Page 1 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

CHAPTER ONE

“ A nother pint of beer and a bottle of whisky, barkeep!” someone yelled as Joan Brooks entered the inn.

She tightened her grip on the small bag that contained her belongings her eyes wary and body tense as she looked around what might be her dwelling for the night.

The last few days had sapped her of her strength, as her wit and cunning were greatly tested. It had taken a lot of effort to leave her home, and even more to stay out of sight from the men her uncle had undoubtedly tasked to locate her and return her home.

But she would rather die than return there. Not after everything.

So, no matter how afraid she was, how uncertain the future might be, she needed to progress forward. That was all she could do.

The place was as rowdy as she expected it to be, filled with noisy patrons trying to pay for a place to lay their heads for the night, while others were eagerly downing spirits and losing their minds to drunkenness.

The crowd nearly weakened her resolve, but she merely pulled her cloak tighter over her body as she approached the person she assumed to be the owner.

Joan knew she couldn’t turn back now, not when she was so close to leaving London finally. Not when the haunting days that had filled her life would soon be behind her.

Just as she took a breath to speak up and request a room, a man stepped in her way.

“Well, look what we’ve got here, gents. Are you lost, miss?”

Joan felt her blood run cold, and she tried to be as calm as possible, shaking her head slowly as she said,

“No. I-I only want to get a room —”

“By yourself? What’s a little thing like you doing traveling alone?” He questioned, leaning in closer.

His breath smelled of scotch, and it was all she could do not to flinch away, not wanting to upset him in any way.

“I'm not alone,” she lied, having learned from the encounters of the last few days. “My — my father asked me to get a room for us. While he handles some business.”

She thought he would have left her alone at the mention of her father, but for some reason, he seemed even more pleased.

“Your father, aye? Perhaps I shall wait with you until he returns. I have a proposal that might be to his liking.”

As he said the last sentence, his gaze roamed over her body, and Joan's heart sank.

She shook her head, backing away as she told him,

“I don't think he'll be interested in any sort of proposal. Good night, sir.”

As she turned around, she bumped into someone — another man who reached out to steady her.

“Are you all right, miss? You don’t want to be mingling so carelessly around here. Some gent might get the wrong ideas,” the newcomer said with a smirk.

She flinched away from his touch, wincing when the first one who had been speaking to her grabbed her by the wrist.

“I insist, miss. It is dangerous for a pretty little thing like you to be by herself. Let me watch over him until he returns. Trust me, no harm will come to you in that time. Perhaps some pleasure,” he whispered in her ear, his breath against the nape of her neck making her skin crawl.

“Please, t-there’s no need for that. I am perfectly capable of —”

“Let her go.”

All three of them turned to the new voice.

A man stood a few feet away, his features barely visible beneath the cloak he wore. Then he pushed back the hood and greeted them with a cold glare.

“I will only say this one more time: release her. I am not fond of repeating myself needlessly, especially as I am of the belief that a proper skelping can solve problems better than words. If you wish to keep your body intact, I would suggest that you let the lassie go and bugger off.”

He approached them carefully, and he spoke, and when he rounded up his sentence, he was standing right before them, in all his masculine glory. Joan noticed his height first, how effortlessly he towered over them.

The men mumbled in annoyance, but Joan felt the grip on her slip away, and she inhaled deeply, feeling as though that was the first time she was able to breathe.

The man watched them leave, only looking at her when they were completely out of sight.

Joan was immediately struck by how clear his eyes were.

She couldn't tell what the color of them was, but his gaze was lighter, void of the nefarious light she was used to seeing in her uncle's eyes, and a lot of men.

He stared at her for a moment before quickly glancing around the inn.

“Are you all right?”

Joan nodded slowly, her heartbeat still thundering in her ears.

The man looked skeptical of her response, and then he asked slowly,

“Are you traveling alone?”

She shook her head quickly, unable to fully trust him, despite his assistance and calm demeanor.

“So whaur is yer other company, then? They should jist ken no' tae leave a wumman by hersel' in a place like this,” he tutted, seemingly irritated.

This man confused Joan. He wasn't acting in an untoward way to her, and one might even think that he… cared about her well-being.

