Page 2 of Only a Duke (Ladies Who Dare #6)

None of which mattered at the moment because he hadn’t made them. He hadn’t even considered them.

And confound it!

She was whip fast.

He rushed down the hall, damning each thud of his boot on the rug. He descended the stairwell three steps at a time and still, it wasn’t enough to catch up to her.

He pushed harder.

He didn’t worry about being caught by the duke or the duchess.

They weren’t in residence. But Lady Louisa?

She was a different matter entirely. He couldn’t predict what she might do, and what he loathed most of all were things he couldn’t predict.

Variables with a question mark behind them.

Always in reach, yet maddeningly out of grasp.

Her white nightdress flitted as she flew down the hall, slipping like a wisp of mist through a door he was certain led to the kitchen. Oliver clenched his jaw and tore after her. He could not let her slip through his fingers—if he did, an all-out war might erupt between the families.

More importantly, he couldn’t afford for word of this to reach the woman he suspected to be the head of the secret women’s organization—the duchess herself.

Nor could he chance losing the strongest proof of their crimes—the coded secrets hidden within the wagers of the betting book.

That single, complicated truth had kept the hair on his neck raised since the moment he entered this house.

Hostile domain.

Doubly so.

He chased her down another flight of stairs and burst into the kitchen after her, grunting when he knocked into something hard.

Again. Faint silver rays filtered through the small kitchen window, offering the slightest guidance as she stumbled forward.

Instinct, born of years facing danger, compelled him to draw to an abrupt halt, his hands shooting up in surrender, hoping she could tell he meant no harm.

And he was right to do so, as the shadow of a sharp knife sliced his way.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said, keeping his tone deliberate and unhurried. “You are in no danger from me,” he repeated, deliberately lowering his voice more. “I give you my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me, sir.”

“Of course, you have no reason to trust me, but I promise, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe after you’ve chased me through my home.”

The lack of light offered him only the barest of impression of her—pale skin, wary eyes, perhaps a bit of a furrow between her brows.

But he didn’t need to see her clearly to sense the tension in her stance.

Slowly, he lifted a hand to his cap. She still hadn’t recognized him, but instinct told him the only way for him to gain any ounce of her trust was to reveal himself. “I’m going to remove this.”

She didn’t move an inch as he removed his cap, but the moment he did, she squinted at him, then her brow smoothed into astonishment. “You’re the duke. The Duke of Mortimer.”

He inclined his head. “I am.”

Her mouth opened. Shut. Opened again. “Lawks! What are you doing breaking into our house?”

“The book.”

“You mean the betting book? This is how you retrieve it?”

A flush of heat crept up his ears at the implied accusation of foolishness. “Can we light a candle? Then we can talk.”

She flicked the knife toward the table beside him. “Light one yourself.”

Oliver didn’t argue. His gaze shifted to the tinderbox next to a candle and quickly lit a flame.

More light was better than less. His gaze found hers once again as a soft orange glow spilled across the kitchen, just enough for him to catch the nuances of her expression.

He also caught the cutting, dagger-sharp look she directed at him now.

“So,” she snapped, “your candle is lit. Speak.”

“I’ll speak,” Oliver said in a low voice, trying supremely hard not to react to the vision challenging him in nothing but her nightgown. “I know you’ve had a fright, but I need you to remain composed, Lady Louisa.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she slashed the knife back and forth.

She resembled a heavenly creature sent from another realm of existence, radiating righteous glory with curves that made all the other angels weep.

“You are telling me to remain composed in a moment like this? And how am I not composed enough for you?”

Oliver tensed at her tone, his gut clenching in warning, as it did in all dangerous predicaments. “It is the only way to have a calm conversation.”

“A calm conversation? For that, you would have had to start by knocking on the door for entrance, Your Grace.”

“You are right. I made a mistake.” A grave one.

Her eyes took on a goddess-like fire. “I don’t know if you have learned this in all your years of life, but I shall warn you now, for the sake of your happy future, do not tell a woman waving a knife at you to remain composed in order to have a calm conversation. It may have the opposite effect.”

“Rest assured, my lady, I don’t plan on a repeat of this mistake.” Never again.

The knife didn’t lower in the slightest. “That’s good to hear.”

“That being said, are we still able to converse in a calm manner even though I did not knock on your door?”

Her look turned flat. “Well, seeing as you are already here, of course. However, it must be said that no matter our family differences, this is a bit extreme, is it not?”

“Those family differences aren’t small,” Oliver pointed out, his focus unwavering. “So please understand why I took such measures.”

“A simple note would have sufficed.” She lowered the knife, though her grip remained tight on the hilt. “After all, Theodosia informed me you might come to collect the book, though honestly, I did not expect you to. I also didn’t expect this .”

Oliver wanted to rake a hand through his hair but resisted, unwilling to make unnecessary movements while she still clutched the knife.

The feud between the families wasn’t widely known.

At least, any rumors that might have existed when his father was still alive had already died down, though he knew the Duke of Talbot still bore him and all his family a great deal of ill will.

However, he had acted rashly. Almost too recklessly.

However, he hadn’t anticipated Lady Theodosia handing the book over to Lady Louisa, or he would have intervened sooner.

Lady Louisa had already taken to Ashford before Lady Theodosia left London for Brighton, book in hand.

He hadn’t thought it a problem—until he learned that she had detoured to leave the book with Lady Louisa, which had prompted his immediate rush.

He considered the angel before him. Her golden hair tumbled down to her waist in soft waves, a few tendrils falling over her shoulder.

Full, rosy lips and a gently rounded jawline, framed by cheekbones that lent a hint of definition to her otherwise soft, youthful face.

Bright blue eyes fixed on him with heaps of suspicion.

A beautiful tempest.

If her loyalty lay with her friends, he didn’t doubt she would give the book to him.

However, recent evidence pointed to the Duchess of Talbot, her stepmother, being the head of the secret women’s club rife with illegal activities ranging from forgery of documents to the smuggling of various forms of antiques and substances.

And as such, he couldn’t completely rule out the possibility that Lady Louisa wasn’t involved.

Yet instinct rebuffed the notion each time it entered his mind.

Even so, he couldn’t discount the fact that the duchess might use or convert this angel in the future.

It was a supremely precarious situation followed by an ever more perilous question: In the house of his enemy, could she be his ally?

“It’s true that I acted rashly,” Oliver admitted.

A brow rose. “Is that an apology?”

His gaze held hers. “Yes.”

“Very well, since men find it hopelessly impossible to apologize properly and never actually say the words, I shall accept your assurance that this was an apology and let your rashness go. And do not worry, our family differences aside, I have no plan to keep the book from you.” She finally set the knife down and picked up the candle. “Shall I go and retrieve it now?”

Oliver’s lips inched upward ever so slightly. “I shall be forever grateful.”

This was easier than expected.