My Dangerous Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  Rohan ignored them. The men parted to let him pass as he carried her into the nearby gatehouse. Some of them followed anxiously, asking if they could help, but he did not answer, marching up the narrow steps to the heated guardroom in the gate tower’s upper story.

  “Stay out,” he ordered them, shutting the door in their faces.

  A fire crackled in the hearth. He carried her across the wood-plank floor to the chair in front of the fire. The simple guardroom had a timber-beam ceiling and plain stone walls.

  Depositing Kate unceremoniously in the chair, he scanned the room like an eagle-eyed sentry and retrieved a blanket the men kept on a shelf for those long night watches. He shook it open and wrapped it around her shaking body without a word, then noted the kettle hanging over the fire. He took a mug off the rugged wood mantel and poured her a cup of what proved to be mulled cider.

  His hands were steady as he poured it, and his mind was crystal clear, but some deep, savage part of him wanted to roar at having just pulled this woman out of the mouth of the monster, death. His old friend! Why, it seemed he had saved a life for once instead of taking it.

  How novel, he thought acidly.

  Moving with angry, automaton-like precision, he turned and held the steaming mug toward her, but she was staring at nothing, apparently in shock.

  He put the cup in her shaking hands. “Drink this,” he ordered in a most uncompromising fashion.

  Still dazed by her narrow brush with catastrophe, Kate slowly lifted her stunned gaze to his face.

  Warrington looked furious.

  She took in his taut-lipped expression; the jagged star-shaped scar carved in his skin at the outer corner of his left eyebrow. A small streak of mud slashed across his cheek like war paint.

  Iron authority was stamped across his closed, hard face. His pale eyes glittered as he held her gaze.

  She had nothing left to fight him with, so she simply bent her head and took an obedient sip of the mulled apple cider, as commanded. It left a warming trail all the way to her belly, but it could not fill her emptiness at the moment. Her heart felt as hollow as a drum.

  The Beast turned away, apparently not quite ready to deal with her yet. Kate did not know what to think: The man she had reason to fear the most had just saved her life.

  Where did that leave her now?

  Wrapping her hands around the mug, she shut her eyes, still hearing the horrific sound of the stone ledge breaking under her.

  If not for Warrington, she would be dead.

  A tremor ran through her.

  She had threatened suicide as a final, desperate measure to gain her freedom, but even the earth itself seemed to be against her, delivering her back to him, whether she liked it or not.

  She had been so close to escape! But now her hopes were dashed. She was glad to be alive, of course, but having been recaptured, she feared she might be in for an even darker fate now that she had displeased the man she had been “given” to, had made him risk his own life to save hers. Now Warrington could claim that she owed him whatever he might want. Even now, she could feel his silent anger throbbing through the Spartan little room.

  Dear heaven, what punishment might she have to endure for her attempt to flee? She let out a long, shaky exhalation, tears threatening behind her closed eyes. As she huddled in her chair and held the mug close, letting the curling steam warm her nose, she searched her heart to find out if there was any fight left in her.

  Always, the thought of her seafaring papa gave her another little ounce of strength to keep holding on.

  The memory of the man who had laughed in the face of a tempest, along with the sweet, spicy taste of the cider with its bracing hint of cinnamon began, ever so gradually, to bring her back to the world of the living.

  At least she did not deceive herself into some vapid dream that Warrington had pulled her back to safety because he somehow cared. She was not a fool. He had spoken kindly to her outside—the thought of his gentle tone sharpened the sting of unshed tears behind her eyes.

  How she longed for someone to be kind to her. But she swallowed hard and thought, No. She would not fall for that ruse. She did not dare believe in it. He did not care about her. His heroic rescue was more likely due to the fact that if a dead body were spotted floating in the ocean around here, it could draw unwanted attention to the secret trade in kidnapped women that the smugglers were operating on behalf of the libertine duke and his unspeakable rakehell friends.

  Easy, Kate. I just want to help.

  Of course, you do, Your Grace.

  When she opened her eyes again in bristling uneasiness, he had just stepped past her to throw another log onto the fire.

  A discreet knock on the door sounded just then. “Sir?” a voice queried from the other side.

  “What is it, Eldred?” the autocrat clipped out.

  “Will the young lady require the physician? I can send down to the village straightaway.”

  Warrington cast her an ominous glance. “Do you want the doctor?”

  Kate shook her head vehemently. “No. No one from the village.” She was a bit banged up overall, her shoulder wrenched from when the duke had grabbed her arm and stopped her from plunging over the cliff, but other than that, she was none the worse for wear.

  He eyed her skeptically but did not argue. “The physician won’t be necessary, Eldred. Just some dry clothes for us both.”

  “Very good, sir, but, er, I am not altogether certain we have any ladies’ apparel.”

  “Improvise then, Eldred! It’s not the promenade. Bring boys’ clothes if that’s all we’ve got for her. She can hardly go round naked. As much as I might enjoy that,” he added in a low, sharp aside to her.

  She furrowed her brow.

  He looked pleased at having goaded a reaction from her, however mild. Then he passed a bold, leisurely gaze over her body. “One of the younger footmen ought to be about her size,” he said in the direction of the door. “Shoes for her, too, Eldred.” To her, he drawled: “Ever heard of those? Astonishing new invention.”

