The Duke's Fallen Angel (Devilish Dukes, #1)

by Amy Jarecki

  Drake watched as she started away, knowing she was right while longing burned a hole in his heart. Had he teased her? No. He’d simply complimented her gown...and generally told her she was the most beautiful woman in London...and then kissed her senseless.

  He groaned.

  Dash it, if he didn’t come across like a rake, he didn’t know what would.

  How daft could he be? What was he doing out on the terrace with one of Chadwick Theater’s principals, albeit a lovely, stunning, tantalizing creature? And with so many others present?

  Damnation, she’s bloody right.

  Chapter Twelve

  HER MIND MUDDLED BY a myriad of emotions, Bria rushed through the ballroom, searching for Pauline. How dimwitted could she have been? Of course, everyone knew she’d hoped to see the duke when she arrived at the ball. Were all her secrets so transparent? It had caught her off guard when Lord Fordham said Ravenscar was attending the ball at Almacks. Later, when she’d turned around to find him staring at her, the hard shell she’d wrapped around her heart crumbled. Her stomach grew as effervescent as champagne. She’d batted her eyelashes and fawned upon him as if they were—God forbid—lovers. Over and over she’d told herself he was untouchable by anyone in her class. Untouchable!

  Bria’s mind knew it. Why was it so difficult to convince her heart?

  Unable to find Pauline on the dance floor, she dashed through the parlor, the card room, finally opening the door to...

  “Pardon me!” Covering her mouth, Bria backed away. Pauline was wrapped in Lord Saye’s arms and in the midst of a passionate kiss.

  The couple drew apart, but not as if they’d been caught in the same way Bria had jumped from Ravenscar’s arms when the lady’s maid had entered the bed chamber. Pauline and Lord Saye turned their heads, apparently quite reluctant to release each other.

  “Is all well?” asked Pauline.

  Bria glanced down the passageway, catching Ravenscar searching over the tops of people’s heads before he looked directly her way. “I-I was hoping you would be ready to leave.”

  Pauline exchanged glances with Lord Saye. “Now?”

  The viscount took the girl’s hand. “If you’re not ready to go, Miss Renaud, I’d be delighted if you would allow me to escort you home.”

  The hopefulness in Pauline’s eyes spoke loudly enough to melt a shrew’s heart. “Would you mind to terribly, ma chérie?”

  Blast my everlasting luck.

  “No. Enjoy your evening.” Bria closed the door just as Ravenscar stepped beside her.

  “Britan—ah—Miss LeClair, I want you to know that I meant no disrespect. I did not intend for our stroll outside to be demeaning for you in any way.”

  “I followed you out those doors willfully. Anyone with half their wits would have known what it would lead to,” she whispered, starting for the cloakroom. “I am not to be trusted alone with you.”

  “Nor am I with you, it seems. Where you are concerned, I tend to forget myself.”

  He forgot himself? Good heavens, she’d melted in his arms, ready to bear his children. Which she would never consider. If she ever got with child, she would be married to the father.

  The truth? Her emotions were impossible to control when the duke looked at her with those disarming blue eyes. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Bria presented her ticket to the attendant. “My cloak, please.”

  “You’re leaving?” Ravenscar asked.

  “I’m tired.”

  “But the evening is still young. And do not tell me you plan to set out alone.”

  “I’ve hired a coach and driver. I will hardly be alone.”

  “This will not do.”

  He may have wound his talons around her heart, but she’d allow no more. “Why must you continue to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, or wear, or eat? You might be a duke, but I am not yours to command.”

  He produced his ticket and gave it to a second attendant. “That may be so, but I would be no kind of gentleman if I didn’t follow your coach to ensure you arrive safely home. ’Tis the least I can do.”

  The attendant appeared with her cloak, which Ravenscar plucked from his hands and held up. “Miss.”

  “Thank you.” What else could she say? At least he wouldn’t be sitting in the carriage beside her...in the dark...with those blasted tempting lips.

  “BACK TO ALMACKS, YOUR Grace?” asked his coachman.

  “We’re taking a detour. Follow that hack.” Drake climbed up to the driver’s seat of his town coach. “Scoot over.”

  “You’re riding up here?” the coachman asked, his voice cracking. In the lamplight, the man’s eyes grew as wide as sovereigns.

  “Mind your driving, I’ll keep an eye on the carriage.” Drake flicked his gloved hand. “Haste.”

  “Straightaway.” He slapped the reins “Are we heading for Orange Street?”

  “We are—then back to Almacks.”

  “You’re taking Miss LeClair to Almacks?”

  “That is none of your concern, but no. I am ensuring my star performer returns to her quarters safely.”

  “Do you think she will not?”

  “The lady is young, beautiful and alone, not to mention petite. All it would take is one dastardly passerby to overtake her. Do you know the hackney driver she’s hired? Is he trustworthy?”

  The coachman cracked his whip, requesting the matched pair to step up their pace to a fast trot. “I cannot say I do.”

  “Then that is precisely why we are following.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Drake leaned to the side, watching Britannia’s coach take the corner, not wide enough in his estimation. The hackney teetered as if poorly sprung. And then it didn’t right itself as it should. With a loud scrape of metal, the left rear wheel came clean off.

