“And draw attention to the fact that you threw yourself at me and then grew distraught when I refused to give in to your hoydenish charms?” He clucked his tongue. “I don’t think so, Lady Amelia. You may pretend that you’re better than everyone else. That you’re above the rules of Society. But I wonder if you’d still think so highly of yourself if your reputation was in tatters?”
“You’re a thug and a bully, Lord Reinhold.” And she was a fool for ever believing him harmless. “Release me immediately.”
“Kiss me,” he leered, “and I will consider it.”
“I’d rather kiss a toad,” she spat.
For the first time genuine malice flashed across his countenance, and suddenly the earl wasn’t nearly as handsome as he pretended to be. “Listen here, you conceited little bit–”
But he never got to finish, for without warning a snarling demon materialized out of the shadows, wrapped his arm around Reinhold’s throat, and yanked him from Amelia with a speed that took her breath away.
“Kent,” she gasped as the Runner knocked Reinhold onto the ground with one solid punch to his jaw. The earl tried to fight back, but his feeble jabs paled in comparison to Kent’s vicious, unyielding strikes.
“Do – not – ever – touch – her – again,” he growled between punches.
Blood gushed from Reinhold’s nose and a deep cut above his eyebrow. Kent is going to kill him, Amelia realized in shock when the Runner continued to land blow after violent blow. Reinhold had stopped fighting back and was using what little strength he had left to try to protect his perfect face. Throwing herself at Kent, she grabbed onto the back of his coat and pulled with all her might.
“Stop!” she cried. “Stop it. He isn’t worth it.”
“He touched you,” the Irishman said with frightening calm. “He never should have touched you.”
“But he didn’t hurt me. Look. Look at me,” Amelia insisted.
With obvious reluctance Kent released Reinhold and stepped back. Chest heaving, eyes black as pitch, knuckles bruised and bloody, he lifted his head and met Amelia’s anxious gaze. The moment he did something inside of him softened, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the wildness slowly ebb away.
“It’s all right.” Using her handkerchief to dab at a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, she cupped his jaw in her palm, her thumb resting on the racing throb of his pulse. “It’s all right,” she repeated softly when he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. The desolation in his face tore at her heart, and she wondered what sort of pain in his past had brought out such savagery in his present.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she hadn’t gotten him to look at her when he did Reinhold would be dead by now. Kent had lost control the moment he’d landed the first punch, and the sound of her voice was the only thing that had brought him back from the brink of madness.
It reminded her of a fairytale her governess had read when she was young. One where an evil witch had cast a spell on a prince, turning him into a beast that had terrorized the villagers until a beauty’s love had tamed him and given them both the peace they so desperately sought.
Reinhold groaned as he stumbled to his feet. “You’re going to pay for this!” he gurgled, clutching his ribs.
Eyes snapping open, Kent wrenched free of Amelia and grabbed Reinhold by his bloodstained cravat. Hauling the earl onto the tips of his toes, he whispered something in his ear she couldn’t hear, but whatever it was caused Reinhold’s face to turn bone white. With a quick, fearful glance at Amelia he turned and limped away.
“Well then,” she quipped, watching his retreat with a grim smile of satisfaction, “had I known all it took was a little beating to get rid of him I would have sent one of my footmen after him months ago.”
She probably should have felt sorry for Reinhold, but she didn’t. He’d brought his fate upon himself the moment he tried to force her to kiss him, and she wasn’t so naïve or arrogant to think that she was the only woman he’d attempted to push himself upon. While a bit heavy-fisted, Kent had done the ton – and ladies everywhere – a favor by setting the earl quite literally back on his heels. Maybe now he’d think twice before acting in such a repugnant manner.
But most likely not, she thought, for men like Reinhold rarely changed if only because they didn’t think they needed to. One thing was certain, however. She’d made a powerful enemy tonight, as had Kent. And there was no telling to what lengths Reinhold would go to exact his revenge.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Kent asked, his gaze hooded as he looked at her.
“Only my pride for ever letting that hideous toad kiss me.” Amelia shuddered. “It’s a small miracle I didn’t break out in warts.”
Kent tensed. “He kissed you?”
“Just once. Well, twice. But the second time hardly counted as I made it abundantly clear I had no interest in him. At least, I thought I’d made myself clear.” She shook her head. “What is it about men’s brains that makes them hear ‘yes’ when we clearly say ‘no’? It really is a – where are you going?” she asked, perplexed when Kent abruptly turned on his heel and stalked away. Chasing after him, she caught up just as he was about to go down the steps into the gardens. Light from the ballroom washed across one side of his body, illuminating the rigid chord in his neck and the terse set of his shoulders.
“I’ve done my job,” he said, staring at a line of rosebushes. “There’s no reason to stay.”
Amelia took a quick glance around the terrace. Thankfully, it seemed everyone had gone back inside, allowing them a few precious minutes of privacy. “I would like to think I’m reason enough to stay,” she said, reaching out to touch the cuff of his jacket. Nostrils flaring, he pulled his arm away.
“I almost killed a man for ye,” he said tightly.
Her brow creased. “I never asked you to.”
