Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  “Cor, that ain’t no lad,” Collins muttered.

  “Shut up!” Dexter barked, getting to his feet and stripping the gun from Cochran’s lifeless hand. “I still have a ball left in this pistol.”

  Collins’s lips folded in on themselves in his effort to comply.

  The innkeeper flew back out the door, rope in hand and mouth agape. “I heard a shot.”

  Jared jumped back from Ari.

  “This one”—Dexter nudged Cochran with his boot—“took my pistol and tried to kill me. My friend shot him first.” He nodded at Bullen.

  “Thank God, ye’re safe, m’lord! But where is the other one? Weren’t there three of them?”

  “He got away,” Jared said disgustedly and took Ari’s elbow again to hustle her back inside.

  Harry’s frantic barking had started up again following the pistol shot, and the innkeeper pleaded. “Can’t ye do somethin’ about that dog afore he awakens the whole of me inn?”

  “I will see to him,” Bullen said, “and meet you inside.”

  “Come along,” Dexter motioned a nervous Collins forward with the pistol. He clapped Bullen on the shoulder on his way past. “Damned glad we brought you with us.”

  His brother only nodded and strode for the stables.

  “Bring your rope,” Dexter told the innkeeper, “and get some of your hostlers to bury the bastard who tried to kill me. I will write out a statement for the magistrate before we leave.”

  And that was that. Life in this era differed greatly from his future. A man was shot and killed when a nobleman defended his life, and no one asked any questions. They just accepted the nobleman’s story and buried the body.

  An hour later—the lone highwayman trussed up like a turkey in the cellar with two padlocks on the door, courtesy of the innkeeper who had returned to his bed—the four sat in the taproom of the inn sipping the only brandy the innkeeper had in stock. Even Ari wanted a glass.

  Dexter took a sip and grimaced. “Foul stuff.”

  “Good enough after staring down the barrel of a pistol,” Jared said and took a long pull on his own brandy.

  Ari had not said two words since the attack. Jared determined she might still be angry about him shouting at her for coming downstairs. Hell, he would do it all over again. The thought of those highwaymen getting their hands on her sent a flood of rage searing his blood to a boil. Maybe she had forgiven him after Cochran almost shot him. She had flown into his arms, after all. Though he was still angry about her coming downstairs in the middle of the fight, he could afford to be forgiving, he supposed. Hell, he was alive.

  “Are you all right?’ he asked, to test the waters.

  She nodded.

  No help there.

  “I apologize for shouting at you in the inn yard,” he said, and three heads turned to stare at him as though he had grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

  “What?”

  “You apologized,” Dexter said, incredulous.

  “You never apologize,” Bullen added.

  He looked at Ari.

  She shook her head. “Never.”

  “As I have informed all of you several times already, I am different now,” he said indignantly.

  Never apologize indeed. How ridiculous. He sighed. Not him. They meant Seven.

  “A man can change,” he argued.

  All three grinned at him, and he could not help himself. He grinned right back. These people were his friends, friends who had come to his rescue, real friends who had saved his life at the risk of their own. He had wanted to flee this century when he first arrived here, and now he found he hated the thought of his imminent departure. He could not remember when he had enjoyed life more. Life here was exciting and invigorating, danger and all.

  Disappointment flooded in to crush his contentment. Sometime very soon, he would be forced to give up the first real friends he had ever had. Friends who did not like him for what he could give them or for his societal contacts or simply because he was a bloody duke. And how in the hell could he give up Ariana?

  “I-I am glad we are friends,” he managed.

  “Don’t go getting all mawkish on us,” Dexter said, and Bullen chuckled.

  Good enough. At least, he had told them once. At least now, they knew. Only Ari had gone strangely quiet.

  “Drink up,” Dexter ordered. “We need what little sleep we can get. We leave at dawn, and that is only a few hours away. At least, no one has to keep watch now.”

  They nodded and finished their brandy.

  “What is the plan for London?” Jared asked.

  “We are going to lie low,” Dexter insisted. “Best if the accomplices of Collins and Dawson are not aware we have arrived.” They had threatened Slouch-hat’s real name out of Collins while they trussed him up. “Bullen and I will take Collins to the War Office and let them question him. We need to find out why these men were so keen on killing you.”

  Jared flinched. He hated the idea of Seven knowing about the Frenchies’ plan to go after Wellington. He wanted to believe his ancestor had acquired the information through some gallant spying effort, but having learned much about Seven while here, Jared worried his motives may have been less than forthright. And if Seven had acquired knowledge of some nefarious plot, then he, Jared, would pay the price if arrested for Seven’s part of the shenanigans—if he had not first found a way to return to the future. Thoughts of leaving made his gaze shift to Ari who kept her eyes on her glass of brandy.

  “After that, we will hire some Bow Street Runners,” Dexter was saying. “I know a few from your old dragoons unit.”

  “I won’t remember them,” Jared said and then regretted speaking so quickly when Bullen’s gaze on him sharpened.

  “Maybe, maybe not. We will have to see,” Dexter said. “But we can trust them. I have worked with them in the past.”

