What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  He said nothing, for she wouldn’t appreciate platitudes. So he held her, rubbed abstract circles along her spine and waited.

  “My life since then has been a series of failures and mistakes.” After a few moments of silence, Juliana raised her head and peered into his eyes. Moisture spiked her eyelashes and gleamed on her cheeks. “Why am I like this?”

  “Like what?” He wiped at the tears, wanting to kiss them away, but now was not the time.

  “A monstrous problem in the King’s agent network. A curse, a bad luck charm. Lady Misfortune, if you will.” Another large tear splashed onto her cheek, rolled down to plop onto her bodice. “I want to make my fellow agents proud. I want them to say I never gave up, that I came through the fire when it really counted, no matter that I’m a woman. Yet, here I am, the embarrassment of the agency.”

  “No.” The remainder of his heart he didn’t claim flew into her keeping. She was so vulnerable but brave, so broken yet strong. She had courage hidden beneath guilt not of her making. “Not even close.” Crispin held her all the tighter, wanted to wash away her hurt with a mere embrace. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  Juliana slipped a hand up his chest to curl about his neck as she snuggled into him with a hiccupping sob mixed with a sigh. “Now you know what I’ve kept from you, know why Lord Rathesborne despised me, why Lord Archewyne looks at me with speculation, and now you’ll hate me too. You will judge me and find me lacking, like all the rest of them did.”

  “Change your thinking on that right now, Miss Barrington.” He put all the authority of the duke into that command. It was time for her to stop assuming the whole responsibility. Then he tempered his tone. “Mistakes were made on the mission, yes. No one is denying that. But they aren’t shackles, and they aren’t your prison.”

  She lifted her head. “Given time you’ll change your mind, once you really begin to think about what I’ve told you.”

  “I won’t. This I can promise you.” He cradled her head between his hands and met her gaze, daring her to look deep for the truth he’d just uttered. “It’s not entirely your fault. Phillip ran the mission. Some of the blame was his, but you must understand that the men we chase, the men we defend England against are horrid at best. Which is why you’re an agent. You know this.” He drew the pad of a thumb along her cheek to catch another escaped tear. “There is good news though.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  Crispin grinned. “Mistakes can be avenged. Perhaps not rectified, but addressed, learned from and motivate us to do better the next time.” He rested his forehead against hers. “You want respect from those you serve with? Show them you’re better than what happened to you. Show them by your actions that you deserve your place in the network. Show them, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a female agent can do anything a male one can, but with more panache and finesse, all while wearing a gown and slippers.”

  “What difference does that make?” Her lips turned down in a frown.

  He brushed his over hers. “It makes all the difference, because it adds another layer of awe to your performance. Imagine a man having to move about in skirts.”

  When she giggled, his chest swelled with gratitude. For long, heart-stopping seconds, she stared into his eyes, searching for God knew what. Then, she nodded. “You’re right.” Juliana burrowed into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with a tiny shuddering sigh. “I’ve never wanted to tell anyone about that wretched day after I had to give my account to the duke.”

  “Perhaps it was time.” Her bare legs were all too tempting, but he kept his focus on the conversation, content to have her in his arms in this moment of trust. “Now you can move forward with your mind clear, your conscience lighter, and your head held high.” His heart constricted. If that future took her away from him, he’d wish her happy, but he would never forget her.

  Juliana lifted her head. “Thank you.” For the first time since the ghastly conversation began, she smiled, and it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds. “For letting me talk, for pushing me to be more, for believing in me when I’d forgotten. You have no idea how much it matters.” With slight pressure of her fingers on his nape, she brought his head to hers. When she kissed him, he fell ever faster.

  For the next few minutes, Crispin reacquainted himself with her mouth, how she felt, how she tasted, how the silky satin of her tongue glided so easily along his. He kissed her with all the tenderness he had for her, hoping that his regard would heal the wounds that might feel jagged. Why couldn’t she realize that who she was went beyond what had happened in her past? Heat and desire built inside him, and his swelling length twitched urgently against the front of his trousers.

