Page 11 of The Duke is Wicked
“I bet the halfwit wanted more than the horse.”
Delaney halted beneath a lamppost, the gas’s glow sending an amber wash close to the color of his eyes over them. His statement held a possessive tone. A tone she hated. A tone thatthrilledher. She didn’t know which inclination to follow, vexed woman or attracted one, the scariest notion she’d had in years. In the end, she took the coward’s route and merely shrugged. “So what if he did.” Not an answer, which her domineering duke wanted. No virgin’s blushing stammer to contradict what he’d placed between them, a staged chess set ready for play.
Was she or wasn’t she?
The question every man wanted to know. Until they didn’t.
Let him imagine what he wanted. Contempt, she was used to. “Are you coming with me, under my direction, or is your plan to stand here scrutinizing my misdeeds? Shall we start with yours? Wasn’t there an opera singer you jilted with the token dash of jewelry tossed in? A dowager countess of something or the other who threw a tantrum at a ball when you ended your association? A melee at the Epsom Derby last year?” She tugged her hat brim low as a couple, arms entwined, lips locked, stumbled past them. “Another fracas days ago at the Blue Moon, your favorite haunt from what they say. I’m inquisitive enough to read the gossip sheets, Tremont. Worse, I remember every word.”
His jaw clenched, a muscle beneath his ear pulsing, his temper looking like it wasn’t far from erupting. He’d been a soldier, she recalled, and she’d wager a new American dollar this scowl, plus a weapon orthreeof his choice, were what he’d taken into battle with him.
He pulled his collar high as a fierce gust redolent of the Thames swept over them, rushing people who looked like they didn’t wish to be rushed past. “I’m coming, provided we don’t kill each other first.”
“Excellent,” she returned and marched off.
“How do you know these streets so well?” He fell into step beside her, his broad body blanking out the gaslight of every lamp they passed and throwing her in pulses of shadow. “It took me years to manage it, when I was born here.”
“A map.” She tapped her temple before remembering she shouldn’t answer his questions. When she’d first moved to London, she’d studied a street diagram for ten minutes, then stored it in her attic, memorized in full. She pulled it out for review when required. The Duke of Ashcroft, looking dispassionately ferocious, didn’t need to know this. Didn’t need to knowanyof it.
For some reason, however, he made Delaney want to tell him, another frightening consideration.
The crowd they muscled through swelled, the sounds and scents of the city increasing in volume and potency the further they advanced into the bowels of an exceedingly impoverished neighborhood.
With a curse, the duke dodged a pile of refuse recently dumped from a window. “Where are we going? And to meet whom?”
“Beneath the lamp outside the Rose and Three Tuns. Little Earl Street.”
Sebastian shoved a man who faltered into their path back a step and growled, “You thought to go toSeven Dialsalone?”
She tilted her head until she could see his glaring visage from beneath her hat brim. A big, handsome ball of fury. “I misjudged. I’m sure you don’t have reason to come here often. My apologies, sir.”
He laughed huskily, inviting a crude proposal from a lightskirt lounging against a fish wagon they passed. “I’m well-acquainted with the area. My preferred opium den is around the corner. Advice for you, Temple. Studying a map provides names but no context.” With an oath, he yanked his collar higher, until it hit the tops of his cheeks. “Predictable.” Taking her hand, he guided her down a narrow side street. “This is the faster route. Away from the markets selling birds that have made this locale famous. Also, not something one can determine from viewing a map.”
“What’s predictable?” She huffed, dodging puddles of muck and heaps of garbage, having to take two steps to his one to keep up. The man had the longest legs she’d ever seen. She squeezed his hand to slow him down, trying to ignore the wonderful feeling of his bare skin against hers, as neither of them wore gloves. The contact was rare, as she’d never once held a man’s hand, making her pulse tick, her heart drum inside her chest.
She could feel him, thefeelof him, to her toes.
“You’re probably the bloody cleverest woman I’ve ever met. Daring to the teeth, to make it interesting. But common sense?” He danced to the side, knocking off a newspaper that had tumbled down the alley and wrapped itself around his boot. “Not so much.”
“Quit protecting me,” she seethed and wrenched her hand from his grip. “I don’t need it.”
“Not exactly a habit I can turn on and off like a tap. And you’re wrong.” Expression thunderous, he halted before they entered the clogged avenue twenty feet in front of them that she assumed was Little Earl Street. “You want to know how Victoria doused the fire in the hearth when she entered your guest bedchamber? How Finn read your mind when you recognized the Soul Catcher, because he did, and I think you know it. You should also know, he’s never able to do that with his wife in the vicinity. You and your talent are an enigma.”
“I don’t want—”
“Finn’s brother, Julian, Viscount Beauchamp, has a handkerchief of yours that Simon filched that day in Hyde Park. Julian’s supernatural gift, because almost everyone surrounding me has one, is that he discourteously steps into a scene from the owner’s life when he touches an object. I’ve been told when he stepped into yours after caressing that slip of embroidered linen, he witnessed you in a tiny room filled with books. Finn’s seen this room in his dreams, too.” He took her elbow and gave her a gentle shake. “DreamsI’min as well. So, after this trifling drama, one I hope we survive, we’re going to find out who you’re running from and why you seem to know much, yet wish to reveal little.”
Delaney closed her eyes and palmed her brow, a headache ripping through her skull. They couldn’t know about her. Truly, they couldn’t.
“You were supposed to come alone. This is vexin’ news, indeed, missy.” A stocky, bear of a man strode from the mist and into the alley. Her messenger wore the clothes and scent of a butcher, his coarse shirt and trousers stained with blood and entrails.
Delaney swallowed and jerked her cap low while lifting her chin high. Stepping in front of Sebastian, she waved him quiet behind her back. “Nothing to it, mate. Me brother is all.”
“Some brother,” the messenger growled, and took a fast step forward. “Only one man in this hellish city with that height on ‘im, eyes that shade. I can see ’em glowing like the devil’s own from here, jus’ like they say. I read the papers, don’t you know? He used to frequent this area, you silly thing. Well known in some of the dens. Darling, balmy girl dressed like a lad, disappointed I am that you brought a duke to this meeting. I told you, no one else.”
With no reason left to hide his identity, the Duke of Ashcroft stepped around her to shield her body with his. “Thankfully, she did invite me. Or was forced to. A propitious inclination, that.”
The man who had a note from her blackmailer somewhere on his person shifted from one grubby boot to the other, snaked his hand under his tattered coat and came out with a glittering blade the length of her forearm. “This bit of diplomacy be between me and the American twist, guvnor. The one with the costly ridin’ boots I’m taking with me when I go. I think they be about my wife’s size and may make up for being involved in a spot of trouble I, for once in my life, didn’t ask for. And if not, I can sell them handily.” He spat on the ground and took a shuffling step forward. “I’ll cut ya, Yer Grace, as you bleed red like the rest of us. Makes no matter to me. My recommendation? You leave the chit to her own misfortunes, as they be plenty.”