Page 43 of Her Duke’s Second Chance (Regency Second Chances #1)

“ You are without doubt the most presumptuous, high-handed man in all of London!” Alice fought the urge to strike the Duke with her reticule. “Stop this vehicle at once!”

“Come now, my lady, there’s no need for dramatics.” His voice held that infuriating note of amusement that made her want to scream. “I am merely ensuring your safe return home.”

“Safe return? This is abduction!”

“Rescue,” he corrected, brushing some imaginary lint from his sleeve. Even in the dim light of the carriage, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Though I must say, you are the least grateful damsel in distress I have ever encountered.”

“I am neither a damsel nor in distress.” Alice rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. “Driver! Stop at once!”

“He won’t listen to you.” The Duke’s lips curled into a smile that made her pulse quicken traitorously. “My staff is remarkably loyal.”

“I must return to the brothel.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they were a mistake.

His eyebrows shot up. “Must you, really? Are you truly so desperate for pleasure?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a sultry purr. “I could offer you that, you know.”

Heat flooded her face. “I am looking for my brother, you insufferable rake.”

“Ah yes, the estimable Lord Colton.” He settled back, studying her with those piercing blue eyes. “You could simply wait at home. He seems like the kind that always returns. Eventually.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“No?” That knowing smirk was back. “Tell me then, what don’t I understand about lurking in brothels at midnight?”

“A man like you could never understand anything about duty or responsibility.” The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a laugh. “And how exactly does seeking your brother in a house of ill repute tie to duty and responsibility?”

“I don’t owe you any explanation.”

But the carriage felt suddenly smaller, his presence overwhelming her senses.

“Don’t you?” He shifted closer, and her breath caught again. “After I so gallantly saved you from ruin?”

“Gallantly?” She let out a strained laugh. “Is that what you call shoving me into your carriage?”

“Would you prefer I left you to the tender mercies of Lord Chadwick and his companions?” His knee brushed hers, sending sparks through her despite the layers of fabric between them. “They’re not known for their restraint.”

“Neither are you, apparently.”

But she didn’t move away from that point of contact.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “On the contrary. I am the very soul of restraint.”

The air grew thick between them. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the subtle notes of sandalwood and brandy that clung to his coat. If she leaned forward just slightly…

“Though perhaps I should ask what brought you to Madame Rosa’s this evening, Your Grace?” She lifted her chin, pleased to see his eyes narrow slightly. “Unless your presence there was purely… charitable?”

Something dangerous flickered across his face, but it was gone so quickly that she might have imagined it.

His hand came up, his fingers trailing along her jaw with deliberate gentleness that contradicted the steel in his voice.

“Careful, sweetheart. Some questions are better left unasked.”

The feel of his fingers sent shivers down her spine, but she refused to back down. “So you may interrogate me, but I cannot question you?”

“Precisely.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip, the gesture somehow both tender and possessive. “Though if you are so interested in my activities, I’d be happy to demonstrate them.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. This close, she could see flecks of silver in his blue eyes, like stars in a midnight sky.

His hand still cradled her face, and she knew she should pull away, should maintain some shred of propriety, but her body seemed to have developed a will of its own, swaying toward him like a flower seeking the sun.

The carriage jolted to a stop.

“Ah.” His voice was slightly rough. “Home sweet home.”

Before she could gather her scattered wits, he was out of the carriage and helping her down. His hands lingered on her waist a moment too long.

“Alice!” Thomas’s voice shattered the moment. He stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous. “What in God’s name?—”

“Your sister required an escort home,” the Duke cut in smoothly. “I trust you’ll find her reputation intact, though not thanks to your absence from whatever pressing engagement had her in a tizzy.”

Thomas bristled. “How dare you speak to me of?—”

“He’s right.” Alice’s quiet words stopped her brother cold. “Where were you tonight, Thomas?”

“That’s hardly—” Thomas broke off, finally noticing her disheveled state. “Were you looking for me? At this hour? Alone with him?” He rounded on the Duke. “Your Grace, if you’ve compromised my sister?—”

“Your sister,” the Duke’s voice held a steely edge that made Alice shiver, “was doing what you failed to do—taking responsibility for your family’s welfare. I merely ensured her safety in that endeavor.” He stepped closer to Thomas, every inch a powerful duke. “Perhaps if you spent less time in gaming halls and brothels, she wouldn’t have been forced to risk her reputation searching for you.”

Thomas’s face flushed dark red. “You dare?—”

“He’s leaving now.” Alice placed a restraining hand on her brother’s arm. “Thank you, Your Grace, for your assistance.”

The Duke’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, that crackling awareness returned full force. Then, he bowed—a gesture that was somehow both proper and mocking.

“Always a pleasure, my lady. Do try to stay out of trouble.”

Alice watched him stride to his carriage, fighting the urge to call after him. But there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Inside. Now.” She pushed Thomas into the house before he could cause a scene in the street. “We need to talk about the Westhavens.”

“There’s nothing to discuss?—”

“Nothing?” Her control finally snapped. “You missed dinner with your potential betrothed’s family! Lady Westhaven all but told me this was your last chance! Do you understand what is at stake?”