“I know, which only makes it worse.” His swollen hands curled into fists before he stuffed them deep into the pockets of his long, shapeless coat. “I’m a violent man, Duchess. Far too violent to be around the likes of you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I know you would never hurt me.”
“Do you?” He whipped around to face her and the sheer ferocity in his gaze had her heel sliding backwards. Noting the small movement, his mouth curled in a sneer. “You don’t know anything about me.” His eyes were black and bleak as he looked up at her. “I hurt everyone I touch.”
Amelia had always be inexplicably drawn to wounded creatures. She’d raised a sparrow when it had fallen from its nest. Saved a dog when she found it abandoned on the side of the road. Hired a lady’s maid when she’d been fired from another household without cause. But in all her years, she’d never come across a creature as wounded as Kent.
What would it take to save him? To bring him back from the depths of whatever personal hell he was burning in? Perhaps more than she had in her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.
The beauty tamed her beast, she thought silently. Why can’t I tame mine?
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m not,” she insisted when he made a small scoffing sound under his breath. “You may be a violent man, but that doesn’t make you a bad one. There’s goodness in you. I know that much.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Duchess.” His expression unreadable, he brought his hand to her face and gently traced the delicate line of her cheekbone with his finger. With a bitter smile his arm dropped. “There’s nothing good about me. Not anymore.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Five
“Don’t leave yet.” Stretching her nimble (and naked) body across the bed, Juliet grabbed her husband’s hand as he went to stand up. “We’ve hardly gotten started.”
Grant Hargrave looked down at his wife with equal parts adoration and exasperation. “We just made love three times.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is when I’m alre
ady half an hour late for work. I was supposed to be at Bow Street at a quarter past seven and it’s” – he consulted the small bracket clock sitting on the dresser – “nearly eight. Steel is going to have my head.”
“Just as long as I can have you other head,” Juliet said coyly, “I don’t see a problem.”
The woman, he thought silently, was an absolute minx.
And he wouldn’t have her any other way.
Some said love wilted after the wedding, but his feelings for Juliet had only continued to blossom. Granted, there wasn’t a week that went by where she didn’t make him want to tear his hair out, but that was one of the reasons he’d married her.
His little red-haired thief challenged him like no one else ever had. She also excited him. Enthralled him. And at times enraged him, like when he’d recently discovered she went behind his back to work a case with Felix Spencer after he made it clear she was to stay as far away from his work as possible. Which reminded him…
“Aren’t you supposed to be at Bow Street this morning as well?” he asked, lifting a brow. As much as he would have liked to keep his wife in a pretty little box safe tucked high on a shelf safe from harm, it wasn’t who Juliet was. She thrived on danger, she demanded independence, and as long as she was using her particular skill set for good…well, he wasn’t about to stand in her way.
“Bloody hell!” Green eyes widening, Juliet knocked a pillow onto the floor in her haste to scramble off the bed. “You’re right.”
Slowly pulling on his trousers, Grant watched with amusement as his wife dashed about the room. If someone had told him two years ago that he, the third son of a duke, would be married to a reformed jewel thief who looked like a mermaid and talked like a sailor, he would have asked them how many glasses of whiskey they’d had. Yet here he was.
No, he corrected himself silently, here they were.
Together.
As they were meant to be.
“No pants today?” he said as Juliet presented him with her back and lifted her hair out of the way so he could button her gown.
“No,” she sighed wistfully. When they weren’t attending a social function or having dinner with his parents, Juliet preferred to wear the same clothes as she had when she’d lived in St Giles. Although it was rather unconventional for the wife of a lord to dress like a boy, Grant never objected as he was quite fond of the way her backside looked in a pair of breeches. “We’re going to question Lord Mallory this afternoon and Felix thought I should play the part.”
“And what part is that?” Turning her around to face him, he bent his head for a quick kiss. “Lady Juliet Hargrave, esteemed wife of a dashing nobleman,” he murmured against her lips, “or Jules, reformed jewel thief extraordinaire, pretending to be Lady Juliet Hargrave?”
“Ugh,” she shuddered. “You know I’ve told you not to call me that.”
“Why not? It is who you are now, whether you like it or not.” Grinning, he gently tapped the tip of her nose. “Lady Juliet.”
“Stop it.” Swatting his hand away, she donned a bonnet and gloves before marching towards the door. “Well?” she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “Are you coming or not? We’re going to be late, you know.”
Grant simply shook his head as he followed his wife out of their townhouse and into the gray mist of a cool London morning.
It had rained overnight and he neatly sidestepped a puddle before taking Juliet’s arm and assisting her up into their curricle. The horse, a mottled gray gelding, mouthed its bit as Grant picked up the reins and then took off in a lively trot when the whip cracked, eager to stretch its legs after a night spent in the stables.
After navigating the bustling London traffic the Hargraves reached their destination nearly an hour late, but they weren’t the only ones running behind schedule.
“You look a little worse for wear,” Grant remarked when they intercepted Kent at the end of the walkway leading to a neat, tidy brick townhouse with white shutters. Originally the private residence of Henry Fielding, the house had long ago been converted into Bow Street’s official headquarters with two large rooms for conducting business on the first floor and private offices on the second. The third story was comprised of temporary holding cells with which to keep prisoners under lock and key before they were taken to Newgate to stand trial for whatever crime they may or may not have committed.