  All too soon, he pulled away with much regret. He gave her a rueful smile. “We should press on. This is not the place for intimacy.” Yet if he moved, he’d embarrass himself. As much as he wanted her after that moment of clarity and bonding, he didn’t relish initiating lovemaking on another uncomfortable surface. Then he tugged on a lock of her hair. “Once we survive this, I will finish our conversation in the only way you want.” Part of him died knowing she’d never said she needed him past the physical.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered and gave him a quick bite to the lower lip.

  He managed a grin he didn’t feel even as urgent desire pulsed through his cock. “Time to meet a pharaoh.”

  “Or at least her remains.” When Juliana removed herself from his person, she managed to rub her body against his rampant manhood, and he groaned. Then she smoothed her hands along the front of her gown and gasped.

  “What?” His pulse kicked into double time.

  “My pistol. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I slammed against the wall.” She patted the front of her skirt. “But the leather pouch is still here.”

  “Good.” When she stood looking down at him, he sighed. “You’ll have to give me a moment to recover.” Heat burned up the back of his neck. Such an embarrassing thing to admit to this woman he wished to impress.

  Her chuckle didn’t improve the situation. Neither did the sight of her legs in the shortened gown, even with her knees covered with strips of fabric. She was a true marvel, his Juliana. And if she ever believed in herself, she’d turn the network on its ear, like she’d already upset his life.

  By the by, his body settled enough for him to join her in selecting a new plank. Together, they moved it into position.

  “Let’s hope for better results this time,” Juliana said as she picked up a lantern. The shadows in her eyes weren’t as heavy as they had been.

  “Good luck.” Crispin followed her to the ledge, and when she stepped on the diagonal plank, his pulse leaped. He held his breath when she put a foot on the larger board and flung out her right hand to the wall.

  Step by slow step she made her way along all eight feet of that ancient board, and with each inch of victory, he wanted to retch into the pit.

  When she made it to the other side and she did a little jig of joy, he pressed a hand to his heart. She wore that happiness like a radiant garment. Why couldn’t she let herself find the same with him? He would never deny her anything if she would only give him the opportunity.

  “Your turn, Crispin. Come over so that we might explore further.” The dulcet tones of her voice encouraged him, and he’d be damned if he’d let an abyss keep him from her.

  With a fair amount of trepidation, he took up the remaining lantern and stepped upon the cross board. Would his additional weight cause the plank to break?

  “The trick is not to think about what will happen,” she crooned to him from the other side. “Put one foot in front of the other and don’t look down.”

  “Easier said than done.” He tested his weight with the first step on the plank across the chasm. With his right hand on the wall and the lantern in his left, he scooted along the ancient wood. Every second that passed, he feared the board would break and he’d plummet into the unknown. The rough f
eel of the limestone beneath his fingertips kept him grounded and focused. Sweat poured down his spine, plastering his shirt to his back.

  One step.

  Another one.

  Yet another step down.

  The lantern sent shadows bouncing through the chamber and still he plodded along, testing the weight, praying he wouldn’t die.

  Halfway through, he trained his gaze on Juliana as she waited on the edge not four feet away. She was the goal. Ironic, that. She was always his ideal, his dream, and now she stood before him, hands clasped so tightly the knuckles showed white, her eyes wide with worry.

  Before he knew it, he was across and his feet were firmly on stone once more. Juliana rushed over and welcomed him with a smile and a tight hug.

  “Thank God,” he murmured. More relieved than he wanted to admit, Crispin took her into his arms and swung her away from the ledge. Their bobbing lanterns sent macabre shadows careening over the walls. He didn’t stop twirling until she laughed, and he joined in on the mirth.

  “Well, isn’t this a quaint little picture? Such happiness in a place of the dead. Inappropriate, no?”

