Duke of Dishonor Page 3

  Another man appeared with golden blond hair and sharp, intelligent features. Brandon recognized him instantly as the Earl of Goldthwaite.

  The other man’s gaze sharpened. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  He came to stand with the others, three sets of male eyes and one ornery female, staring back at him. “There are five of you and one of me. What sort of trap could I possibly set?”

  “You could have others waiting.” Bash jabbed his finger in Dishonor’s direction.

  Menace stepped forward. “I saw your partner on the Thames. I know what he did.”

  Dishonor winced. That did make him difficult to trust. And the mention of Ewan made his feelings of remorse swell. “Easily explained.”

  “Start explaining,” Bash grumbled.

  In answer, he pulled out his notebook, and handed it to Goldthwaite. He knew the man had been trying to find Brandon’s identity and he likely would eventually. He was a shark in the business waters of London. “I’m giving this to you. It’s a list of names and addresses of every man in the crime ring that’s been plaguing us. Including, I believe, the leader. I can’t think of a better man to identify each and every one of the names and places on this list.” He drew in a deep breath. “I haven’t slept in over two days; I’ve crawled through every back alley of London and I’m dog-tired. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent. So please.” He shook his head. “I’ll go myself if you won’t join me, but time is ticking, and I’ve got a feeling in my gut that if we don’t act—”

  “I’m coming,” Eliza cut him off. “I’ll just get my pelisse.”

  “Eliza,” Menace hissed at his wife. “You can’t just decide—”

  “They’re my sisters,” she said by way of an answer, then she turned and gestured to Isabella. “We’re not negotiating.”

  “Can you believe her?” Menace mumbled, running a hand through his hair again. “What possessed me to marry such a strong-willed woman?”

  “I can’t attest to that,” Brandon answered. “But I can tell you she’s exactly like my friend, her father.” He meant to make a point and his words hit their mark.

  That stilled Bash. He looked at Dishonor for several moments before he gave a terse nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Within minutes they’d departed, crammed into the Duke of Devonhall’s carriage. “Start talking,” Bash grumbled the second they sat. “If I don’t like what you say, we turn around.”

  “I’d like to know who your friend is,” Menace added. “The one I saw stealing from the crown.”

  Goldthwaite had joined them too. “I’d like to know who he is.” He pointed at Brandon. “Not many men can hide their identity from me.”

  Isabella and Eliza sat together holding hands. It was Isabella, with her eyes so like Emily’s that redirected the conversation. “You’ll all have to wait. Tell us what’s about to happen to our sisters that has you so worried.”

  He gave a terse nod. “I’ve been following the coin. For about a month now.” He looked over at Menace. “And I was only able to do that because my friend, the man you saw, infiltrated the ring of thieves as a thief himself.”

  Menace’s mouth fell open and then snapped closed. “Proceed.”

  “Last night while I was watching the collection of coin, I heard about six men talking. Your uncle lost his life…” he hesitated, wincing as he looked at Eliza.

  She straightened a look of remorse crossing her face. “We’re aware. Continue.”

  “Your uncle lost his life because he failed to deliver you.”

  He heard Eliza’s sharp intake of breath, but Isabella patted her sister’s hand. “Our uncle was a fool to make bargains with such men. Don’t think a thing about it.”

  “I know,” Eliza answered. “But Avery never can know any of this.”

  “Avery?” He asked.

  “Uncle Malcolm’s daughter. Our cousin.”

  “Who is also at our home,” Bash added, giving him a meaningful glare.

  He understood. Keep quiet around Avery.

  “Please continue.” Isabella leaned toward him.

  “Yes.” He scrubbed his face. “Then they began discussing how they might gain favor with their boss. Maestro they called him. The long and short of it was that they decided delivering one of the unwed Carrington sisters was their best plan.”

  “And you’re just telling us this now?” Bash half yelled from his seat. It filled the carriage, causing Brandon to wince. The man had a point.

  He rubbed his eyes, tiredness and fear making him feel stretched thin. “Try to understand. I spent more than a year trying to unravel this mystery. It’s important to all of us that these thieves be rooted out. I was so close, I had to see it through.”

  Decadence leaned forward. “You could have sent word.”

  “Bash.” Isabella touched her husband’s arm. “We know now, and we’ll make sure they’re safe.”

  Brandon sat back in his seat scrubbing his face again. Because he couldn’t shake that feeling that time was running out. Or that he’d failed Emily again…

  Emily buttoned her coat as she looked out the large doors that led to the back garden. She’d decided a walkabout with some fresh air would do wonders for the dark mood that had settled over her.

  Abigail was right. Being trapped in the house was driving them both mad.

  She hadn’t been this jealous of her sisters since she’d been a small girl. Eliza got the best of everything with her forward personality, and Isabella had always collected praise for her steadfast nature.