“Why must I be the one to save us?” Thomas ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “You could marry well. There are plenty of men?—”

“Because I have no dowry, Thomas!” The words echoed in the entrance hall. “Father’s debts made sure of it. We can barely keep this house. Even with my careful alterations of Mother’s old gowns, we could never afford all the new clothing, the balls, the social obligations required for a proper Season. One or two nice dresses aren’t enough—the ton expects a new outfit for every major event.”

She crossed to the small side table and pulled out a stack of papers.

“Here. Look at the accounts yourself. The creditors are circling us. Without the Westhaven influence?—”

“Surely it can’t be that dire.”

But Thomas’s voice had lost its defensive edge as he took the papers from her trembling hands.

Alice watched his face as he read, seeing the moment reality finally penetrated his carefully maintained facade of nonchalance.

“The townhouse will be forfeit by Christmas if we can’t make the payment. The estate yields barely enough to cover the interest on Father’s debts, let alone the principal. And then there’s the matter of the staff’s wages?—”

“Good God.” Thomas sank into the nearest chair, the papers scattered across his lap. “I knew there were… difficulties, but this…”

“This is why I’ve been trying to secure the match with Lady Evelyn.” Alice’s voice softened. “The Westhavens’ influence—and yes, their money—could save everything Father and you —” She caught herself. “Everything our family has built over generations.”

Thomas’s head snapped up at her near slip, guilt flickering across his features. “I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? The gambling…”

“The exact figures are on the third page.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from her voice. “Along with a particularly aggressive note from Lord Manning about your latest marker.”

Thomas shuffled through the papers until he found it. The color drained from his face.

“Seven thousand pounds? But I never—” He broke off, remembering. “Oh God. That night at White’s. I thought… I was sure I could win it back…”

“You sound exactly like Father.”

Thomas flinched as if she’d struck him. “Alice, I?—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “I am not interested in apologies or excuses. What I need to know is whether you are going to step up and do what needs to be done. The Westhavens are offering us salvation, Thomas. Lady Evelyn is lovely and well-bred, and by some miracle, her mother is still willing to consider you despite your reputation. But after tonight…”

He stared down at the papers for a long moment. When he looked up, she saw something new in his eyes—something that looked remarkably like resolve.

“Tea with the Westhavens tomorrow, you said?”

Alice nodded, hardly daring to hope.

“I’ll be there.” Thomas gathered the papers carefully, squaring the edges with uncharacteristic precision. “And Alice, I am sorry. Not just about tonight, but for letting you shoulder this burden alone. You shouldn’t have had to—” He gestured vaguely at her disheveled appearance. “Risk yourself like that.”

“No,” she agreed quietly, “I shouldn’t have.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of years of fear and responsibility settling between them. Finally, Thomas cleared his throat.

“About Ashthorne…”

“Don’t.” Alice turned away, unwilling to bring up that particular complication right now. “It’s late, and we both need to be presentable tomorrow. Reviewing these papers will keep until morning.”

“As you wish.” Thomas paused at the bottom of the stairs. “But Sister…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Alice waited until his footsteps faded before allowing herself to sink into the chair he’d vacated.

Her hands were still shaking, she realized. From the night’s adventures or the confrontation with Thomas, she wasn’t sure.

Or perhaps from the memory of piercing blue eyes, and the phantom sensation of strong hands on her waist.

No. She pushed that thought aside. She had secured a victory tonight—Thomas was finally beginning to understand the gravity of their situation.

She couldn’t afford to be distracted by arrogant dukes, no matter how compelling they might be.

Dorian’s carriage rattled through London’s darkened streets, but he barely noticed the familiar motion.

His mind kept returning to the fierce green eyes and sharp tongue of Lady Alice Keswick. The way she’d stood her ground in that brothel, chin lifted in defiance despite her obvious fear. The subtle tremor in her voice when she’d spoken of duty and responsibility.

“Stubborn, reckless woman,” he muttered, reaching for the brandy flask he kept in the carriage.

But even as he took a fortifying sip, he couldn’t suppress a grudging admiration for her courage.

How many ladies of the ton would risk their reputation to save a wastrel brother?

The memory of her in his arms as he’d guided her down those narrow stairs rose unbidden. The subtle scent of jasmine, the warmth of her against his chest, the way her breath had caught when he’d lifted her into the carriage…

“Enough.” He rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. “The Fox and Crown, James. And be quick about it.”

He had responsibilities of his own to attend to. Sarah needed to be moved somewhere safe, somewhere Treyfield’s men wouldn’t think to look. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of spirited young ladies.

And yet…

There had been something in Lady Alice’s eyes when she’d spoken of her brother, a weight of responsibility that seemed too heavy for her slim shoulders.

He recognized that look—had seen it in his mirror often enough after his father’s death, when the weight of the dukedom had fallen to him.

Perhaps that’s why he’d felt compelled to intervene. Or perhaps…

The carriage slowed to a stop outside the Fox and Crown, mercifully interrupting that dangerous line of thought.

He had a promise to keep, a duty to fulfill. Lady Alice Keswick and her fascinating blend of propriety and defiance would have to remain a mystery for another day.

But as he stepped down from the carriage, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that their paths would cross again. London’s social season was just beginning, after all.

Heaven help them both when they did.