  Surely not. Crispin froze. Anxiety played his spine. Juliana looked over his shoulder and gasped. Slowly, he released her and turned to face the intruder, but he already knew the identity. He narrowed his eyes. “Lord Ramsay.” So the bastard would finally show his face.

  “Guilty, on so many charges.” Only then did Crispin notice he held a pistol and the nose of that weapon was trained at his heart. The smile on the peer’s face appeared overly maniacal in the dim light. “Shall we spare a moment for a cozy chat? I’m sure you have plenty of time to indulge me.”

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  Chapter Twenty

  Juliana’s skin crawled. The muscles in her stomach tightened to the point that she swallowed several times to stave off retching. “What are you doing here, Andrew?” She eyeballed the pistol in his gloved hand. Fear tumbled in a cold wave down her spine.

  “Don’t be coy. You know exactly why I’m here. For the Staff of the Gods, the same as you. Haven’t we always enjoyed a bit of rivalry in the quest for the pieces despite your denial?” He jerked a coil of rope from a belt slung low about his hips and then tossed it at her feet. “Tie your lover’s hands behind his back.”

  Both she and Crispin protested.

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to see you try.” Of course, the duke being the duke, he charged at Andrew. But before his impulsive actions could result in his premature death, Juliana ran after him, grabbed handfuls of his shirt and tugged him back.

  “Are you daft?” She thumped his bad shoulder with a fist until he looked at her. “He’ll put a ball through your heart with less provocation than that,” she hissed while Andrew looked on with sardonic amusement. “Save the heroics for more dire straits than this,” she mouthed.

  “How touching, but Miss Barrington is quite correct. The next time you step out of line, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” His eyes glittered in the dim light. He raised his pistol. The nose nearly touched Crispin’s forehead. “One more false move, Your Grace, and poor Juliana won’t have a protector any longer.”

  One of the duke’s hands curled into a fist. “Fine, but a true gentleman could find a way to make his point without the threat of violence.”

  Oh, why won’t he ever learn? Juliana trembled with fear, and as she reached for Crispin’s arm to pull him away, Andrew lashed out with the gun. He rammed the butt of the weapon into the duke’s temple, which sent Crispin crumbling to his knees. A thin trickle of blood gleamed in the lantern light.

  “Retrieve the damn rope, Juliana. I’m tired of these games that only delay the inevitable. The duke is too hot-headed where you’re concerned, and I don’t have time for his impetuosity.” Again, he trained the pistol on Crispin’s head. “I’d rather not kill him so early in our adventure, for then what leverage will I have to use against you?”

  Crispin snorted. He attempted to stand but then clutched his head and sank once more to his knees. “That’s a misstep right there. She cares nothing for me.”

  Hurt stabbed through her chest. Is that what he thought? Of course he did, for she’d given him no indication she wished for more than the occasional tupping.

  Andrew gestured with the gun. “Now, Miss Barrington.”

  Icy fingers of fear squeezed her heart. “Think this through, Andrew,” she said as she retrieved the length of rope. “There’s no need to take hostages or threaten violence.”

  “Bind his wrists behind him, and don’t try to cheat, for I will check, and if you’ve done your job poorly, the poor noble duke goes into the abyss.”

  She kept an eye on the pistol while she kneeled behind Crispin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she made quick work of tying his wrists though every loop of the rope she made had her hands shaking and her heartbeat quickening.

  “It’s not your fault.” Blood oozed from his wound. Pain shadowed his eyes, but he said nothing else.

  “Not directly, not like the others, hmm?” Andrew’s chuckle sent waves of fear through her gut. “You don’t want another death on your conscience, do you? How many do you think you can bear before they completely break you or turn you mad?”

  She pressed her lips together, determined not to rise to his baiting. That failed mission was in the past. Crispin had shown her she needn’t carry around that guilt any longer. “Why do this? No doubt there will be more than enough treasure for all of us.”

