Page 12 of The Duke is Wicked
“Thank you for the suggestion. It’s actually prudent, but no.” Shoving Delaney aside with a hoarse whisper tostay, Sebastian moved, swiftness she wouldn’t have guessed his recent illness allowed, slamming the messenger to his belly before Delaney could take her next breath, the knife skittering across the slick cobblestones and against the brick wall. “She’ll be keeping her boots as well,” he added, wrenching the messenger’s arm high, a crack that rang through the alley.
“You broke my arm,” he wailed, “when I’m just a bloody runner! I ain’t the one you want. I’m only delivering the dispatch. The ghost delivered it, the doxy who haunts my lodging. Scared the very soul from me, she did, and promised never to leave if I didn’t do her bidding. I was just told to findher.” He jerked his head in Delaney’s direction. “The troublesome American chit.”
“It’s not broken.” Sebastian released him to dig through the man’s pockets, finally coming up with a crumpled, sweat-stained sheet. “Dislocated. Pop it back into place, which is dreadfully painful, I’m sorry to say, and you’ll be fine in a few days. Unless I decide to kill you, which I’m more than happy to do.” He trailed the pointed corner of the note up the runner’s jaw. “Give me a reason; go ahead. That blood you speak of, I’ve spilled a lot. Another drop won’t matter, as hell welcomes me already.”
“Don’t,” Delaney whispered in a ragged pant. Sebastian looked to her, his eyes glowing, his face a brutal mask.No more death, she thought wildly.
Shaky, despite his impressive show of force, Sebastian rose to his feet, calmly unfolded the note and tilted it into the meager moonlight wafting through the alley, placing his boot on the runner’s back. Whatever he read had him sucking in a tight breath.
The fire came out of nowhere, igniting a bundle of rumpled broadsheets tucked in the corner of the alley with a dull roar.
Leaning down, Sebastian jerked the man to his feet. “Smother that, Temple, will you?”
Delaney leaped to stamp out the blaze, thankful it was insignificant enough for her boot to kill it, all the while watching an incensed duke negotiate with a now-meek messenger.Hermessenger.Hermessage. Coins exchanged hands as well as harshly uttered assurances of never being seen again unless another missive arrived. Then the runner stumbled into the night, the putrid haze swallowing him whole.
The moment he was out of sight, Sebastian braced his hand on the wall and released a pained breath, revealing the infirmity she’d been sure was there somewhere. She had to restrain herself from going to him. Protecting as he wanted to protect. Of all the crazy notions, when they were strangers and nothing more.
“You’re a danger to me, Temple. Worse than a bee sting, worse than the fires storming through my dreams, through my life since I was a boy. Victoria and Piper help me control them, while you make them rage. You make me want to burn without recompense.” In a fit of pique, he yanked his hand through his hair, sending those magnificent strands flying. “And your English accent is horrible, by the by. As dreadful as your disguise. Have you not learned with your talent? Reading about things doesn’t bring them to life. Lines of text don’t translate toliving.”
“You’d have made a good marauder,” she found herself admitting, awed by his brute strength, his skill at defending himself, his calm command. The muscles in his arms and thighs were flexing and shifting from the skirmish, drawing her eye and sending a spiral of heat through her belly.
Even the smoldering ruins of the blaze he’d accidentally set stoking her interest.
Delaney wished this wasn’t true but could only admit it was.
She’d never been dazzled by a man before.
“That’s what you think to say to me? That I would make a finemarauder? When, at any moment, I could incinerate this city?” Ripping the note from his pocket, he threw it at her. “Stop looking impressed, when your duplicity has landed you square in a fine muddle. And I know. Please don’t feel you have to tell me that I don’t understand the half of it.” He kicked, his boot connecting with a bottle that shattered against the wall, moonlight glittering off the broken shards and in her eyes. “But I will, I promise you, I will.”
Delaney dropped to her haunches, unfolded the sheet and spread it over her knee. “Oh,” she whispered, because there wasn’t much more to say. Because shewassquare in a fine muddle, what her father would have called an unholy mess.
Soul Catcherwas all the message said.
She looked up to find the duke’s gaze—distinctive enough for a jackleg thief to recognize him at ten paces—fixed on her. Unbending, unyielding. Nothing charitable about it. She could do little else but look back to the note to escape his censure. “I’ll explain this. I can, you know. Sort of. I’m not a danger to you or your friends. You must believe that. I’m only trying to save myself.”
He went to his knee beside her, cupping her chin to bring her eyes to his. The ruby on his signet ring glinted in the moonlight. “These people you threaten, they’re more than friends. They’re myfamily.”
“My brother ismyfamily.”
“And this”—he nodded to the sheet lying limply on her knee—“you do for him?”
She swallowed the heat choking her throat, a stranger’s touch, an unexpected invitation to a world she wanted no part of. A world in which hehungeredto belong.
She couldn’t share her past, couldn’t invite anyone into her future.
Once again, she was stuck in the crack in-between.
“Tell me what this is about,” he whispered, his hold on her tightening. One of the few times, she’d bet, that he’d asked for something and not been sure he’d get it. “You can trust me, even if you don’t think you can.”
Unbidden, choosing body over mind, she reached to cover his hand where it lay against her cheek. He startled and sucked a shallow breath through his teeth, his lips falling open in what might be interpreted as encouragement. His fingers trembled, curling more gently around her jaw as his pupils expanded. His thumb swept her bottom lip, a tender attack. Unsure what was happening, she nonetheless let it happen.
Let herself be tempted, enticed.
You’re a fool, Delaney.Not the first, not the last, but oh, she was a fool.
But this man was worth a moment’s torment.
Sebastian Tremont was, without doubt, the finest specimen she’d ever seen, crouched there in a filthy alley in a city, a country, for which she had no love. A country holding no love for her. Not only was he stunning, he was stalwart. Honorable, a trait that seeped like the scent of leather and spice from his skin. Possible, a relationship between them, if they’d lived in another time, without mystical talents and problematic pasts, and titles that held exalted and finalizing significance.