Page 3 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

DANIEL ROBERTS, THE Duke of Dunrose, caught up with Rutchester as he was leaving the building where the ball was being held. Rutchester was rushing down the steps and Dunrose hurried until he could get abreast with the other man.

“I know you haven’t forgotten that we have carriages to hold up this evening,” said Dunrose. “I know you haven’t, so whyever it is that you think you can run off and leave me, I could not say.”

“We aren’t going to be intercepting carriages until the ball breaks up, and that won’t be for hours,” said Rutchester. “I’ll meet you outside the city.”

There would be at least four or five carriages that would be traveling to estates just outside the city, out in the dark, along the highway. With luck, they’d come at regular intervals, not one right after the other, and they could hit each and every one of them.

Dunrose, and his four friends, were highwaymen.

Most highwaymen robbed because they were poor and they needed money.

But the dukes did it because they were being blackmailed and they never had enough money to give the man who blackmailed them, the Comte Champeraigne.

Also, they were bid to do certain jobs by Champeraigne from time to time.

They must do his bidding, for he knew their terrible secret .

Years ago, when they were but seventeen, they had banded together to kill their fathers.

Their fathers had deserved it, being abusive blackguards who’d done all manner of awful things to him.

Well, Dunrose rather thought he’d gotten off the easiest of them all.

He hadn’t been scarred like Nothshire or forced to watch his father fuck men like Arthford or been molested by his father like Rutchester.

Dunrose’s father had barely ever laid a finger on him.

Of course, that didn’t mean that Dunrose’s father had been a particularly nice man, because he hadn’t been. He did things without his fists, though, using his silky words. He could talk you into things, Dunrose’s father could. Dunrose had watched the man talk his own mother into drowning herself.

“Well, we’ve left the ball now,” said Dunrose to Rutchester, as they got to the bottom of the steps.

“We might as well spend the time waiting together. We could simply go out to the road and wait, I suppose, but it is cold, isn’t it?

” He glanced back at the building, where he had left behind his coat.

“Could I not pop back in for my overcoat, Rutchester?”

“I don’t care what you do,” said Rutchester. “I left because I don’t really like you.”

“Well, no one likes you,” said Dunrose, stopping short and letting the other man walk off.

Rutchester kept walking, not looking back.

“Fuck you, Oliver,” Dunrose muttered.

“I heard that,” called Rutchester.

“I heard that,” Dunrose repeated in a mocking tone.

Rutchester turned back around, hands clenched in fists. “Don’t provoke me, if you please, Daniel. You know I cannot stop myself.”

“You know what I think?” said Dunrose. “I think you absolutely can stop yourself. I think you think you can’t stop yourself just like I thought I couldn’t stop drinking laudanum. But I haven’t had a drop in months now, have I?”

“Yes, good for you,” said Rutchester, very sarcastic. “We are nothing alike, though.”

“Well, true,” said Dunrose. “We aren’t.”

“I shall meet you,” said Rutchester. “In two hours’ time. At the bend in the road just beyond the city limits.”

HYACINTH’S CARRIAGE JOLTED to a stop, and she sat up straight, concerned.

This was not good.

She was staying just outside of town at a house with Seraphine, which wasn’t an ideal situation.

For one thing, no one could know she was doing that, for it wasn’t proper.

She was not supposed to be going about and staying places alone.

She was unmarried, and she was meant to have a constant chaperone.

Her foster family, the Collinses, had three other daughters younger than Hyacinth, and they were quite concerned with bringing the girls out in society.

They had made the daring choice of having all three girls out at once, instead of waiting for the first to marry before bringing out the second one, and they were simply drowning in activity.

So, they weren’t paying her any mind, which was partly why she could get away with things like going on and staying in a house just outside London without anyone noticing.

But it was also part of the reason why she didn’t have a chaperone.

The Collinses were juggling the governess, a maiden aunt, and their various married female relatives to cover all three of their girls.

There was no one for Hyacinth. At a ball, no one tended to notice.

They assumed her chaperone was nearby, keeping a watchful eye upon her, whilst Hyacinth stayed visible in the room.

Hyacinth played the part well enough to even say things to Marian on occasion, like, Oh, let me make sure that it is known I am simply on my way to the tea room so that no one worries. She didn’t precisely lie about having a chaperone there, but she made it seem like she did .