  Jared nodded, not looking at Bullen. His half brother saw too much by far.

  “You take Lady Ariana to her aunt’s house, and we will meet you back at Harrison’s cousin’s inn in Knightsbridge.”

  “The Bear and Beagle?” Jared confirmed. “Why not stay at my townhouse or yours?”

  Dexter gave him a pointed look. “Because these blackguards could have sent word ahead to have men watching our townhouses.”

  “Right.” Of course, they could have. Jared felt stupid.

  “Now let’s get some sleep.” Dexter rose and headed for the stairs.

  Jared wished he could come up with some reason for staying back, dreaded going back to that tiny room with Ariana. One thing had become horridly clear in the debacle out in the inn yard. Seeing Ari come down those stairs and charge into the fray had made him lose control. He had gone berserk, wanting to kill all the highwaymen to protect her and keep her safe. He had never lost control in his entire life, never wanted to kill anyone. He had always looked for peaceable solutions to conflict of any sort.

  The clarity of the disastrous event tonight struck him hard, like a punch to the jaw. He had fallen in love with Ariana, and she was the one woman, past or future, he could not have. Worse yet, he would have to tell her. He could not lead her on and then disappear from her life forever. The thought of leaving here without Ariana left him feeling hollow inside, like a man without a heart. The thought of telling Ariana that he did not, could not, want her terrified him.

  She marched up the stairs with their little group, her shoulders back, her head held high. Maybe he was worried for naught. Ariana would not even look at him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ari could hear Jared’s hesitant steps on the stairs behind her. Was he still angry over her disobeying orders? She knew now what a grave mistake she had made. Altering his focus to her safety during that life and death struggle could have cost him his life. Almost had. She had not stopped to think. She had reacted. She heard Bullen and Dexter tear out of their room when she broke the glass, and she had followed them down, intent on saving Jared.

  When she h
ad gazed through that grimy window and saw Cochran aim his pistol at Jared, her whole life had come into focus. She could no longer claim otherwise. She was arse over elbows—as her father liked to say—in love with Jared Langley, seventh duke of Reston.

  And she wanted to cry.

  She had fallen in love with the new Jared. What happened when the old Jared returned? He had broken her heart years earlier. He had the ability to trample it now. He had given her no indication of any emotion toward her other than lust. Best if she protected her vulnerable heart and put the two of them back on more even footing—that of friends, as they had been for years. At least, he had. But Lord, how she wanted him to kiss her again, to hold her in his arms.

  The group paused at her door.

  “The immediate danger may be subdued,” Dexter told Jared, “but the innkeeper and his occupants still think of you two as brothers, so you will need to stay together. Gossip from a tiny roadside inn like this can reach London as fast as in Mayfair. We have no choice.”

  With a last quelling glance for Jared, Dexter retreated to his room with Bullen who had been grim at best since he was forced to shoot Cochran.

  Ari opened their door and stepped inside, thankful the innkeeper had left them a lamp now that the window had a blanket tacked over it, preventing any moonlight from entering the room. Jared quietly followed her in. The meager light from the struggling fire allowed her to locate the flint to light the lamp while Jared added more logs to the sputtering embers. She tugged off the stable boy’s jacket, sat down on the edge of the bed, and folded her hands in her lap. Jared leaned on the mantel to stare at the flames licking into the new logs.

  She hated this strangeness between them, wanted things back the way they were. He had apologized, but he still seemed angry or at least withdrawn.

  “I’m sorry I went downstairs when you told me to stay here,” she said, not caring about who had a right to their anger.

  He started and turned to stare at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

  Unable to stand the silence for long, she added, “I did not think. I was afraid for you and wanted to help.”

  “You could have been killed,” he said softly without a shred of anger and that made her feel even more guilty.

  “I am sorry.” She stared down at her folded hands.

  “I was angry, and I yelled because I was so damned scared,” he said. “I am never scared.”

  Her head shot up. He was staring at her, his dark eyes glittering like onyx stones.

  “Scared? You?”

  “If something had happened to you, I would never forgive myself.” Her heart fluttered briefly, then sank when he added, “I promised your father I would look after you.”

  “So, you were only scared for me because you had promised my father?”

  His gaze sharpened. “No, you are changing my words.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “The thought of those men getting their hands—” He stopped and gave her a bleak stare. “I shouldn’t speak of such things to a young lady.”

  That was another thing that had changed. When he had first arrived home, he said whatever came to his mind. She had loved that. He had become more careful, more circumspect about what he said with every day that passed.

  She frowned.

  “I was scared for you. All right? Leave it at that,” he groused.

  That was something at least, but scared for her like a sister? Or a friend? Or scared for her like a sweetheart? She had to know the answer.

  He stayed by the fire. She wanted to go to him. To ask her question. She rose from the bed, but her feet refused to budge, and she could only manage, “I want to know why.”

  He scowled and took so long to answer she feared he would remain silent.

  “Because you are important to me,” he said forcefully.

  Her heart skipped a full beat. Not enough.

