Page 2 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Thankfully, in this cold and so late at night, the streets were empty, save for a single carriage, whose occupants stared at her wide-eyed. Occasional light spilling from a window gave her some guidance, but other than that, it was so dark she had to guess where she was going.

Temperance kept looking back, convinced she saw the men emerging around corners, and forced her body to keep running. Her skirts and bag slowed her down, her cheeks burned, her throat ached from the cold air, and her legs hurt—but still she staggered forward.

After what felt like an eternity of weaving her way through the streets, Temperance looked back…

And couldn’t see them.

But she still did not dare to stop and claim victory.

Now she could think again, she looked about her. The bare skeletons of half-built terraced houses stretched down the street along with snow-covered piles of bricks and dirt, wooden planks and stones.

Where was she? Certainly not the sort of neighborhood where an earl’s daughter should find herself.

Swallowing panic, Temperance kept moving. She began slipping through the mud and ice with increasing frequency as exhaustion weighed down her limbs. She was parched and sweaty, even as an icy wind shot snowflakes into her face.

When she came to the end of the long street with so many homes under construction, she couldn’t have known what was around the corner?—

The world exploded.

Bursts of golden, blue, pink, and orange light shot into the air and right through the glassless windows, empty doorframes, and unfinished brick facades of the new builds.

Temperance stumbled, almost falling to her knees. Fireworks?

Galloping hooves, men shouting…this was what she imagined war was like.

What was this madness?

She regained her footing and stood motionless, her breath catching in her throat as she stared wildly between the shadows that might hide her pursuers and the explosive bursts of light surrounding her.

Where was the greater danger: the men hunting her through London’s streets, or these sudden fireworks erupting around her in the darkness?

A massive horse thundered towards her out of the smoke and fire. A man hunched low on its chestnut back, coat flaring behind him like wings, a Roman candle in one hand with golden fire fountaining from it. His face was hidden beneath a riding hat, swallowed by shadows.

Temperance needed to run, but her strength was spent, her body numb, her feet frozen to the road.

She was about to die.

At the very last moment, the man pulled at the reins and his horse reared onto its hind legs, the rider perfectly balanced.

Five more horses shot past them, one after another, each rider whooping and ululating as he held his own firework.

The giant horse appeared even more frightened now, rearing back with eyes bulging as its hind legs skidded on what must have been ice.

It fell sideways, burying its rider beneath it.

And all went quiet.

At first Temperance couldn’t move a finger, her body an ice statue. Somehow, she hadn’t died.

But the rider and the red horse might have.

The horse’s legs sprawled awkwardly, its head jerking up. Its eyes were white-rimmed and bulging, its nostrils flaring, its mouth foaming at the bit. It snorted loudly and sharply, grunting out desperate blasts of air.

The man had been thrown sideways, his foot caught under the horse, probably stuck in the stirrup.

His torso was twisted and his auburn coat had ridden up, soaked now with mud and snow.

He blinked rapidly, clearly disoriented.

The man groaned something, a curse, perhaps, though she couldn’t hear him well.

Steam rose from his breath and the horse’s body, the two of them in a crumpled pile.

Temperance looked around. The street was deserted.

“Will you help me or not?” the unhorsed man demanded.

She cleared her throat, shaking off the remnants of shock. “Of—of course.” Temperance dropped to her knees beside him, heart rattling in her throat. “Can you feel your leg?”

“Yes,” the man said, wincing as he tried to move it. “But I can’t—can’t get it out.”

His movement must have startled his horse: it grunted and tried to push itself up, legs scrambling.

Temperance stepped backwards to allow it space to do so, knees trembling at being so close to such a beast. In one fast, awkward movement the horse was up, stumbling a little before bolting forward.

Temperance watched it gallop down the street, where thirty yards away several men were gathered round lights, presumably at the point the race had ended.

Temperance turned back to the fallen rider.

Now she could see him better, she realized he was in his late twenties or early thirties.

Two brown eyes glared at her from under thick auburn eyebrows as his brimmed beaver riding hat now lay three feet away in the mud.

His greatcoat had risen to his waist revealing thick, muscular thighs encased in buckskin breeches and tall black polished leather boots.

Temperance’s breath caught in her throat.

He was impossible to look away from. Sculpted face under windswept strands of dark honey hair, high cheekbones at perfect angles, a strong jawline, plump full lips…

“Indulgent” came to her mind. His eyes were almost black in the darkness, glinting with something dangerous, which had her gut fluttering with an anticipation she couldn’t understand.

There was a hunger in them as he stared at her, raw and unapologetic, like a man accustomed to taking what he desired.

“Will you help me up or leave me here to die nobly in the mud, unloved and unmourned?” the man grumbled.

Temperance swallowed. Oh, he was dangerous. Tempting. Why else had she spent the last ten minutes gaping at him?

But should she help him? It was scandalous for a young, unmarried woman to touch a male stranger in public! Though perhaps that particular societal nicety could be ignored, considering how scandalous it was for a young, unmarried woman to be out in public alone at all, let alone after dark.

And she couldn’t let a hurt person lie there, helpless.

“Of course,” she said politely, and depositing her escape bag carefully on the pavement, she offered him her hand.

Temperance didn’t even have her gloves on, nor her bonnet, not even a shawl, and the falling snow pierced her bare skin like needles.

