When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

“I see. When was this?”

  They all shrugged, suddenly taking intense interest in a thumbnail, a frayed cuff, a knothole in the wood grain of the table, an ear that was apparently itching.

  “A few nights ago, I’d wager.”

  Charlie glared at her. The fact he couldn’t move his mouth into a threatening sneer made his glower ineffectual, although she was angry enough she wouldn’t have paid it any heed anyway. “Where’s the pocket watch?”

  “Dunno wot yer talkin’ ’bout.” Although still mumbled, the words were a bit clearer, as though he felt a need to ensure she understood them.

  “I think you do. I checked with Petey. You didn’t take it to him, so which fence did you take it to?”

  His eyes went a bit wild, a good bit of the white visible. Suddenly he shoved back his chair; his mates scrambled to get out as well. The daft idiots were not getting away.

  She launched herself at their leader.

  Thorne strode into the tavern in time to see the melee break out, to watch in horrified fascination as Gillie propelled herself through the air like a mermaid being expelled by a gigantic wave from the sea and landed on some poor bloke, carrying him down to the floor. Suddenly fists were flying, while the thud of flesh hitting flesh, the crash of glassware, the ping of pewter, the clattering of chairs and tables being smashed filled the air. Grunts and yells echoed around him, as he limped hurriedly toward Gillie to offer aid, avoiding one punch after another, shoving one fellow after another aside. He was like a madman in his rush to get to her, as though he alone could save her, as though she was all that mattered.

  She was all that mattered. That thought echoed through his mind with an intensity that might have caused him alarm if he wasn’t distracted by other forces.

  One small fellow was striving to pull her off the larger one she was wrestling, clinging to him as though she were determined to be his jailor. Another was striking her. He saw every shade of red that existed, felt heated fury and then a cold calm settled over him. He dropped his walking stick, picked up a chair, and swung with enough force it took down the one hitting her and sent his mate scurrying back. Without much thought, he grabbed the fallen man by the scruff of his jacket and lifted him up as though he weighed nothing at all and planted his fist in the center of his face. Cartilage and bone caved in, an ear-piercing screech shuddered through the air. He flung the fool aside and turned back to Gillie.

  She was lying on the floor motionless, the man who had been beneath her was scrambling away, while another holding the broken remains of a chair was staring at her as though he realized he’d made a grave error in judgment. Perhaps because a slew of fists were headed in his direction and the man he’d sought to rescue was suddenly struggling to escape from a behemoth’s grasp.

  Dropping to his knees, Thorne withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to a gash at the back of Gillie’s head. Her short hair made it easy to see the blood, and his stomach roiled at the sight. As carefully as possible, he rolled her over onto his lap, into his arms. Tenderly he patted her cheek. “Gillie?”

  It didn’t make him feel any better that she didn’t so much as bat a lash. He became aware of the arrival of constables, the noise level increasing and then abruptly dimming.

  “Did ye kill her?” Robin’s nose very nearly touched his.

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  A man, who very much resembled the brother he’d met the other night, crouched beside the boy. “Off with you, Robin.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. She’ll be all right.”

  As the lad scampered away, he wondered how the gent could be so sure when he himself had never been more terrified in his life as the thought, “She’s not long for this world,” skittered along his spine, sending chills through his entire person.

  “You the duke?” the man asked, as though there were only one. Maybe he was the only one in her life.

  “Thorne.”

  “Aiden. Her brother. I’ll take her to her rooms.”

  “I’ll see to her.” He’d used his ducal tone, which gave fair warning he’d brook no arguments.

  Arching a brow, Aiden nodded. “All right. But Beast and I will help.”

  He wondered if her brother could tell that his leg was killing him. Beast turned out to be the behemoth who’d been holding the man she’d leaped onto, a man he realized now as a constable marched him out, seemed to have a broken jaw. Were these the louts who’d jumped him? Now they’d hurt her. He’d see them hanged.

  With help from Aiden and Beast, he managed to get to his feet with her cradled in his arms. For such a tall woman, she wasn’t particularly heavy or perhaps it was simply that he was built for carrying her. It felt right to have her curled against his chest as he ascended the stairs to her lodgings, Aiden in the lead while Beast had gone to fetch a doctor.

  Using a key, Aiden opened the door. Thorne pushed through and headed into the bedchamber where he gently laid her on the bed.

  “You’ve been in here before.”

  Thorne twisted around to find Aiden leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. “Why would you think that?”

  “You didn’t look about, didn’t hesitate. You knew exactly where to find her bed.”

  “I was jumped about a week ago. She nursed me back to health.”

  He slowly nodded. “That explains some things.”

  Hearing a soft moan, he turned back to Gillie, sat on the edge of the mattress, took one of her hands, and placed the palm of one of his against her cheek. “Easy, sweetheart. Easy.”

  Her eyes fluttered open; she grimaced. “It was Charlie McFarley and his boys who attacked you. He wouldn’t tell me where he fenced your watch.”

  “That’s the reason you jumped him? You idiotic—”

  “I wouldn’t yell at her if I were you,” Aiden said calmly, evenly, but also quite threateningly.