  Again, she asked, “Why?”

  His scowl went to a fulsome glower. “Why? Why?” he mimicked and started toward her. “What do you want from me?”

  She wanted to scream, Your heart! Instead, she remained silent.

  He took two steps closer. “Well?”

  To the devil with pride. “Whatever you have to give.”

  “I am not able—” Jared made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

  That was probably the understatement of a lifetime. Was he speaking of all the widows and ladies he had seduced in London?

  “I do not care about the other women.”

  “What?” He looked confused.

  “All the women you have seduced.”

  “No, it’s not what you think…I cannot do…I mean, I am in no position to…” He heaved a disgusted sigh. “Blast and damn.”

  He gave her a look so bleak, her heart ached for him. What had happened that he could not tell her? If it was not the women, was it something that happened at Waterloo?

  He looked so miserable, she went to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Please tell me. I care about you, Jared.”

  There. She had done it. Gone and admitted her feelings.

  He took her face in his hands. “You are too special, too valuable for the likes of me. I am not good enough for you, Ariana.”

  She had guessed wrong. He did not want her. Did not care for her except like a little sister, and he was trying to let her down easy. She pulled away.

  “I understand,” she said quickly, wishing she had someplace, anyplace to run to for a good cry.

  “What exactly do you understand?” he asked warily.

  “You do not want me.”

  “No, I can’t want you!”

  She stared up at him, and he brushed a gentle finger across her cheek. “I do want you, but I cannot afford to. You cannot afford to. Because I cannot make any commitments.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  He glanced away and then back. “I don’t know.”

  “Because of your memory,” she guessed.

  “That is a large part of it,” he said on a sigh.

  “I will wait—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. “I may have to go away for a while. A very long while.”

  What did he mean? She frowned at him. What could be so bad he had to go away for a long while?

  “No more questions. I can see them in your eyes, and I have told you all I could. We need to get some sleep. I will take the chair. You crawl into bed.”

  She could see the determination in his expression. That was the old Jared. Once his mind was made up, nothing changed it. He was slipping away from her, and she had the distinct feeling if he did, she would never get him back. She had to do something.

  “Will I see you after we go to London?”

  Pain flashed through his eyes. If she had not been staring at him, she might have missed it.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  “Then I want a kiss goodbye,” she said and before he could move, she pressed her lips to his, gently at first, then with more pressure when he did not pull back.

  His hands cupped her cheeks, and his tongue teased at her lower lip until she gave him entrance. He immediately deepened the kiss, stroking into her mouth over and over with a desperation like the last kiss a man gets on his way to the gallows to die. One strong arm swept down her back and tugged her tight against him as though he feared she would bolt.

  Ari melted into the kiss, relished the wildness and urgency, threaded her fingers into the curls at his nape, then fisting them to hold him in place. She would never let him go. He growled his pleasure at her daring, and both arms came around her in a hug so tight she could barely breathe, and still she refused to end their kiss.

  His wicked tongue stroked deeper and harder as though he too could not get enough, and she gloried in his dominance. His hand swept into her hair and tugged her head back. Her whimper of disappointment as he
broke the kiss quickly turned into a purr of contentment as his hot lips swept down to nuzzle the collar of her shirt aside and spread tiny kisses and nips down to her collarbone and back up to her ear.

  Warmth and need flooded through her. Sensations she had never before experienced made her breasts ache and her lady parts warm with desire.

  A shudder rippled through her, and Jared stilled—their labored breathing the only sound in the room.

  She wanted more. What she wanted she didn’t know. She only knew she wanted more. Ari tugged at Jared’s head, tried to bring his lips back to hers, but it was like pulling at a brick wall. His head came up, and he stared down at her in bewilderment.

  “Jared?”

  He blinked.

  “I’m doing precisely what I swore I would not, what I should not,” he whispered. “You make me lose my mind.”

  “I don’t care. Kiss me again.” Ari tugged on his curls, but he held fast.

  “If I kiss you again,” he said hoarsely, “I won’t be able to stop.”

  “Then don’t. Stop.”

  Ari beamed at him, thrilled she put that hoarseness in his voice and relishing this new power she had over him. This could not be just lust, not if he lost control. His eyes darkened to onyx, and she thought he would kiss her once more, but his brows curled in a frown.

  “One of us has to remain sane. You are not thinking clearly, or you wouldn’t say that.”

  If he was going away for a very long while, she wanted this night. She gave his curls another tug. “Yes, I would.”

  He uncurled her fists from his hair and held each up to his lips for a kiss.

  “I cannot,” he whispered, then pulled the old rocking chair closer to the fire and took a seat, his back to Ari.

  “I hate you right now for being so honorable,” she said, careful to keep her voice low enough Bullen and Dexter could not hear.

  “I know the feeling,” his voice rumbled low.

  Ari almost smiled at that and climbed onto the bed. “You forget everything else with your memory loss. Why could you not forget your honor as well?” she grumbled and pulled the coverlet over her.

  A deep chuckle sounded from the chair by the fire.