The Duke of St. Giles

by Jillian Eaton

  “That is fine,” she had interrupted hastily.

  “—but if there is anything of true importance I am sure it can be delivered after you are home.”

  When she had asked him why he was going to such great lengths to help her Sullivan merely shrugged and said, “I have my reasons. You need not concern yourself with them. I will say not to worry about West and Mattie. Not matter what you think you saw, they love each other like a brother and a sister. It is something I would stake my life on. Safe travels, Lady Emily. Oh, and I would very much suggest cutting through the woods to get the road. There is a path there” – he pointed to a barely discernible break in the tree line – “that will lead you directly to the carriage.”

  And now, after that rather bewildering conversation, here she was, ensconced in a carriage that was far superior to the one she’d arrived in, gazing plaintively out at the rolling countryside as it passed her by.

  She thought she would have felt far happier now that she was finally on her way home, but instead of happiness a strange sense of melancholy hung over her head like a dark, gloomy cloud through which no sun was visible.

  For even though she was eager to see her father and Petunia once there, she already missed everyone she was leaving behind.

  Mattie and her sisters. Berta, the cook. Mr. Sullivan.

  And, most especially, West.

  Even though her time with all of them had been brief, they’d each touched her heart and brought out a side of her that simply did not exist when she was forced to live within the strict social parameters of the ton. Like a bird freed from its cage she’d been able to stretch out her wings for the very first time, and she did not relish behind caged and confined once again.

  Yet that was precisely the future that awaited her back in London.

  Her imminent return would ensure her father would not have to find a way to come up with thirty thousand pounds, but it did nothing to fix the fact that they were drowning in debt. It was something she would have to confront him on sooner rather than later, for it was not as though it were a problem that would resolve itself in due time.

  Offhand the only solution that came to mind rested in marriage to a wealthy lord, but try as she might she could not think of a single man who had turned her head during the Season. Her stomach, yes. There had been several of those. But her head? None that she could remember.

  The trouble was they were all so dreadfully boring. She wanted a husband who could carry a conversation that did not revolve around politics or hunting. She wanted a husband who would make a good father to their children. She wanted a husband who would make her heart stutter, not once or twice but every time he walked into the room.

  If she couldn’t have one who met her standards she would rather not have one at all, but she couldn’t bear to stand aside and do nothing while her father lost everything.

  Closing her eyes, Emily let her head fall back against the plush leather seat. She’d spoken to the driver when they first embarked, and he assured her that except to change horses they would travel straight through to the city without stopping. In two days she would be home. In two days she would see her father and Petunia again. In two days she would fall asleep in her own bed.

  Outside the window the light was beginning to dim and shadows slithered into the carriage, lulling her exhausted mind towards sleep. But slumber proved elusive, for no matter how hard she tried to think of something else her mind kept wandering back to West.

  She wondered if he even knew she was gone. Wondered if he cared. Wondered if he missed her, as she already so keenly missed him.

  How was it possible that is so short of a time he had already become such a part of her? He’d wormed his way into her heart, the rake. Not the prettiest of analogies, but then nothing about their relationship had been particularly pretty thus far. What it had been was exciting, and thrilling, and just dangerous enough to keep her on her toes.

  But all that was behind her now. Even knowing she’d misinterpreted the scene she witnessed between him and Mattie, she could not easily forgive him for the things he’d said or the way he’d acted.

  She folded her arms tight across her chest, as though by doing so she could bundle up all of her feelings and hide them somewhere deep inside where no one, not even her, could see them. She needed to focus on the future now, not the past. She needed to save her father from financial ruin. She needed to find a nice, kind, generous man to marry her.

  And she needed to forget West Green ever existed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Emily was gone. Vanished, as though she’d never been in Blooming Glen to begin with. West had been to every estate within three miles, questioning anyone he came across, property owners and servants alike. He’d torn through The Dog and Pony like a madman, searching each and every room whether they were occupied or not. There’d been no sign of Emily anywhere, and no one that could recall seeing her. Try as he might to come up with an answer that would explain her disappearance, he could not fathom neither the when nor the how.

  He could guess at the why.

  Dragging himself up the front steps of Rosemore well on the other side of midnight, body weary and mind numb, he shut the door silently behind him and knelt to unlace his boots before he tracked mud throughout the house and earned Mattie’s screeching disapproval come the morning.

  “Any luck, my friend?”

  West’s head lifted and swiveled towards the stairs. Squinting into the shadows, he could just make out Sullivan sitting on the third step up, his legs sprawled out in front of him and a bottle clutched in his right fist. Suspicion prickled at the back of West’s neck, lifting the hairs and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Not at the words Sullivan had said, by the way he’d said them, as though he already knew what the answer to his question would be before he even asked it.

  Kicking off one boot then the other, West shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the back of the nearest chair before stalking to the stairs and resting one arm along the curved edge of the banister. “You know something, don’t you?”

  Sullivan tipped the bottle up to his mouth and took a long swig. “Might,” he acknowledged. “What’s it worth to you?”