As the man took her hand in his gloved one, the sense of ice transformed into one of fire.

She felt soft doeskin, could smell new leather.

In the low light she saw a signet ring, which showed what had to be a family crest. A boar.

The hackles rose on her neck. He was a nobleman. How likely was it that he would recognize her? She did not remember meeting him in her first and only Season, over two years ago— but then, he would surely look more refined in more traditional circumstances.

The man winced in pain. Temperance instinctively knelt beside him, slipped one arm under his, and braced her other hand behind his back. With his help, she levered him up to a sitting position then shifted to the side and offered her shoulder so he could stand.

Only now did she understand how much larger than her he was. Taller, yes, but also broader, more muscular. This was the first time a man had leaned against her, and though significant, his weight was strangely pleasant.

“You just cost me a fortune, damn it,” the man cursed as she led him—clearly favoring one leg—to lean on the wall of the nearest house.

It was only when Temperance caught her breath that she realized his own smelled strongly of spirits.

She was speechless for a moment. Oh, how dare he accuse her of such a thing—and in drink!

“I cost you ?” Temperance demanded. “You almost killed me, you and your horse!”

The guilt and fear swiftly drained away.

Perhaps it was the flight from Mr. Finch, or the accumulated tension and worry of the last two weeks, or the helplessness and abuse of the past months she had endured after Papa died.

The betrayal of her only remaining family—her stepmother and her stepmother’s nephew, Lord Bartholomew Langston.

Fury propelling her, Temperance gestured at the street. “What is this nonsense? Fireworks? Racing? At night, and at full gallop? All for what…money?”

“A man has to feel alive somehow,” the man growled. “This was supposed to be my last hurrah, my favorite pastime. So, sweet girl, you owe me.”

The audacity of the man! “I owe you? Unbelievable! You must be drunk!”

“Perhaps. But that is one of the pleasures of life, along with this…”

He swept her into his arms, and before she could resist, he kissed her.

Perhaps it was his broad body that did it, that surrounded her in comfort and safety, blocking out all reality. Just for a moment, Temperance gave in to the sin of his soft lips and did not push him away.

The kiss was a long press of his lips on hers. He smelled of leather, wet wool, horse, sandalwood, vanilla, and expensive liquor—all scents she knew but transformed into something new in this moment. The taste of him sent a thrill of joy and pleasure through her, down to her very bones.

When—finally—she found the strength to push against his chest, Temperance was panting…and so was he.

His dark gaze was on her lips, an appreciative smile on his handsome face.

“How dare you?” Temperance managed to exclaim, cheeks burning.

The man chuckled. “Just a small payment for the pain and suffering you caused me. A worthwhile payment, if I may say so.”

“You may not say so. You’re not behaving like a gentleman!”

“Are you unengaged for the evening?” the stranger asked, entirely ignoring her statement.

“Excuse me?”

“A young, beautiful woman alone at night in Clerkenwell. No bonnet, no gloves…no chaperone.” The man grinned. “You’re a harlot, aren’t you?”

Temperance’s blood went cold.

The outrageous assumption stole all remaining air from her lungs. The wall of rage hit her, hot and hard, and before she could stop herself, her hand flew into the air and?—

She slapped him.

The stranger’s face flew to the side, and the heat was a painful sting in Temperance’s palm. His skin had been hot and hard and smooth, with just a hint of stubble, and it should not have burned her so.

“I am not a harlot!” Temperance exclaimed, outrage pouring through her veins.

“And you…you… A man with no regard for consequences: insulting women, endangering everyone around, and yourself! It’s dark, you reek of spirits, you almost killed me and that beautiful animal!

And it could have been even worse, you villain.

What if a child or an elderly person came across your way?

You race through the streets like a man running from what?

Ghosts? Memories? Or are you so bored in your rich, dull life you cannot stand still for a moment! ”

The man’s head jerked back as though she had slapped him again. The smirk was wiped from his face, and behind the pleasant facade of a charmer and a rake…was real pain.

Then there was fury.

The blackguard opened his mouth to say something back—but before he could, steps sounded behind her.

Oh, no!

Temperance whirled around, fear once again gripping her limbs, expecting her three pursuers to have found her—but it was only one man. One of the stranger’s companions was running towards them, his light gray greatcoat flapping as he ran, holding on to his riding hat.

And Temperance couldn’t risk it.

What if this other man recognized her? The whole of London knew about the hunt for the Mad Heiress, and finding her would gain a handsome reward.

Or if they both believed she was a harlot, what then? Could this brute attempt to force her to come with them?

No. She must flee before yet another person tried to claim ownership of her destiny.

Temperance grabbed her escape bag and hurried into a dark alley.

“Wait!” came the first man’s call after her. “Where are you going? Wait a moment!”

She ignored him. Her aching legs protested, but she pushed forward, turning left and right along the midnight alleys—anything to lose her pursuers.

Where would she go? She had only a few coins—not enough for a whole month.

Her mind threw up a memory: Had she not read in the newspapers about an almshouse for women in Whitechapel?

Whitechapel…

Full of criminals and secrets and danger. A place of lies and desperation. A place where a young lady who was an heiress and the daughter of an earl couldn’t possibly go.

So that was precisely where she must hide.