  “Ha! You think I care for the material wealth that might be in that burial chamber?” He kept the gun pointed at Crispin. “I only want the staff.”

  “Why? Are you of a mind to rule the world? Somehow, I don’t believe you have the drive or the determination for that.” She blew out a breath. “You’re much too lazy,” she couldn’t help but add, and when Crispin unsuccessfully stifled a snort, she allowed a tiny smile.

  “You have no idea what that staff can do. For all your book knowledge and the research you’ve accomplished, you remain as big an idiot as your fellow agent.”

  Juliana sucked in a breath. Even Crispin raised his head. “You know I’m a King’s agent?” She yanked at the knot she’d made. It was sound and unfortunately would hold. All the same, she squeezed his fingers in support. “How?”

  “When I went through your possessions that night I stole that book of children’s fables, I found a letter of transfer from the Duke of Rathesborne stating he was sending you to Cairo on a mission of some importance.” His eyes glittered with malice. “Of course, that wasn’t mentioned in the text, but it’s not too difficult to puzzle out, since you’re inordinately interested in the staff. Plus, when you broke off our association the day after I found that golden piece, you practically gave yourself away.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Stupid of you not to destroy that letter.”

  “I had my reasons not to.” The blackheart wouldn’t receive any other intel from her. Yet... “That doesn’t explain how you knew of the other things that I’d only ever told Crispin,” she whispered as she rose to her feet.

  “Ah, that.” He chuckled and the sound sent gooseflesh popping on her skin. “I was hiding in the darkness here when you and the duke had your little heart-to-heart chat.”

  “Oh, God.” Her whisper sounded overly loud in the passageway.

  Crispin snorted. “Don’t allow him into your head. That’s how he’ll control you.”

  “Shut up!” With his face twisted into a gruesome mask due to the shadows, Andrew darted forward. He shoved a booted foot into Crispin’s weak shoulder. The telltale pop and crunch of cartilage, coupled with the duke’s muted cry of pain told the dreadful tale: the shoulder had been dislocated again. He then grabbed a handful of Crispin’s hair and yanked him into a standing position. “Had you died from the rock fall, Your Grace, or even given in to common sense and stayed behind to rest, you wouldn’t be here now to suffer again.”

  “It was you I heard running
away!” Anger flashed through her person. “You’ve been attempting to sabotage this mission the whole time.” She flew at him, fists flailing, but when he got off a lucky slap across her face, she ceased her attack as hot pain seared over her cheek.

  She stumbled backward, coming all too close to the yawning chasm. Hold, Juliana. There will be another, better place for this fight.

  “We are wasting time,” Andrew fairly spat. He shot out a hand, and when she assumed he’d strike her again, he twisted it in her hair that she’d forgotten to bind up during the celebration when she and Crispin had crossed the pit. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Crispin’s whole body was tense, ready for a fight, and the picture would have been convincing had the sheen of sweat not gleamed on his face or his shoulder not sagged at an awkward angle due to his hands being bound.

  Her heart went out to him, and when she reached for him, Andrew yanked her away as pain screamed along her scalp.

  “Down the corridor. At the end is a room, but I suspect, once we step inside, we’ll spring a trap. Which is where you come in, Lord Litton. I’ve overheard enough of your conversations with the Earl of Archewyne to know you have the pressure point keys we’ll need.”

  Juliana spat in his face, which earned her another yank and brought tears into her eyes. “You lying bastard. It was you who caused the cave-in also.”

  “Of course, and since we’re exchanging confidences, I was the one who gave the gift of the cobra.” His chuckle turned her stomach. “I’d hoped to scare you away, make you forget about the damned staff, but you are more stubborn than I’d anticipated.”

  Crispin’s laugh was tinged with pain. “You have no idea.”

  Once more Andrew gestured with the gun. “You first, Your Grace,” he said with slight emphasis on the address.