  He hadn’t been yelling but his voice had been reverberating with displeasure. He reined in his temper; still the thought of this woman coming to any harm had him shaking.

  She lifted a hand to her crown, grimaced. “My head—”

  Tenderly he took her wrist, pulled her fingers away. “Careful. You’ve a gash there. A physician is coming.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.” She made a move to sit up, dropped back down, groaned. “Head hurts.”

  “I imagine it does. Someone slammed a chair against it.”

  A corner of her mouth hitched up. “That wouldn’t have stopped me. I’m too hardheaded.”

  Only it had stopped her. It had knocked her out, left her on the floor where she could have come to more harm. “Let the physician make sure you’re all right before you do anything.”

  She blinked as though trying to sort things out. “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to speak with you.”

  “About?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her brother. “Must you lurk about like a miscreant?”

  He flashed a grin. “I am a miscreant.”

  “Aiden,” she growled, a warning in her voice despite her injured state.

  “I’m not leaving him alone with you.”

  “I’ve been alone with him before.”

  “Then he and I will be having a talk outside in a bit. I need to introduce him to my fist.”

  “Don’t be daft. Nothing untoward happened. Besides, I can see to myself. Stop hovering in my doorway.”

  Unfolding his arms, he straightened. “I’ll go prepare you a cup of tea. Door stays open.” With that, he stomped away.

  “Sorry,” she said. “He’s a bit overprotective.”

  “I’m actually glad of it.” Thorne cradled her cheek again, stroked it softly, taking unwarranted pleasure from the silkiness of her skin. “What were you thinking to confront them?”

  “Having thieves in my tavern is bad for business.”

  He chuckled low. “So it was all about business?”

  “And I wanted t
o find your watch for you.”

  “It has been in my family for generations, one of the things most treasured.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But it is not of more value than you.”

  Closing her eyes, she relished the warmth of his lips. The part of her that believed in mermaids and unicorns, that wove fanciful tales where happiness was always nearby, dared to imagine his words meant more than they did. That he wasn’t speaking in generalizations about the value of a person but was referring specifically to her worth. It made her heart sing, her toes curl.

  She couldn’t believe how grateful she was to have him once more within her apartment, how he chased away the shadows of loneliness, how his presence brightened the room more than any lamp. When he pulled back, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him near.

  She heard a commotion and voices in the adjoining room, realized others had entered, which managed to snap her back to reality. Silly chit, to have all those thoughts. He was merely caring for her as she’d cared for him, probably feeling responsible for her rash decision regarding Charlie. Although she did have little tolerance for those who didn’t respect the rights of others, for lawbreakers, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from imagining the look of gratitude she’d see on his face when she presented him with his cherished watch. He’d cared about it when he’d been near death. How much more he’d care about it when he was full of life.

  Dr. Graves strode in, Beast on his heels, quickly followed by Aiden, not carrying a cup of tea. She’d wager the brat had been skulking near the doorway just out of sight.

  “I see you’ve recovered,” Graves said to Thorne.

  “Thanks in no small measure to you and this lovely lady here.”

  She wanted to slip beneath the covers, pull them up over her head. No one ever referred to her as lovely. If her brothers snickered, she was going to leap out of the bed and smack them. Instead they both simply stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, as though they were royal guards.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Graves said as he bent over her and began to examine her head.

  Thorne moved to the other side of the bed, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be sitting beside her in so intimate a setting.

  “Stop scowling, Aiden,” she ordered.

  “I just find it odd—”

  Beast elbowed him, which caused him to turn his ire on her other brother. “What was that for?”

  “Don’t interfere.”

  “With what?”

  “With what’s going on here.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  With a great gust of a sigh, Beast began shoving him out of the room. He was the tallest and broadest of her brothers and when he asserted himself in a physical way, no one could best him.

  “Wait. Stop. What do you know that I don’t?” Aiden called out just before the front door slammed shut.

  She might have laughed if her head didn’t hurt so much. Beast was also the most intuitive of her brothers and she wondered what he did know.

  “You’re going to need a few stitches,” Graves said.

  As the doctor went to work, Thorne held her hand, didn’t object when she squeezed hard. To distract herself from the discomfort of what the physician was doing, she concentrated on Thorne’s hand. Although she’d washed it half a dozen times while he’d been under her care, now she was able to experience the strength and power in it as he folded it around hers. She imagined his hands holding the reins, guiding a horse. She imagined them holding a woman as he waltzed her across a ballroom. She imagined him intertwining their fingers as they dashed across a field of daisies.

  She wasn’t certain when the woman in her imaginings had taken on her characteristics, had become her. She never envisioned herself with men, but she seemed unable to visualize him with anyone other than her.

  “All right,” Graves finally said when he finished wrapping a strip of linen around the back of her head and forehead. “That should do it. You have a rather large knot there, which leads me to believe it was quite a blow. Probably best not to sleep for a while.”

  “What’s a while?” she asked.

  “Dawn. If you haven’t lost your senses or consciousness by then, you should be all right.”

  “I’ll see she stays awake,” Thorne said.

