The Duke of St. Giles

by Jillian Eaton

  “A bit of practice,” West echoed as he struggled to comprehend what Edgar was saying. It almost sounded as though he were giving his blessing... which was the last thing on earth he’d ever expected and the one thing, besides Emily’s safe return, he truly needed. “Yes. Yes, it was only practice.”

  “And I also expect such a man to live a respectable life, conducting himself in a way his family would be proud of. They call you the Duke of St. Giles, don’t they?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Edgar did not seem surprised. “I believe you will do quite nicely. Quite nicely indeed. Now you need only bring my daughter back to me and, if she loves you as much as you claim, you have my blessing.”

  West opened his mouth to thank the duke, but before he could speak a word Sullivan appeared suddenly in the doorway. “They’ve found her,” he said without preamble.

  “Where?” West demanded.

  “A townhouse at the end of Farnsworth Street. She is alive and, it would seem, unharmed. Collinsworth is with her. I have two horses waiting outside ready to take us.”

  “Make it three,” Edgar said, getting to his feet.

  West expected the gambler to protest, but to his surprise Sullivan merely nodded. “Three it is. I’ve also sent word to Kinsley. He will meet us there with a contingent of Runners.”

  “Collinsworth will pay for this,” Edgar said grimly.

  West met Sullivan’s gaze. Their exchange was silent, but both knew what the other was thinking. Kinsley and his Runners could have Collinsworth… if they managed to get to him first. “Trust me, Your Grace. He most certainly will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In the end, everything happened so quickly that if someone were to ask Emily what had occurred, she was not sure she would be able to tell them.

  Knowing West would come for her one way or another no matter what Collinsworth said, she’d been doing everything in her power to bide more time. Between feigning a fainting spell and engaging Collinsworth in conversation (as much as she loathed to share a single word with the odious earl, it was the only thing she could think of to keep him distracted) she managed to keep her captors occupied throughout the morning and well into the afternoon.

  She even got Collinsworth to admit his wife had not been murdered as he’d led everyone to believe. To Emily’s shock Lady Collinsworth was apparently alive and well and the body retrieved from the Thames had been that of some poor strumpet. From what she could gather, Lady Collinsworth had packed up what little belongings remained after the creditors stripped her husband of his fortune and ran off several weeks ago. Collinsworth had been unable to find her, and with every day that passed without knowing his own wife’s whereabouts his hate for the Duke of St. Giles festered and grew.

  He blamed his misfortune on West entirely, refusing to take any responsibility for the destructive choices that had left him destitute. When Emily tried to get him to accept blame for his actions he’d grown irrational, shouting curses and throwing a chair across the room before storming out.

  That had been an hour ago, and she’d yet to hear from him since. In fact, for the first time since she’d awoken on the bed with her hands and feet bound together she did not hear any voices and for some reason the silence was even worse than overhearing her kidnappers plot her demise.

  What if West didn’t come for her? What if the things he’d told her in the gazebo had all been lies? What if his declaration of love had been nothing more than a clever ruse to get her alone so he could hold her for ransom yet again? As one doubt after another began to surface she twisted her wrists back and forth, desperate to free herself before Collinsworth returned. She wasn’t so naïve or foolish as to think he’d abandoned his plans. Sooner or later he would kill her, just as he’d said he would.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Unfortunately, whoever had tied her hands had done a fine job of it. When blood began to run down her wrists in thick streams and stain the sheets a dark crimson she collapsed on her side with a muffled cry, too exhausted both physically and emotionally to continue.

  Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away, refusing to let herself cry. West would come for her. She couldn’t allow herself to think otherwise. And when he did they would be married and live happily-ever-after because he loved her. He loved her. And love always triumphed over hate.

  As her eyelids grew heavy, she began to drift in and out of sleep. In both dreams and consciousness West was her anchor and she clung to the memories of them together like a drowning sailor to the edge of a lifeboat.

