Page 10 of The Duke is Wicked
A pair of her brother’s trousers, badly hemmed and roughed up a bit, hugged her hips. A ratty shirt and coat she’d purchased from the rag-and-bone man with coins she was still getting used to, ones the trader had snatched from her hand before she was able to do a proper exchange in her head. The riding boots were her own, but nicked and muddy, hidden in the back of her wardrobe, away from the fastidious eyes of her maid. She could certainly pass as a delivery boy, a scamp creeping through the night. Her curves were few, her frame slender. Her breasts, alas not so small, tightly bound and out of sight. Many a twelve-year-old had more bulk than she did.
She wondered what accent would work best, puzzling over it as she sneaked down the narrow service staircase through the vacant kitchens and into the side garden. The cap looked Irish, and she’d been practicing that one. But her cockney was very, very good, and as her papa used to say, why mend what wasn’t broken?
She passed the duke’s ground-level bedroom and came to a skidding halt. The window was open, the velvet curtain drawing in and out like a breath. She’d gotten a good look inside the room—and seen no duke.
She’d revealed too much earlier after touching that blasted rock, mentioning her attic, then had to stand there and watch him try to jam the pieces of her life’s puzzle into place. But what it had done, that hunk of fluorite, had knocked her off her feet.Illuminationwasn’t a suitable description. It had been like stepping into a cave first exposed to sunlight and finally seeing the drawings on the wall. Her attic, for the first time, had been brilliantlylit. Every book, every word, visible.
When Sebastian Tremont had ripped the Soul Catcher from her hand, she’d experienced a moment’s panic, envy,hunger. Dangerous feelings, dangerous need.
Too dangerous.
She wasn’t getting tripped up, involved any more than a duke and his unfortunate allergy to bee stings had already involved her.
“Well, well, this night is full of surprises. Here I am, looking at the stars and wishing this teacup was filled with gin, and what do I find? A young man peering into my window with a perplexed look on her, I meanhis, face. A young man with riding boots more costly than a year’s lease on many a hovel in this city, creatively scuffed though they may be. A young man, I suspect, in the midst of a caper.” Sebastian issued a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. Disdainful, whatever it was. “The good news is, with you to entertain me, I no longer need opium.”
Delaney bit the inside of her cheek and glanced over her shoulder. Moonlight speared the yard, diluted by the choking haze that seemed a never-ending part of this blighted city, but it was enough. The Duke of Ashcroft leaned casually against her garden wall, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other wrapped around a teacup that looked ridiculously fragile in his grasp, shirttail flowing over his hips, collar and cuffs absent. His voice was polished and precise, all that was English refinement, but the man looked more bandit than duke. He would have fit in well on the high seas with a sword tucked in his fist.
Appealing, this juxtaposition, because she was foolish and attracted to trouble.
Only foolish peoplelikedlife’s petite calamities.
“Come and let me look at this disguise of yours.” Snaking his hand from his pocket, he beckoned with a crook of his finger, and her blood simmered as it galloped through her veins. Angerandattraction. “What one chooses to hide behind is usually a self-portrait.”
She cursed sharply and stalked from the garden, sure his frailty would render him unable to catch her. Of all the arrogant…he had no sway over her, no influence, no control. But he was quick, although winded, when he reached her, grasping her arm and spinning her to face him with a surprising show of might. “You’re mad if you think you’re marching out of here at midnight dressed like that.”
“I have a meeting, and I’m not going to miss it. Unhand me, Tremont. I’m not one of your withering English roses.” She yanked on her arm, but he only tightened his hold.
“Does your brother, the better half of the Terrible Two, know about this?”
Oh, he wanted to get her that way.Men. She balled her hands into fists, refusing to answer. Which was all the answer he needed.
“Shall I find him, ask him to provide proper accompaniment?”
“You mongrel.” And with this yank, Sebastian released her.
“I wish I were, as my life would be easier,” he volleyed, and gave his shirt a rough tuck into his trousers, displaying a long, lean body she’d been trying to ignore since the moment it had landed at her feet.
“You’re not going with me.”
“Oh, yes, Temple, I am.” Recapturing her wrist, he dragged her across the lawn, releasing her only long enough to snatch his coat from the garden wall and shove his arms into it, sending the teacup he’d forgotten about flying.
She pointed to the men loitering in the shadows. “Call off your contingent, or I won’t agree to this. Not for one moment, will I agree to it.”
He worked his broad shoulders into his coat, then gave a royal salute that sent his guards gliding into the miasma.
“And you can’t go looking like”—she gestured to his rumpled clothing that, even in a sad state, did little to conceal his martial bearing—“a prince who’s just stepped from the shop of the second-best tailor in the city. You’ll garner too much attention.”
“Best in the city,” he corrected and reached, ripping his coat lapel until it dangled mid-chest. Then he did something that, one, took her breath, and two, proved how susceptible she was to his abrasive charm. Tunneling his hand through his hair, he brought those glorious, overlong strands across his brow and into his face, hiding part, but not enough, of his beauty. “Let’s go.”
“Should you have to speak, can you fake an accent that doesn’t sound like a blessed king’s?” Delaney asked, as he hauled her toward the mews running alongside her townhouse.
“Doubtful. I went to Cambridge.”
She grimaced.Perfect.“Then keep your trap shut, your head down. If anyone sees your eyes, the jig is up. Oh, and hunch your shoulders; you’ve got to be about the tallest man in England.” She elbowed him in the side. “And don’t try to be clever. Don’t be a hero. Leave this to me. I know what I’m doing.”
“As easy as sneaking into White’s to wager on a horse.”
“Child’s play.” Looking both ways when they reached Regent Street, she led him across the busy lane, dodging carts and hacks, sweetmeats vendors, foxed patrons spilling from gin palaces and bawdy houses, a superb display of London life. “I wanted that bay so badly I could taste it. I would have paid fairly; I offered more than he was worth. The earl defined the manner of his misfortune. Why he picked billiards, I’ll never know. Because I’m a woman, I imagine, when I could have beaten him soundly when I was ten years old. He’s one of those halfwits who think owning a table means they know how to play thegame.”