Anyway, she should not be in a carriage sans chaperone, though she was.

She really needed to get married post haste, because all of this was getting more and more difficult to navigate.

She had begged Seraphine to come, but Seraphine did not wish to pose as Hyacinth’s chaperone.

She did not even wish for Hyacinth to let on that they knew each other.

Seraphine didn’t wish anyone to know that Hyacinth were French, thinking it would materially lessen her chances of marrying someone.

And it would. Now. That everyone thought that she was a rich English heiress risen from trade. Because now, if everyone knew she was actually penniless French nobility, they would know she was a liar .

But Hyacinth was unsure that—if the truth had been known all along—it would have prevented her making a marriage.

Honestly, what with the fact that her pretend dowry attracted entirely the wrong sort of man, it was perhaps more difficult now, with the ruse.

The ruse made her sought after, yes, but she had become known as a woman who had exacting standards and now men were frightened of her.

She had not danced once, all night.

Everything was quite bad.

And now the carriage was stopping, and if anyone saw that she was in here all alone, with no chaperone, she was going to have a smear on her reputation, which was very, very bad, possibly disastrous.

She hurled open the door, but immediately retreated, letting out a mewling noise.

Highwaymen!

It was bloody highwaymen, this close to London!

How could that be?

She had known about the Lords of the Crossroads, who were active in years past, of course, but they’d been a good bit further out of town.

Why, currently, her carriage was just around the bend from the city, and someone could run back for a Bow Street Runner—well, they did tend to stick to the Westminister district, she supposed, but truly, what highwayman was so bold as to strike right here?

She put a hand to her chest, letting out noisy, terrified breaths. Highwaymen. Lord in heaven.

The door to the carriage opened.

A man stood there, in a domino mask, with a hat on his head, pointing a pistol at her, a long cloak about his shoulders.

And even through all that, she immediately recognized him.

“Your Grace?” she said, very loudly. “What are you doing?”

“I think,” said the man in a Cockney accent, “you musta got me right confused with someone else, love.”

“No, I have not,” she said. “But you do an accent rather well, I must say. You’re the Duke of Dunrose, and don’t even pretend that you aren’t.”

A chuckle from behind her. “Oh, didn’t I say it was madness to go to the ball first if we were planning on robbing people after they left?”

“The Duke of Rutchester, too?” she said.

A gunshot.

She went still.

“Oh, God, Rutchester, did you shoot the driver?” said Dunrose, his accent gone now.

Another gunshot. “Footman, too,” said Rutchester. “I suppose you’re going to make me shoot the girl?”

She whimpered. “I have no idea who you are, actually, really, I don’t.” She was an idiot, that was what she was. “You don’t have to shoot me. I won’t say anything.”

“You do have to shoot her,” said Rutchester. “Or I can do it. I mean, last time a woman recognized us, Nothshire married her. You going to marry this one?”

“Nothshire?” she breathed. This was all madness.

“What do you say?” said Dunrose, grinning at her. “Marry me or die, how’s that for a proposal? Look, maybe we can negotiate. Of course, since everyone else is dead, I don’t see how you’re going to get home. Why don’t you have a chaperone, by the by? That’s very odd.”

“Negotiate,” she said, nodding. “Yes.”

Rutchester appeared, also masked. “There’s no negotiation, I’m afraid. I don’t mind shooting her.”

“No!” she said. “Look, erm, I have a secret, too. All right? I’ll tell you my secret and then we both can ruin each other, yes? And then, you can let me live, because either of us has the power to destroy the other, putting us on equal footing in terms of risk.”

Dunrose considered. “All right.”

“All right?” she said. “You swear?”

“Let’s hear the secret,” said Rutchester.

“I’m not really an heiress,” she said. “I don’t have a dowry. No dowry at all, actually, not even a little one.”

Dunrose laughed. “Truly? But everyone says —”

“All lies,” she said. “And if you tell anyone that, I am destroyed, so… you see? I won’t tell that you are highwaymen, and you won’t tell that I’m… yes?” She cringed, waiting, because she thought Rutchester might just shoot her, though he didn’t seem to be loading his pistol.

Could have done it before he came into her view, she supposed.

She looked back and forth between them.

“Not an heiress,” said Dunrose. “You always have new dresses and you’re always wearing those necklaces and rings—”