  “You can’t stay here through the night,” she told him.

  “Not to worry. I won’t take advantage.”

  She did wish his words didn’t fill her with such disappointment. She made a move to clamber out of the bed and a wave of dizziness assailed her.

  “Stay,” Thorne ordered, placing a hand on her shoulder and pressing her back down to the mattress.

  She wanted to defy him—damn, but the man was dictatorial—except falling flat on her face, which she was likely to do, would hardly serve her purpose of proving she didn’t need anyone to see after her. In resignation, she watched as he escorted Graves out of her bedchamber, heard their voices but not their words, soon followed by the quiet closing of a door. Waiting there, she should have been bothered by the occasional clang and bang coming from the other rooms, her kitchen most likely. She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone rummaging about her lodgings, and yet she found the sounds rather comforting, soothing enough that every muscle relaxed and her body melted into the mattress.

  Surprised her brothers hadn’t been waiting for Graves’s departure and come barging in, she found herself wondering at Beast’s words and what he thought was going on here. Perhaps he had no concerns because he’d seen her speaking with Thorne the other night, was aware she knew him, trusted him. She scoffed. How could Beast know that when she’d only just realized it herself?

  As much as Thorne irritated her when he threw about commands—as dukes were wont to do—she did inherently have faith in his underlying character. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t take advantage, had no interest in her other than to repay her for the care she’d given him after he’d been attacked. He wasn’t staying behind because he liked her, was drawn to her, found her fascinating. She wasn’t like the delicate flowers who frequented the balls he attended and sat across from him during lavish dinners. But as she heard his footsteps nearing, for the first time in her life she wished she was.

  He was carrying a tray that held a bowl and two glasses of amber liquid. He’d no doubt found her whisky. He was also wearing his spectacles now. She didn’t like that they caused her to hope he wore them in order to see her more clearly.

  As he set the tray on the bedside table, she eyed the bowl, wondering where he might have gotten the soup. “I’m not really hungry. I ate earlier.”

  “That’s good as I haven’t prepared you anything to eat. Let’s sit you up a bit.”

  “Oh. I thought perhaps the bowl contained broth or something equally unappealing.” She gingerly pushed herself up while he stuffed pillows behind her back, his body so close to hers that she could feel the heat, could inhale his tart fragrance.

  “Water.”

  “I haven’t a fever. I’m not in need of wiping down.”

  Finished with his task, still near, he cradled her chin and used his thumb to stroke the corner of her mouth, making her feel as though she might have suddenly become fevered. “You have a bit of dirt on your face. Scuffling around on the floor with ruffians is not a clean business.”

  Rubbing at her cheek, she brushed his hand aside in the process, and rather regretted that. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  His lips formed the barest hint of a smile as he reached for the glasses and handed her one. He lifted his. “To a speedy recovery.”

  “You’re making too much of a fuss. I’m barely injured.”

  “You shouldn’t be injured at all.” After taking a sip, he set his glass aside, stood, removed his jacket, and set it neatly on a nearby chair. She watched in fascination as he unbuttoned his waistcoat—how could so simple an action be so spellbinding—shrugged it off, and set it atop the jacket.r />
  “What are you doing?”

  “As I intend to be here through the night, I decided to get comfortable.”

  The slow unknotting and unwinding of his neck cloth was next. Then he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. She’d seen him naked. Why was it the baring of only his forearms was so much more provocative?

  Loosening the top two buttons of his shirt, he returned to the bed, sat on its edge, and reached for the tray, picking up a cloth she hadn’t noticed.

  “You’re not going to wash me.”

  He arched a brow at her. “Do you really want to engage in a battle you can’t possibly win?”

  “You shouldn’t assume just because I’m a woman that I would lose.”

  “I’m not assuming that at all,” he said, his voice low and raspy, sending warm tingles along her spine even as she recognized the threat of a challenge when it was being delivered. He leaned in until she could almost see her reflection in his dark eyes. “But I am assuming, as much as you pretend otherwise, that there is a measure of feminine vanity in you and you will be in want of a clean face when I kiss you.”

  Chapter 14

  Taking great delight in the widening of her eyes and the slight parting of her lips, he didn’t know what had prompted his words, his dare. He knew only that he had an insatiable urge to spoil this woman, take care of her, kiss her. Ah, yes, he definitely wanted to plunder that bold as brass mouth of hers. He wasn’t certain when it had come upon him that he did, but it seemed now that the desire had always been there, just hovering in the shadows, lingering beneath the surface of his desires.

  He thought he’d returned to the Mermaid and Unicorn earlier than planned because he needed to alert her regarding the missive he’d received and how it might alter their quest to find his bride, but he realized now he’d come to the tavern simply because he wanted to see her again, because he wanted to speak with her, hear her voice, smell her unique fragrance of vanilla and barley. Lavinia’s letter had provided him with an excuse not to see Gillie any longer, and he damned well didn’t want to take it.

  Moving away from her, he dipped the cloth into the bowl. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she downed all the whisky in her glass. Most women he knew would have been sputtering and coughing, but then she wasn’t most women. She was uniquely herself. And he adored that about her.