  The first moment they met and she instinctively knew her life would never be the same. When he broke down the door in the inn like some kind of avenging angel and rescued her from whatever horrible fate Dora and Aaron intended. That same night when he cradled her so gently against him she did not even wake. Their first fight in the field with her beloved Galahad watching on. His apology, gruffly spoken but heartfelt. The kiss in the library, so hot she still burned from the memory of it. Admitting her feelings in a tumble of words and half-finished thoughts, only to be rejected. Seeing him in the park and feeling such a rush of emotion it was all she could do not to run and leap into his arms. Having him kneel before her in the gazebo with a ring on the tip of his finger and his heart in his hands…

  The sound of a gunshot ricocheting through the cramped confines of the townhouse brought her awake with a gasp. Heart pounding, eyes wide, she rolled to the edge of the mattress in a second attempt to sit upright, but this time she went too far and with a startled shriek fell hard onto the floor, landing painfully on her right hip. Dust flew up in her face, blinding her and making her cough as she squirmed around, flopping on the wood like a fish out of water.

  Below came the muffled shouts of men. Another gunshot, this one louder than the last. She bit back another scream, but couldn’t quite contain the tiny mewl of fear as the door to the dingy bedroom slammed open hard enough to send it bouncing against the wall.

  “Get up,” Collinsworth snarled. His face was red and mottled. His eyes wide and glassy. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging painfully into her skin as he yanked her roughly to her feet after slicing the rope that bound her ankles with a pocketknife. She stumbled, struggling to find balance after lying for so long on the bed. Collinsworth growled his impatience and shoved her in front of him.

  “What is happening?” she cried as he pushed her towards the door. Below their feet the sounds of fighting had intensified. She heard the thud of fists hitting flesh, the unmistakable crack of bone being broken, a stifled shout, and, above it all, a wild laugh that sounded vaguely like… “MR. SULLIVAN!” she shouted, straining against Collinsworth’s grasp. “MR. SULLIVAN, IS THAT YOU? I AM UP HERE! MR. SULLIVAN, I AM—”

  “Shut up, you bitch!” Collinsworth cuffed her in the side of the head, hard enough to send dark spots dancing across her line of vision. Her knees buckled, and through the dim roaring in her ears she heard another roar, this one filled with anguish and fear and anger the likes of which she’d never heard before.

  “West?” she gasped, squinting down the shadowy hallway to the top of the stairs.

  Collinsworth shook her like a ragdoll, his nails biting into her shoulders as he hauled her upright and positioned her in front him like a human shield. “This is your fault!” he cried wildly. They began to edge down the hall towards the stairs. Emily balked, not wanting to attempt to navigate the long, steep set of steps when her hands were bound and her legs were still wobbly, but Collinsworth ignored her struggles, his large frame easily overpowering her smaller one.

  “ST. GILES!” he yelled out once they’d reached the top of the stairs. “Show your face, you coward!”

  West appeared almost immediately, and Emily drank in the sight of him, tears flooding her eyes as she saw the evidence of the beating he’d taken the night before. He was bruised and battered, his hair disheveled, a smoking pistol still clutched in his right hand. His name fel
l from her lips on a whisper, and his beautiful golden eyes seemed to glow in response.

  “Let her go, Collinsworth.” Legs splayed apart, arms held rigidly at his sides, he stood his ground at the bottom of the stairs. “It is all over. The Runners have taken your men into custody. Give up now, and I might still let you live.”

  “It’s not over while I still have her,” Collinsworth hissed, giving Emily a hard shake. Her right heel skidded over the top step and she shrieked as she started to fall into nothingness before Collinsworth hauled her against him, one arm looping around her neck, the other around her waist, pinching her arms painfully between them. “One shove and she goes down,” the earl taunted. “How many steps do you think it will take before she snaps her neck? Three? Four? Want to make a bet of it?” His maniacal laughter filled the air, and if Emily had doubted his loss of sanity before she was certain of it now.