  All the exhaustion and weariness of the past several hours faded away as anger the likes of which West rarely felt brought his blood to a boiling point. His hands shot out, fingers digging into the lapels of Sullivan’s shirt. He hauled the gambler upright until their faces were mere inches apart. “What have you done with her?” he snarled. “So help you God if you have touched one hair on her head—”

  “Calm down.” Seemingly indifferent to the fact that he was dangling from West’s grip like a fish on a hook, Sullivan narrowed his eyes in concentration and managed to loop his arm up and around West’s elbow so he could finish off the contents of the bottle – red wine, by the smell of it - he still lovingly held in his right hand. When the bottle was drained he flipped it carelessly over his shoulder. It landed on the carpeted stairs with a thump and rolled step by step to the bottom. “She won’t like that,” he mumbled under his breath.

  West gave his friend a small, frustrated shake before he released him. “What have you done?” he repeated.

  “Done? What makes you think I’ve done anything?”

  “Sullivan…”

  “Oh, very well.” The gambler blinked, sighed, and plopped back down on the stairs. “Quite potent stuff, that,” he said with a nod towards the empty bottle.

  West gritted his teeth.

  “Don’t get your petticoats in a bunch. Your lady love is fine and well and on her way to London as we speak.”

  “And why,” West growled, “would she be on her way to London?”

  “Because I sent her there. Now, now, let’s not do anything rash,” Sullivan said hastily when West advanced on him with both fists raised. “You wouldn’t hit a man in his cups, would you? Poor form, that.”

  “I think you’d be surprised what I would do given the rig
ht provocation.” He itched to plant a right hook square on the side of Sullivan’s jaw, but at the last moment he turned away, chest heaving and hands flexing.

  While no doubt immensely satisfying, beating Sullivan into a bloody pulp wouldn’t give him the answers he sought. Not to mention the fact that before he’d made his fortune as a gambler, Sullivan had been a renowned fighter in the illegal underground world of boxing. Even after downing a bottle of wine his reflexes would still be dangerously quick, and West didn’t fancy another broken nose.

  “She had to go back one way or another.” Crossing his legs at the ankle, Sullivan stretched out and leaned back on his elbows. “She was not yours to keep, my friend. You said as much yourself.”

  “And it was not your decision to make,” West bit out.

  Sullivan studied him with shrewd cunning that belied the wine he’d drunk, his watchful gaze missing nothing. “How did you think this was going to end, especially given that her father could not afford to pay your ransom? We both know you wouldn’t have harmed the girl. She would have had to gone back sooner or later. You should really be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you?” West snapped out incredulously. Maybe a broken nose would be a small price to pay for wiping the smug expression off Sullivan’s face. He knew the gambler was of the general opinion that he knew everything, but on this subject he knew nothing. How could he, when West hardly knew what was going on himself?

  The only thing he knew for certain was that with every second that passed Emily was slipping further and further beyond his grasp, returning to a world he had no place in. A world that would never fully accept him, no matter how much wealth he accumulated or how valiantly he fought to atone for the misdeeds he’d committed in his life. Any thought to the contrary, however fleeting, had been a foolhardy one. Clenching his jaw, he turned away to hide the myriad of emotions he could not seem to control or disguise.

  A part of him had always known Emily would have to return to London at some point or another, but he’d never expected it to be so soon, nor anticipated the sense of loss her absence would bring. He thought he’d have more time.

  Time to make amends for the things he’d said.

  Time to come to terms with how he felt.

  Time to kiss her, just one more time.

  A floorboard creaked beneath his weight as he walked to the nearest window and braced his hands against the wooden sill. He stared unblinkingly out into the night, finding an old, familiar sense of comfort in the darkness. Perhaps, when all was said and done, this ending was for the best. One hard, clean break instead of a hundred little goodbyes. But if that was true, why did it feel as though someone had reached inside his chest and ripped out his heart?

  “You could always go after her, you know. If she means so much to you.”

  West’s shoulders tensed, muscles coiling on the outside as a pressure steadily built within. “I never said she meant anything to me.”

  “You didn’t need to. Your face said it well enough whenever you thought no one was looking at you looking at her. If you did not want everyone and their bloody brother to know you’ve fallen head over heels for Lady Emily you should have done a better job at disguising your emotions, my friend.” Sullivan waved his hand lazily in the air. “I’ve seen flea ridden mongrel pups who looked less pitiful.”

  “Bugger off.”

  “Oh, just go after her you miserable git. You know you want to.”

  “What I want does not matter. I never should have taken her to begin with. Never should have brought her here.” Never should have learned the taste of her lips and the feel of her body pressed up against mine…

  “But you did, and what is done cannot be undone,” Sullivan said matter-of-factly, sounding more like a philosopher than a man whose very life depended on the roll of the dice. “And it’s not me you need to convince, by the by. I am all for taking what you want, consequences be damned. If you want Lady Emily, then take her. You’ve done it once. Do it again.”