  Kate’s frown deepened to a guarded scowl; she was not sure what to make of his sardonic tone. This was hardly a time for rude jests.

  “Very good, sir,” his butler answered. “I shall return posthaste.”

  When Eldred withdrew from the other side of the door, Warrington sent a pointed glance in her direction, then he took off his wet, mud-covered jacket and threw it on the hearthstones.

  It occurred to Kate that he was cold and soaked with rain, as well. While she took another sip of the cider, doing her best to mind her own business and furtively trying to figure out what he might do next, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and stripped it off, too.

  The fine silk was soiled from his lying on his stomach at the edge of the cliff. The memory of it shook her once again, making her hands tremble and the cider slosh.

  But when Warrington lifted his shirt off over his head in the next moment and threw it onto the pile, Kate went perfectly still.

  She held her breath with an unblinking stare as he crouched down nearby, warming his hands before the flames.

  Her gaze traveled over his beautiful back, that glorious expanse of smooth skin she had caressed so eagerly last night—to her shame.

  She wished she couldn’t remember at all, for what could be worse than to desire a man who meant one’s destruction?

  Yet she could not deny her awe at his leonine beauty, all dangerous power, his massive, sculpted size balanced by effortless male grace. Her wistful stare followed the sweeping line of his lean sides and stone-carved arms as he warmed his hands before the hearth fire.

  Between his broad shoulder blades, his sable hair hung in a thick, glossy queue. Kate watched a droplet of rain run off his wet hair and roll down his back.

  As he rubbed his hands together, she was riveted by the complex play of chiseled muscle that flowed through his upper body with the simple motion. She was especially entranced by his fortresslike shoulders and th
ose incredible arms, whose raw strength had saved her life. She looked away, feeling a bit faint. Never in all her days had she seen a physique like that on a man.

  Well, except for last night. When he had taken advantage of her in her drugged state—though not as fully as she had feared . . .

  Why did he hold back? What is going on? she thought, beginning to feel routed. Why does a man who looks like that and has his rank and wealth need to buy a woman, anyway? Surely he could have any female he liked for free with naught but a devilish smile and a crook of his finger.

  Because of cruelty, she reminded herself, but with her head finally clearing after the laudanum’s aftereffects, her certainty about everything had begun to erode, much like the cliff that had fallen away from beneath her.

  Could he ever know how fragile she felt in that moment? How scared? How close to complete despair? How could a man who looked nearly invincible ever relate to her sense of powerlessness? He could not understand it, nor did he care. She was alone. Always alone.

  She quite feared she was on the verge of becoming undone, hanging by a thread, even as she sat there quietly.

  He, too, was silent, perhaps realizing what a close call that had been. Then, without warning, he turned to her and asked in a low, searing tone: “What cellar?”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “You should have let me die.”

  His black eyebrows drew together in vexed confusion at her answer. “Why did you run?” he demanded.

  “Wouldn’t anyone have done the same thing in my place?” she wrenched out.

  “No, actually!” he retorted, his scowl deepening. “Believe it or not, some women even seek out my company. What cellar?” he repeated more forcefully.

  Kate couldn’t stand any more of his lies. “What cellar?” she repeated angrily as she set down her drink. Staring at him, something in her snapped. “The one where they kept me all those weeks before they handed me over to you! A gift to the mighty Duke of Warrington . . . from his filthy criminal minions!” Her thunderous condemnation echoed through the chamber, but there was no taking back the words once she had let them loose.

  On the contrary, she could feel the rising anger breaking from her, cresting, crashing like the waves that had almost been her grave. Perhaps she would never receive justice, but everything in her demanded that at least she make a stand.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she charged on in trembling wrath as she rose slowly from her chair. “You and all your soulless henchmen.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, feign innocence as you please, Your Grace—but I know now that you’re the one behind this wicked scheme. The smugglers aren’t smart enough to do this on their own!”

  He looked at her in slack-jawed astonishment, which only emboldened her more.

  So, he wasn’t used to anyone standing up to him? Well, he might kill her for her insolence, but by God, now that she had his attention, she would speak her piece!

  To the end, she would hold her head high—and go out with a flourish.

  Her father would be proud. “Come, who else is a party to this scheme?” she dared to taunt the Beast, though, as he rose from his crouched position, he towered over her.

  She didn’t care anymore. She refused to live another day in fear. “Your fellow libertines from this Inferno Club I’ve heard about? A fitting name for you demons, considering you all are bound for Hell!”

  “For what, pray tell?” he inquired.

  “For abducting innocent girls—to use as your wretched playthings!”

  He paled—with guilt, no doubt.

  “You make me sick.” She began to turn away, but he grasped her arm and turned her around quickly.

  “What are you saying, exactly?” he demanded.

  She pulled back, but he didn’t let go.

  “Do you actually claim that you were abducted?”

  “Claim?” she nearly screeched. “Oh, what schoolboy lies—”

  “Answer me!”

  “You know full well I was!” she exploded as she jerked away in rage, then pointed an accusing finger in his face. “You’re the one who gave the order for it!”