“Late night,” Kent grunted.
A light night that had ended in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, if the Irishman’s bloodshot eyes were any indication. Owen was right. Kent’s drinking had become a subject of concern. And for the first time in a long while Grant felt a flicker of genuine concern for his friend and fellow Runner.
When Kent first joined Bow Street there’d been bets on whether he would last the week. After the death of his wife he’d been a broken man, but somehow, miraculously, he’d fought back his demons and turned into one of the best damn Runners that Grant had ever had the pleasure of working with. Ever since the Slasher reemerged, however, Kent had been acting like a man possessed.
He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. All he did was drink.
Drink and search for the monster that had murdered his wife.
“At least you look better than the Earl of Reinhold,” said Juliet. “Or at least how I imagine he looks after the beating he took last night at Lord Newmark’s ball.”
Kent frowned. “How do ye know about that?”
“Felix and I are working together on a case. We had a little bird there following Lady Mallory. Her husband suspects she’s having an affair. As it so happens, our bird was in the gardens when you and Lord Reinhold had a…should we call it a disagreement?” Juliet asked. “A very strong disagreement,” she continued when Kent just grunted. “There was blood. A few loosened teeth. A broken rib or two. Nothing serious.”
“You took your fists to an earl?” Grant asked Tobias incredulously. “Bloody hell, mate. I hope he did something to deserve it or there’s going to be the dickens to pay. When the captain gets wind of this–”
“He deserved every punch,” Kent interrupted.
Grant waited a beat. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“Juliet?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know what caused the fight, only that there was one.”
“He tried to kiss her,” Kent growled, staring hard at the ground.
“He tried to kiss who?”
When the Irishman looked up his eyes were black with fury. “Lady Amelia. The bastard put his hands on her. He threatened her. He tried tae kiss her. He’s lucky I didn’t break every fecking bone in his body.”
Juliet nudged Grant in the side. “Who is Lady Amelia?” she whispered.
“A woman,” he replied without taking his gaze off of Kent.
“Well I ascertained that much,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Was Lady Amelia injured?” Grant asked.
Kent gave a curt shake of his head.
“Good.” Hoping he was doing the right thing, Grant reached out and slapped Kent on the shoulder. “Then I don’t see any reason to bring this up with the Captain. Do you, Juliet?”
“Bring what up?” she said cheerfully. “A nabob getting his bell rung doesn’t bother me in the slightest. If I were in Kent’s shoes I probably would have used my knife to–”
“I think it’s time we all went inside,” Grant interrupted, giving his wife a warning look which she completely ignored. Biting back a sigh, he followed her up the steps and into the foyer where they were greeted by Mrs. Wadsworth, a small black cat that had been patrolling headquarters for as long as anyone could remember. But while Juliet went off in search of Felix, Grant stayed behind to have one final word with Kent.
“I’m worried about you,” he said sincerely, his voice low so as not to be overheard by the other Runners. “You’re not yourself. Lashing out at Reinhold is only the latest
example. You used to have more control than that. You need to have more control than that. What if you’d killed him?”
Kent scowled. “I told ye, he tried to–”
“I know, and I don’t fault you for your reaction. If someone had tried to put his hands on Juliet I would have done the same, if not worse. But we have to be careful. You have to be careful. With the Peelers breathing down our necks, Parliament is just looking for an excuse to shut us down. The only thing keeping the Runners going is public favor, and if that goes…” Grant shook his head. “I don’t know what would happen to us.”
Kent’s dark gaze was unreadable. “Do you want me tae quit?”
“Quit? No. No. That’s the last thing I want.” His tone softened. “But if you were to take a few days off to clear your head, maybe take on some of the less demanding cases–”
“I want The Slasher.”
“Aye, I know you do. But at what cost?”
“Any,” Kent said darkly. “Any cost. Thank ye for your concern. But it’s unnecessary. I’m fine.” Brushing past Grant, he gave Mrs. Wadsworth an absent scratch behind her triangular ear before he went into the meeting room and slammed the door closed behind him.
“You can come out now,” Grant said dryly.
Slipping out from beneath the stairwell, Juliet blew a cobweb out of her face and smiled meekly. “I was looking for–”
“You were eavesdropping, and we both know it. Well?” he asked, squeezing the back of his neck. “What do you think?”
“About Kent?” Juliet pursed her lips. “I think you’re right to be worried. If he keeps going down the self-destructive road he’s on I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to find his way back again. But,” she said, holding up a finger, “I think I might have an idea.”
“No,” Grant said immediately when he saw the gleam in her green eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking–”
“Just hear me out,” she said. “I think you’re going to like it…”
“There you are,” the Duchess of Webley declared as she sailed into the parlor where Amelia was enjoying a cup of coffee and the latest edition of The London Caller. Most young women were drawn to the gossip columns and fashion plates at the back of the popular publication, but Amelia always preferred to start her day with the more substantial news found at the front.
A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5) Page 6