  Afraid to move, hesitant to even breathe, she stood poised at the top step; a flightless bird dangling over the edge of a cliff.

  “Let her go,” West repeated, outwardly calm save the hardness of his jaw, “and I will let you live. It is an offer I will not make again, Collinsworth.”

  Behind her Emily felt the earl tense, and his breath blew hot across the back of her neck as he said, “Do you think me a fool? I don’t know how you escaped the Runners, but I know they aren’t here!”

  “I beg to differ.” His forehead slick with sweat and walking with a noticeable limp, Kinsley appeared from around the corner to stand at West’s side. “It’s all done, Collinsworth. Your men are in custody and on their way to Bow Street as we speak. Surrender Lady Emily and turn yourself in. There is nothing to be gained by dragging this out any longer.”

  “Turn myself in?” Collinsworth sputtered. “What about him!” Uncoiling his arm from around Emily’s throat he jabbed a finger at West. “He’s the one who you should be arresting! He’s the one who has committed murder! Arrest him, I say! Arrest him at once!”

  “We know your wife is alive, Collinsworth.” This came from Sullivan who, boasting a cut on his right cheek and bloody knuckles, stepped up to stand at West’s other side. “I saw her myself in Blooming Glen. She wasn’t killed. She ran away from you, pitiful excuse for a man that you are.”

  Emily’s gaze went to West when she felt Collinsworth tremble. He was on the brink of losing whatever trace of sanity he had left, and if she were about to be thrown to her death she wanted her last image to be of the man she loved.

  West must have sensed the impending danger as well, for he swallowed hard and said in a voice that had gone hoarse, “Just let her go. Let her go, Collinsworth. If you want Rosemore take it. I give it to you freely. I will give you whatever you want if you let her go. Please,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving Emily’s face, “she means everything to me.”

  “You want her?” Collinsworth taunted. “THEN HAVE HER!” He gave Emily a hard shove directly between her shoulder blades. Unable to use her hands to catch herself she tripped over the top step and started to fall headfirst down the stairs.

  Miraculously, impossibly, West was there to catch her, having lunged forward the moment Collinsworth adjusted his grip. Flinging himself down on the steps he flipped onto his back and caught Emily against his chest, cradling her tightly to him as they tumbled together down the stairs.

  They landed at the bottom in a tangle of limbs with Emily on top and West still holding her close, a grimace of pain contorting his bruised countenance. Sullivan and Kinsley sprinted past them up the stairs and dimly Emily heard the echo of footsteps as they gave chase to Collinsworth.

  “Are you all right?” West touched her cheek, his fingertips gently tracing the line of her jaw. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

  “My arms,” she managed, still short of breath from the fall.

  West had the rope untied in a heartbeat. Carefully picking her up, he carried her with infinite care out of the dark townhouse and into the sun. She closed her eyes against the sudden brightness, burrowing her face into his chest.

  “I want to go home,” she murmured as she inhaled his familiar scent. It comforted her, soothing away any lingering pain and fear from the past twenty-four hours. In his arms she felt safe. In his arms she felt secure. The outside world melted away until there was only her, and there was only him, and nothing else mattered. Not Collinsworth. Not the Runners. Not the past. Not the future. There was only this moment, and in this moment there was only West.

  “Of course,” he said slowly. “I can have a carriage bring you straight to Grosvenor Square—”

  “No.” She lifted her head. “I want to go to Rosemore. And then I want to go to Gretna Green.”

  West’s grip tightened. “Gretna Green?” he said carefully. “For what purpose?”

  Lifting her hand, she lovingly traced the smooth edge of his jaw. “I want to marry you, Westley Green. I want to be your wife and bear your children. I want to fight with you and love you and wake up every morning beside you.” She hesitated. “That is, if you still want me.”

  He drew a ragged breath. “I shall want you every day for the rest of my life. There will never be a second that goes by when I do not.” Pressing his lips to her temple, he murmured into her hair, “I love you as I breathe. Constantly. Effortlessly. You are a part of me now. A part of me I never knew I needed until I met you. A part of me I cannot live without now that I love you.”