  Chapter 5

  Kate stood her ground in wild courage, but a ate stood her ground in wild courage, but a dark and frightening chill had come over Warrington’s demeanor.

  He looked absolutely stunned.

  “I did nothing of the kind,” he ground out, holding her stare. “Nor would I. Ever.”

  Fists clenched, chest heaving, she eyed him warily. A denial was the last thing she had expected from a man too powerful to care about her objections to his criminal dealings.

  Indeed, what she half expected from him was a backhand across the face like O’Banyon had given her, but she would not bow her head. By God, she would not. If the brute was going to strike her, let him look her in the eyes.

  She held her chin high while he searched her face.

  “Is that why you threatened to kill yourself, why you ran away?” he demanded.

  She kept her mouth shut, suddenly not sure what to believe.

  “Tell me what happened,” he ordered. “If what you claim is true—”

  “If?” she cut him off in outrage.

  “You should’ve told me this last night!”

  “Tell the man I had been given to as a gift? How could I? Why waste my breath, when you were the one behind it?”

  “I was not—Good God, I would never harm a woman!” he thundered, his deep voice booming through the guardroom. “I had no knowledge of this whatsoever! I’m telling you the truth!”

  “You accepted the gift,” she pointed out.

  “I thought you wanted to be here!” He fell silent, then shook his head in furious amazement. “It appears we both have been deceived.” He turned away abruptly and, still shirtless, stalked to the door, all rippling muscle and tense, silent rage. He reached for the handle and nearly tore the door off its hinges, opening it. “Findlay!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Take my carriage down to the village and bring me Caleb Doyle. Go!” he roared, when the guard did not move fast enough for him. Kate jumped when he whammed the door shut. “How dare they?” he growled under his breath, obviously enraged, but also mortified, perhaps, to learn that he might have been duped by the lowly smugglers. “By God, if this is true . . .”

  “It is true,” she informed him, folding her arms across her chest as he began pacing. “I am not a liar.”

  He shot her an ominous look with a dark air of utter seething wrath and prowled over to the arched stone tracery window overlooking the inner courtyard. He braced his hands on the window ledge, his brooding stare fixed on the gray day beyond the glass.

  She noticed the large, red scrape across the underside of his forearm. He must have got it on the sharp rock edge when he had stopped her from going over the cliff, but he did not even seem aware of the wound.

  “Allow me to assure you on my most sacred oath, Miss Madsen, that your accusations of me are in error.” He looked over his shoulder at her with a pointed glance. “Caleb Doyle lied to me. And he will be dealt with. He told me you wanted my help to begin a new career in London as a . . .” He closed his eyes and shook his head again with a self-directed epithet.

  “A whore?” she finished bluntly for him as she struggled to piece together the bits she could remember through the drug’s haze. “Yes. Some of the smugglers’ wives made me look like that on purpose, so you would find me—appealing. But that is not at all the kind of person I am. Or was, before all this.” She pointed at his arm. “You’re hurt.”

  “I don’t care.” He turned from the window and looked into her eyes, the cold winter light bathing his iron-sculpted torso in its silver-gray glare. “Who did this to you, Kate? I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

  She hesitated. The possibility that he might be telling the truth, that he really wasn’t involved in this, gave her a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, all of this
could eventually be made right. He was a duke, after all, the smugglers’ landlord. He had the power and the authority to help her get justice if he was inclined to.

  She did not dare raise her hopes overmuch quite yet.

  “A few of the smugglers’ wives made me wear this horrid dress and painted my face like a harlot’s.” She lowered her gaze. “The rest is a bit foggy, I’m afraid, on account of the laudanum they forced down my throat.”

  “Laudanum?” he asked with a startled, guilty wince.

  “They drugged me so I wouldn’t fight you.”

  At this, the fury that flared in his eyes was unlike anything she had ever seen.

  He turned away, looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off. He drummed his fingers on the window ledge for a second, then let out a measured exhalation. “I’m sorry, Kate—last night, I did not know. I believed the ruse. I had no reason to suspect them. I simply thought . . . you’d had too much to drink.”

  She was silent for a long moment, realizing that even under this misapprehension, he had left her alone. Despite thinking her a lowly, drunken whore, the so-called Beast had behaved like a gentleman.

  “This is all very confusing,” she murmured.

  He nodded in sharp-edged agreement, then went to the fireplace and picked up the poker, jabbing at the logs.

  As sparks popped in the hearth, he stared into the flames, seeming to take a certain comfort from having something that resembled a weapon in his hand.

  Kate watched him in guarded fascination, beginning to wish he would put on a shirt. All that sleek, bare, male flesh was a little too distracting.

  Returning the poker to its stand, he turned to her, his rugged face set with determination. “Kate, it’s very important that you tell me exactly what happened to you, from the beginning. I’m sure it’s difficult to recount, but if my tenants are committing crimes of this magnitude, I need to know the details so I can put a stop to it immediately. You help me get to the bottom of this, and I promise that you will see justice.”

  That word got her full attention. She met his gaze sharply. Aside from going home to her cottage, justice was the thing she wanted most.