want to go – go home,” she gasped, staring beseechingly at him through her tears. How she hated to cry, but this time there seemed to be no controlling it. Any of it.

  “You will.” West took one step forward. Emily took two steps back. “You will go home soon, I promise.”

  “You p-promise?” she echoed, her voice catching. “Just as you promised we were going to Guildford? You are a liar and a cheat and a blackguard. I cannot trust a word you say, and I was foolish to think otherwise.”

  He shook his head, his expression incredulous. “All of this over a bit of clothes? I will have them burned, if you like. If I had known you would react like this I never would have had them taken in the first place.”

  Now that she was out of the carriage and had the room, Emily stomped her foot with gusto. A spray of pebbles shot up, a few of them bouncing harmlessly off West’s boots. “This is not about the clothes! Oh, you don't know anything.”

  West’s eyebrows shot up. “If you are saying I don’t know anything about women, you’re bloody right. Loons, the lot of you.”

  Emily bit her lip. She started to say more, but the words caught in her throat, twisting and turning until she nearly choked on them. Picking up her wrinkled skirts, she spun on her heel and fled down the drive.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Bloody hell,” West muttered as he watched Emily run away from him as fast as her sturdy leather ankle boots could carry her. He drove a hand through his hair, pulling the ends taut before he let his arm drop with a long expulsion of breath.

  The woman didn’t make a bit of sense. Worse than that, she made him question his own sanity. What had he been thinking, kidnapping a member of the gentry? And not just any member. A female member. He would have been better off stealing a few horses… except horses didn’t run in crooked little lines with their arms flapping madly about.

  The smile came to his mouth unbidden and when West realized he was gaping after Emily like some sort of love-struck fool it was quickly replaced with a frown. He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to get his emotions under control. He needed to catch Emily before she tripped and broke her neck.

  He wasn’t concerned she would escape – the nearest estate was a good furlong down the road, and its occupants were currently touring the continent – but after witnessing her grace firsthand he certainly wouldn’t put it past her to trip in a hole or catch her face on a low hanging branch, especially given her current state of mind.

  The reason behind her fit – the best word he could think to describe it – was still unclear, at least to him. Then again, he knew women who dissolved into tears if the end of their hair ribbon frayed. Until now Emily had been handling everything remarkably well. Too well, which, if he had to guess, was why she had fled from him as though the very hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

  Guilt festered inside of him, gnawing at his conscience until he pushed it stubbornly to the back of his mind. Mayhap what he was doing was wrong, but he’d never claimed to be a saint. He was a renowned criminal, for heavens sake. And he wasn’t about to let some slip of a girl make him feel bad about it.

  He caught up with her before she reached the main road. His hands closed like iron bands around her slender arms and he jerked her to a halt, ignoring her sputtering protests. She fought him, twisting this way and that and even managing to get in one good stomp on his instep before he dragged her onto the grass and tossed her into the shade of the towering oaks that lined the drive. She spun to face him as she landed, staggered a few steps to the side, and promptly fell backwards onto her rump.

  “Ouch!” she cried, glaring up at him accusingly.

  West crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “That didn’t hurt.”

  “It could have,” she said sullenly. Reaching up she plucked a leaf from the tangled ends of her hair and began to spin it between her thumb and finger. Sunlight trickled down through the branches of the tree, dotting her face and dress with little prisms of light. Her attention intent on the leaf she drew one knee up and hugged it against her chest, the small motion causing her skirt to lift and exposing an ivory calf.

  If West had been a man of morals he would have kept his gaze far above the tempting display of flesh. Fortunately for him, he’d never had much patience for morality. “You cannot go running off like that, Princess. It isn’t safe. You very well could have injured yourself.”

  The leaf stopped spinning. “You’re right, of course. What was I thinking, trying to run away? Because being tossed inside a carriage like a sack of potatoes and forced to travel alone with my kidnapper is the absolute pinnacle of safety!”

  West wasn’t the least bit surprised when his head began to throb. If he’d been inside his study he would have immediately fixed himself a double shot of the whisky he smuggled in from Scotland, something he had every intention of doing once Emily was locked away where she couldn’t bring harm to herself or others.

  How differently this had all been planned out in his head.

  Select a young woman from a well-to-do family. Watch her for a week or so. Learn her habits, her schedule. Whisk her away to his estate in the country where she would remain, unharmed and in relative comfort, until her ransom was paid. It all seemed so easy… and it all started to go to hell the very moment he sat across from Emily in the coach and she told him, calm as you please, that she was not the crying type.

  Reluctantly dragging his gaze from her shapely calf to her tear stained face, West barely managed to contain a snort. Not the crying type. Bullocks on that. “Would you like a handkerchief?” he asked, plucking a white linen cloth with his initials monogrammed on one corner in neat black stitch from his trouser pocket.

  Emily stared at the handkerchief as though it had fangs. “What I would like is to return home.”

  West shrugged and shoved the cloth back into his pocket. “I am afraid that isn’t going to happen, Princess. At least not until your father’s paid for your return. Now hop to. The sun will be setting soon and I have no intention of walking in the dark. There are wolves out here, you know.”

  “There are not,” Emily said even as she jumped hastily to her feet.

  “Believe what you like.” There had, in fact, been reports of a wolf sighting… twenty years ago. Still, West rather
liked the idea of Emily being afraid to leave the house after dark. He needed to do something to keep her safely tucked away, and if he could accomplish such a gargantuan task without the use of locks and rope then so much the better.

  He started back down the long, winding drive, his boots crunching on the stone. After a brief hesitation Emily fell in step beside him, her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her. She seemed so tiny walking next to him – her head barely came to his shoulder – and yet he knew she was far stronger than she appeared, in both body and spirit. He needed to decide how he wanted to handle her, and quickly. He’d attempted to spend the remainder of their journey doing just that, but she’d kept distracting him with her little peeking glances and her incessant tapping.

  It seemed he had kidnapped the only lady in all of England who could not sit quietly. Even when she spoke Emily was animated, her hands flying every which way and her face alight with whatever emotion she was feeling at the moment. Quiet and subtle she was not, although West was quickly discovering he rather preferred the way she wore her heart on her sleeve. After dealing for so long in lies and deception it was refreshing to converse with someone who said exactly what they meant. And yet there was still something mysterious about her. Something she was holding back. West had a sixth sense about these things, and he knew, as surely as he knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, that Emily was hiding something from him.

  “I would like to apologize,” she said suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts.

  “For kneeing me in the boll—groin?” he asked, amending his word choice at the last second. There was no need to get her all flustered again when she’d only just calmed down. The chit blushed more than any woman he’d ever met and while he rather enjoyed making her cheeks flush with color, he imagined so much blood rushing to the head could not be very good for one’s health.