“They didn’t!” she squeaked, a little shocked by her sudden outburst. “They didn’t leave me. We — we got separated. I’m waiting for them here, because we had agreed to pass the night around these parts before we left London.”

The man looked just as surprised at her words, and then he said,

“That's mighty helpful tae ken. I could walk ye tae the bar, if ye fancy? I'm no' lookin' tae hang aboot an' pester ye. I just want tae make certain nae other man gets the wrang idea.”

Joan would have normally felt reluctant to go anywhere with this man, but something pulled her towards him, a feeling she did not understand and was unsure if she could trust. His dark eyes did not seem to hide any nefarious intent, and the air around him made her believe that she was probably safer with him than anyone else.

He stared back at her, waiting silently as she deliberated, only to add after a few moments,

“ I promise ye, I mean nae harm or disrespect. I'm jist travelin' on my ain, an' I thocht we could maybe pass the time thegither. Jist for a wee bit, if ye like.”

His words seemed convincing, and she found herself shaking her head slowly, speaking up quietly the next moment,

“I do not mind the escort, but could you please… stay? If only for a little bit? I don’t – I would like to keep those men away permanently.”

He smiled a little at her request, the unexpected reaction striking a strange chord within her. Even more than before, she wanted to stay with him, her nerves slowly unwinding as he nodded.

“Certainly. Right this way, miss,” he prompted gently, leading her to the bar.

Joan gingerly settles into a chair close by, waiting for him to return with their drinks, and he does so quickly.

“A pint of ale for the miss, and whisky for me,” he announced, placing a glass with dark liquid in it in front of her.

Joan peered into the glass uncertainly and looked up at him, her breath escaping her as she finally got a good look at his face. The lights by the bar were brighter than where they had been standing, and now, she could see him enough to know that this was no ordinary man.

His auburn hair curled almost messily, with thick locks dropping over his forehead. His face was quite handsome, almost mischievous as he raised his glass to her, silently requesting a toast. Joan found herself obliging, gently clinking her glass against his before taking a sip of her drink.

This was unlike any she had ever drunk before, the onset a stinging bitterness that later melted into mild, sweet undertones after she had swallowed it.

If her kind savior noticed her reaction, he did not comment on it, resting his elbows on the surface of the table as he asked,

“Might I ask whaur it is ye're goin'? Or wad ye prefer I tak a guess, wi' a wee reward if I'm richt?”

There was something about his voice and tone that told her he wasn't from London — that and the apparently lack of manners, she thought as she glanced down at his elbows on the table — but Joan did not want to trust him blindly.

“I'm heading to Germany with my aunt. My grandparents are unwell, so we thought it would be for the best to move there and stay with them for the time being. Just so they can be taken care of properly,” Joan lied, a little nervous about whether or not he would believe her.

“Oh, your aunt? Is that the one ye're waitin' fer?” the man enquired.

Joan nodded, and he exhaled.

“Och, that's a shame. I'd still have much preferred tae earn a reward, rather than jist get the answer—'cause that does me nae good. Still, I'll take what I've learned aboot ye as a guid enough prize for noo, at least. So, what's yer name, miss?”

Hesitation sank into her like a needle, and she considered refusing him at once. Except… she did not want to. This man had been extremely kind to her, thus far.

“Joan,” she said quietly.

She had expected him not to hear her, considering how softly she had spoken, but he stared at her, mouthing the name silently at first.

“Joan. A name name that fits a brave, bonnie wumman like yersel’.”

Joan wasn't used to receiving such compliments that didn't make her feel uneasy. All that surrounded this man was… warmth. There was no danger coming from him, and Joan couldn't help but relax under his gaze.

“Will you tell me your name?” she asked, leaning forward.

Her companion scoffed playfully and shook his head, looking offended.

“Haud on, hen, a gentleman doesnae reveal his secrets. How am I tae keep ye on yer toes if I gie away too much o' masel'?”

Joan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

“Is that something you usually prioritize? How mysterious you are?”

He gave her a quizzical look.

“Aye, that's right. Hoo else am I supposed tae leave a mark on ye? How can I be sae sure ye'll no' forget a' aboot me the minute we part ways?”