  Drake’s heart lurched to his throat as he reached out in vain to steady the teetering hack. “Good God!”

  A shrill scream came from inside while the coach plunged to the cobblestones.

  “Miss LeClair!” Drake shouted, leaping from the carriage before his coachman pulled it to a halt.

  He sprinted to the hackney and yanked open the door. “Britannia?” He peered inside the darkness, seeing nothing but a heap. “Fetch the lamp!” he ordered while he climbed inside, his hands outstretched, feeling for her.

  The hack rocked under his weight. His fingers met with softness. The driver came from behind with the light, illuminating her face. Her eyes closed, red blood trickled at her temple. “Britannia?” he asked gently.

  “Mm,” she moaned, opening her eyes. “W-what happened?”

  “Your hack threw a wheel. You’re bleeding.” He pressed a clean kerchief to her head.

  She drew away. “Sss.”

  “Sorry. I do not want to hurt you.”

  Nodding, she started to move.

  “Wait,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “Allow me to assist you.”

  “I am able to—”

  “No, you are not. Not until we’ve had a good look at your injuries. Does anything else hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Carefully, he backed out of the coach, ever so attentive not to bump the precious woman in his arms.

  “I dunno what ’appened,” said the driver still holding up the lantern. “I checked ’er all around afore we set out this very eve.”

  “Well, you didn’t check closely enough,” Drake growled, heading for his town coach.

  The hack driver followed. “There is no chance that wheel could ’ave come off without someone tinkering with it.”

  He stopped. “What is this you say? You suspect someone tampered with the wheel?”

  The man removed his cap and scratched his head. “I checked the axel, shaft and bolts, and all was sound.”

  Clutching Britannia tighter to his chest, Drake eyed the driver. “Ravenscar here. I want a full report at my town house in the morning. You, sir, are providing a service
and it is your responsibility to ensure your equipment is in good order at all times.”

  The man glanced to his toes. “Aye, Yer Grace. I ’ave a wife and five children to feed. And I can’t make a farthing if me ’ack is done in.”

  “Very well, then.” With Britannia secure, he started up the steps of his carriage and nodded to his coachman. “Take us to Half Moon Street.”

  SWATHED IN THE ESSENCE of maleness, Bria curled into Drake’s warmth. What soap did he use to smell so delicious? It reminded her of spice cake or a Christmas ball scented with clove. Whatever the fragrance, she couldn’t breathe in enough of it. And why must it feel so wonderful to be cradled in his arms while the gentle sway of the carriage lulled her sore head?

  She’d received a good wallop when the hackney coach threw its wheel. Raising her fingers to her temple, she brushed them over a lump, careful not to hiss and alert His Grace. What were the instructions he’d given to the driver? She wasn’t sure.

  “You are taking me to the boarding house, are you not?” she asked, the effort making her head throb.

  “In a roundabout way.”

  Bria closed her eyes against the pain. Why did things always go awry whenever she was in the presence of the duke? He must think her a walking liability. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, truly.”

  “I am worried whether I ought to be or not.” He rubbed a soothing hand along her arm. “I must ensure you make a full recovery.”

  “It was just a little bump to the head.”

  “It was a severe blow to the head which made you bleed and rendered you unconscious for a moment.” He leaned over her, his breath skimming her cheek as he examined her wound. “I cannot see a thing in this light.”

  “The pain is nearly gone,” she said, her gaze drifting along the blue shadow of his jawline until she stopped at his lips. The memory of the kiss they’d shared in the garden was fresh in her mind. For a moment the world faded into oblivion as she melted in his arms. Why had she stopped him?

  “The pain easing is a good sign but, still, you are not going anywhere until my physician has given you a thorough examination.”

  “Physician?” She started to push from Drake’s arms, but the movement made her temple throb. “All I need is a good night’s rest and I’ll be snapping piqués turns across the stage.”

  “I say ’tis a good thing the theater will be shuttered on the morrow as well. You need a full day’s rest.”

  “An entire day? I’d go mad.”

  “When was the last time you took to your bed due to illness?”

  Bria closed her eyes. “Never.”

  “Oh, I see. You are immune to all ailments afflicting mere mortals—not even smallpox can penetrate your iron heart.”

  “You are unkind to ridicule me in such a way. I’ve been ill before. I just have not had the luxury of lying abed and succumbing to my misery.”

  He took in a sharp breath as if she’d said something unexpected. “Forgive my sarcasm. Please indulge me this once. I do not think it is a good idea to make a habit of swooning and I insist on ensuring you haven’t suffered anything more severe than a mere bump.”

  Bria gave his shoulder a thwack. “Contrary to your belief, I do not make a habit of swooning. How dare you insinuate tonight’s incident with the hackney coach was my doing?”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “You’ve only seen me swoon once, and that was due to fatigue and hunger. Moreover, it was the first time in all my days such a thing has happened. I was famished and tired beyond all reason.”

  “Yes, miss.” His arms tightened around her as the coach rolled to a stop. “Nonetheless, I will not be dissuaded on this.”