  Touched beyond words, Emily could not help but recall the first time she’d ever met West. Inside a strange carriage, face to face with her handsome kidnapper, she’d dreamed of going on a great adventure. But in all her wildest dreams she’d never imagined an adventure as grand or as great as this.

  Love, true love, was not something that could be planned or controlled. Like a blade of grass growing up from a crack in the cobblestone or a delicate rose blooming on the side of a country road it sprang up where it wanted, even if where it wanted was between the two unlikeliest of people.

  “I am glad you kidnapped me,” she said with an impish grin.

  “Oh?” West queried, one brow lifting as he carried her towards his waiting carriage. “And why is that?”

  “Well, because if you hadn’t we never would have met.”

  He waited until they were inside the carriage to respond. Still cradling her in his arms, he began to stroke her back in long, lazy circles that had her arching up into his hand like a cat. “We would have met,” he said with a quiet, unwavering confidence that had her studying his face intently.

  “We would? How can you be so certain?”

  “Because, Princess, some things are simply meant to be.”

  And so they were.

  EPILOGUE

  Rosemore Estate

  One Year Later

  At the first scream West sprang up and out of his chair and began to pace the length of the parlor, fists clenched and breaths coming in short, hard pants. As the second scream tore through Rosemore he managed to make it halfway up the stairs before Sullivan and Kinsley each grabbed an arm and between the both of them hauled him back down and planted him firmly in a chair.

  “Sit,” Sullivan demanded, blue eyes filled with equal amounts of exasperation and amusement. “She will be fine. A bit of noise is good. It means the baby is on his way.”

  “Or her way,” Mattie sniffed as she entered the room. “Tea, anyone?”

  West didn’t look up from where he’d buried his head in his hands. Kinsley and the Duke of Brumleigh both shook their heads.

  “A cup of tea would be lovely,” Petunia said with a smile, although the whiteness of her knuckles as she reached for a cup revealed that she wasn’t quite so calm as she would have everyone believe.

  She and Edgar had arrived at Rosemore two days ago in anticipation of an imminent delivery. Since then she’d clucked about like a mother hen, seeing to Emily’s ever need and leaving poor west with absolutely nothing to do except worry.

  Sullivan and Kinsley had arrived yesterday morni
ng; Sullivan at West’s request and Kinsley at Emily’s. Since the wedding (almost exactly one year ago today) she’d kept in touch with the Captain of the Bow Street Runners through letters and the occasional visit to London, although over the past six months such visits had become less and less frequent as her pregnancy advanced. West was not overly fond of his wife’s closeness with Kinsley, but, as Emily pointed out, their feelings for each other were no different than those West shared with Mattie.

  Together they formed an unlikely family: the duke and his daughter, the lady’s companion, the former criminal, the gambler, the maid, and the Bow Street Runner. They were high society’s worst nightmare… and Emily’s dream come true. She was their lynch pin; the one who held them all together. And even though West was the only one exhibiting outward signs of anxiety, they were all secretly worried for the little mother-to-be as she endured the agonies of childbirth just above their heads in the master bedroom.

  “Do you have anything stronger?” Sullivan asked hopefully as another muffled cry sounded from upstairs.

  “At half past ten in the morning?” Mattie pursed her lips. “I think not.”

  Petunia stood up. “I believe I will go check on her.”

  “I will go with you,” West said.

  Sullivan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Stay here, my friend,” he advised. “There are some things you can’t unsee, and a woman having a baby is one of them.”

  “How would you know that?” Mattie asked suspiciously.

  “Because he knows everything,” West muttered. Shoving a hand through his hair he resumed his pacing, unable to remain still with the amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Gritting his teeth as he imagined the pain Emily was being forced to endure, he vowed to himself then and there he would never touch her again. Not if it meant there was any chance she would have go through this hell a second time.