  West slapped his palm against the windowpane. The sting of it caused his breath to hiss, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the thoughts buzzing through his head with the frantic energy of a thousand bees. “It is not that simple,” he gritted out. “She’s not a damn horse. She’s a lady.”

  “Well I know that. I’ve two eyes in my head, haven’t I?”

  “If you are so hell bent on getting us back together, why send her away?”

  “I did not send her away. I gave her a choice. A choice you were neither ready nor willing to make, though the devil knows it was long overdue. You would have kept her here until she could not help but hate you. The girl made her own decision, free and clear.”

  “Yes, and she chose to leave me,” West said, unable to disguise the hint of bitterness in his voice. “That should tell you everything you need to know.”

  “She chose to go home,” Sullivan corrected. “There is a difference. Not that I could blame her, given the things you said. Not very tactful, were you?”

  “What would you have me do?” West exploded as he whirled around. “Ride into London like some knight of old and claim her? Or have you forgotten I am wanted for murder? I would be trussed up and tossed inside Newgate before I made it halfway to Grosvenor Square.”

  The candles in the parlor had flickered down to the wick, but enough light remained for West to see the grimace that passed across Sullivan’s countenance. “I did forget about that one small detail,” he admitted.

  “I could always wait,” West muttered to himself. “Return for her once they have found the true murderer and my name has been cleared.”

  London law was a complicated, fickle beast that often changed on the whims of the House of Lords. There were four classes of crimes one could commit, the most grievous of which was high treason, sacrilege of a church, and murder. Even then it was the victim’s burden to prove guilt and bring charges, two things that Lord Collinsworth seemed hell bent on doing.

  Even without substantial proof or evidence Collinsworth still stood a fair chance of having West found guilty, a fate from which he would not easily recover. In a time where a man’s neck could be stretched out for being caught stealing a loaf of bread, one did not want to find themselves on the wrong side of the court facing charges for murder.

  If he returned to London and remained within St. Giles he would be safe. The reach of the Bowstreet Runners did not extend into the violent rookery, nor did that of the constables or the watchmen. But remaining hidden away in St. Giles would mean hiding from Emily, and he could not think of a worse fate than never again seeing her pretty smile or hearing her lilting voice or seeing her grit her teeth when she was annoyed with him.

  He could hardly believe what he was considering, but for the first time where Emily was concerned his thoughts felt right and his mind clear. It had taken losing her to finally wake him up. To make him realize that the things he wanted in life now were not the same things he’d wanted before he met her.

  Children. Family. A woman who loved him, and whom he loved return.

  Those were the things he wanted now. Those were the things she’d made him want. And he knew he was not good enough for her, and he knew a hundred obstacles stood in their way, and he knew there was a chance she never wanted to see him again… but bloody hell if it wasn’t worth a try. For Emily, he would risk everything. For Emily, he would lose anything. And even if all he knew was lost to him forever, he would make the same choice again if only for the chance to see her face one last time.

  “I can wait,” he repeated. “With the exception of Collinsworth, there is no one else willing to bring up charges and without charges the Runners have no cause for an arrest. Kidnapping was my final crime,” he said with a new surge of determination. “I’ve a clean slate in front of me, and I want to put it to good use. If you are still looking for someone to manage Darkhall, I am your man.”

  “And the job is yours for the taking, as it always has been and always will be. Alt
hough I am afraid you have a bit of a problem with your timeline.”

  West’s brow creased. “Which is?”

  “Well, I am only guessing here, but seeing as the Duke of Brumleigh does not have two pounds to rub together and his only remaining asset is a daughter of marriageable age…”

  “He could have her engaged to another within a week of her return,” West finished flatly as the same exact thought occurred to him.

  “Precisely. Which means—”

  “I haven’t a moment to lose.” Adrenaline shot through his veins. “I need to get to London.”

  Sullivan sat up. “And Collinsworth?”

  “Will not stand in my way if he values his life.” West raked a hand through his hair, mind whirring as he thought of the fastest conceivable way to get to the city. “I leave on horseback at first light.” If he was able to change mounts at The Three Pigs he stood a fair chance of overtaking Emily’s coach. If not, he would only be a day behind. Surely her father would not make any decisions regarding her future in so short a time… if he was the one to make them at all. Whether Emily knew of the duke’s financial strain or not would soon become a moot point. She’d learn of their ruin soon enough, and he knew her sense of selflessness would not allow her to sit idly by and do nothing. If Brumleigh did not force her hand in marriage to a wealthy lord, Emily would give it willingly up herself.

  West drew on the inside of his cheek. He could not offer Emily a title, but this was something he could give her: financial security for both her and her father. The life of a criminal may not have been an honorable one, but it was certainly lucrative and his new life as a manager for the largest gambling hell in all of England would be doubly so.

  “Do you come with me?” he asked Sullivan. “I can arrange for a second horse to be ready at dawn.”

  The gambler rubbed his chin, giving the question due consideration. “No,” he said finally, much to West’s surprise. “I believe I shall stay here for a few more days. The country air is doing wonders for my complexion. Don’t you think?”