  Before she could argue further, the coachman opened the door and Ravenscar whisked her out of the carriage and up the stairs to his town house. As the door opened, the duke bounded through the entry. “Pennyworth, send for my physician! Miss LeClair has received a bump to the head. She’ll be resting in the east bedchamber.”

  “Straightaway, Your Grace.”

  “I am able to walk,” Bria said as he headed for the stairs.

  “I’m sure you are,” he said, though he didn’t stop to set her on her feet. No, the dancing, boxing, fencing duke carried her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed no more than a bushel of potatoes.

  After exiting on the second-floor landing, he pushed inside a bedchamber. Ivory wallpaper lined the walls, decorated with a filigree of pink roses, blue ribbons and gold accents. He rested her on a small bed covered in ivory satin with a French canopy. As soon as Bria’s head hit the feather-down pillow she sighed with the pleasure of it.

  “Allow me to remove your slippers,” Drake said while a footman came in, lit the candles and attended to starting a fire in the hearth.

  Bria moved her toes over the side of the bed.

  The duke knelt as he pulled them off. “Your feet are so small.”

  “Right sized for me, I suppose.”

  “I’m happy to see your sauciness has been unaffected by your tumble.” He grinned. “Let us tuck you under the bedclothes before you catch a chill.”

  Giving in, she let him help. “Isn’t your mother expecting you to return to Almacks?”

  “I made no promises.” He smoothed his hand over the coverlet. “Besides, you are far more important.”

  “Than your mother?”

  “Than Almacks,” he clarified, taking a candle and leaning over her. “Now, let’s have a look at your head.”

  She cringed. “Is it awful? I felt a knot.”

  “Hmm. There’s some bruising and a gash, about a half-inch.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad.”

  He pressed his fingers around the sore spot. “I don’t feel other signs of swelling, but I’m no healer.”

  She clasped his hand, drew it to her lips and kissed his fingers. “You are very kind to concern yourself with me.”

  He held her gaze for a moment while a current of energy passed between them. As if their souls kissed. But the connection waned as he glanced away.

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it. When I saw the carriage throw the wheel, I could have died. I should have been the person in the hack, not you. I’ll have the driver’s hide for his negligence.”

  “Do not be too hard on the man. He said he checked the soundness of the carriage and, on top of that, he has a family to support.”

  Shaking his head, His Grace cupped her cheek with a large, yet gentle palm. “There you are, the one who suffered the most from this night’s incident and you’re worrying about everyone except yourself.”

  “It is ever so dreary to fret over oneself.”

  He looked into her eyes, the intensity again growing between them. “If only...”

  Smiling, Bria glanced downward, being the one to break the bond this time. Whatever he was about to say, it was best left unuttered. She could think of a hundred things—if only they were in the same class, if only she weren’t a foundling, if only he wasn’t a duke, if only she weren’t a fallen woman in society’s eyes. The list went on ad infinitum.

  Rather than draw away, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. His lips caressed her flesh as if in silent desire while he kissed a torturous trail to her ear and along her jaw. When he reached her mouth, every ounce of Bria’s restraint shed from her iron will like water off an eider duck’s back. Hungry for him, she sighed while his lips opened against hers, asking permission to take more.

  Bria melted into the bed as she slid her arms around his neck and lost herself in the overwhelming sensation of kissing the one man who commanded her thoughts. Yes, she admitted she had desperately wanted to see him at the Hughes ball. She wanted him to take her in his arms and reserve every set for her. She craved for him to kiss her on the terrace, though she’d goaded and tried to turn him away.

  They both drew in ragged breaths when he pulled back, his face serious, troubled.

  “What is it between us, Duke?�
�� she whispered, terrified to hear the answer.

  “I wish I knew.” He traced the pad of his finger over the sensitive lips he’d just kissed. “I have an overwhelming need to protect you.”

  She tried to smile as if his words were a trifle. How long had it been since anyone cared enough to look after her? Her heart stretched. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time,” she whispered, both elated and afraid.

  “I know you have, and I admire your courage. Though it doesn’t hurt to have a guardian angel at your back.”

  “I like that you look out for me, but...” A myriad of thoughts warred in her mind. Dance was her master. I need to tell him.

  “But?”

  “I do not want to be any man’s mistress.”

  Black brows drew together while a storm passed behind his eyes. “Who said anything about mistresses?”

  Isn’t that what men like you want from women like me? Bria looked away. “I thought it best for you to know...ah...before things grew out of hand.”

  “Your Grace,” said Pennyworth, opening the door. “The physician is here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE DOCTOR ORDERED a day of bedrest which Britannia tried to refuse. But as the theater owner, Drake insisted she obey. Not to mention he was delighted to have a houseguest. He busied her time reading aloud and making himself refrain from stealing another kiss.

  She wasn’t wrong to inquire about what was happening between them. Quite frankly, he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think on what the future might bring. Presently, he enjoyed Miss LeClair, full stop. He intended to respect her virtue—to put her on a pedestal and worship her for the talented woman she was. Why did there need to be an ulterior motive? Though he couldn’t deny he’d considered exploring a relationship of a more intimate nature, he certainly would not insult her by asking the woman to be his mistress.