  Abigail had been the sweet, adorable baby, while Emily…she’d been plain old Emily.

  Her sisters swore she’d become the most beautiful, but she wasn’t certain. Was that a trait of value? She’d rather be brave, or strong, or incite the passion of men…or perhaps just one man.

  And clearly, she’d had far too much time to think.

  Because when she wasn’t comparing herself to her sisters, she was dreaming of a man who’d never even told her his real name.

  He’d saved her life.

  And he’d been shot while protecting her.

  But who was to say he wouldn’t have done the same for any of her sisters?

  She stopped at the far end of the garden, staring up at the sinking sun in the sky. It had warmed the air in the middle of the day, but now the wind was brisk and cold. Still, it cleared her head and steadied her thoughts.

  She needed to find a way to help her sisters. They were attempting to solve a mystery while she sat at home pining. Action would surely make her feel better.

  She nodded, though no one was watching. The question was, what to do? And once she’d decided upon that, she’d have to find the strength to enact her plan. Like she had the first day she’d met Dishonor.

  Her hair fluttered in the breeze as she considered. She could return home and search the house again. They’d looked a hundred times but it had been months since their last search, and they’d learned so much since then. Perhaps they’d overlooked something that didn’t hold meaning before.

  She could go to her father’s solicitor and beg for Dishonor’s address. The man was as steadfast when it came to rules as a man could be, but she could try and persuade him. If she said she had funds that belonged to Dishonor…or a business lead as a partner in Carrington Shipping.

  She smiled to herself. This…this was productive. This was good and clearly, she needed to spend more time in fresh air.

  And she needed to apply herself to action rather than moping.

  She started back for the house, intent upon going inside and writing a note to the solicitor. Surely one of her brothers-in-law would escort her to such a meeting.

  But the sound of a breaking stick caught her attention and she froze.

  Cocking her head to the side, she listened for another movement. Had it been a small animal? A bird? Still her heart sped up in her chest, a loud thrum filling her ears.

  It had sounded…large.

  She to
ok a tentative step forward as she delicately lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging through dry leaves. Her toe lightly touched down and then took another small step, turning her head to the other side, to listen more carefully. If only her heart would stop beating so loudly.

  There was a rustle behind her.

  She turned just as a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth.

  Emily tried to scream, but the gloved hand muffled any sound just as another arm clamped about her waist. She twisted, but the heavy arm dragged her against a thick body, trapping her arms against her own chest.

  She tried to kick back, her head thrashing, but he was too strong, and he held her in place even as he moved toward the garden gate.

  No. No. No. If he made it out with her…her heart beat at a wild rhythm.

  She stuck out her foot, planting it against the brick pillar to keep them in the garden. A jarring ripple tore through her body.

  The man behind her let out a curse as her elbow made contact with his stomach. She felt the moment he loosened his grip and she heaved herself out of his arms running toward the house.

  But she hadn’t even made it a step before he grabbed her hair and pulled her back.

  She howled in pain even as tears involuntarily pricked at her eyes and then she was trapped against him again. They were through the gate and down the alley before she’d even caught her breath enough to fight.

  Where was he taking her?

  He slipped down another alley, carrying her as she tried uselessly to squirm away.

  He was strong and fast, and darkness was descending.

  Dimly, she heard a carriage and then the beat of footsteps behind them. Were there more men?

  What would they do to her?

  She twisted again, trying to bite his hand but he held firm.

  Street after street they darted through alleys, minutes passing as her body grew weak and tired. She tried to fight, to be strong, but his arms were like iron bands around her.

  A tear slipped out of her eye. She was about to be lost.

  Chapter Three

  Brandon watched in horror from the carriage window as a large man slipped into the alley carrying a squirming bundle of skirts.

  Emily.

  He couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but his gut told him it was so.

  Regret slammed into him like an anvil to the chest. He’d made a mistake.

  He flung open the carriage door, nearly tripping on Goldthwaite as he jumped from the moving carriage. His foot hit the ground awkwardly and he sprawled on the stone, cursing a blue streak, but he hauled himself up again and started at a sprint after the man who was carrying off his woman.

  When had she become his? Was that even her?

  He didn’t bother to ask any more questions as he pushed himself faster. He heard the carriage stop but he was already down one alley and onto the next. Damn, the man was fast for carrying another person, but then again, Brandon hadn’t actually slept or ate in days.

  Still, he pressed faster, slowly gaining ground alley after alley, street after street. He didn’t hear any steps behind him though he was sure one of the other men had followed. Where was Goldthwaite, Menace, or Decadence?

  It didn’t matter.

  He was nearly upon them when he saw her go limp. Was she being suffocated?

  Whatever the reason, energy pumped in his veins and with a final burst, he overtook them, crashing a fist onto the back of the man’s skull.

  He stumbled forward, his arm loosening on the woman. That was the moment she came back to life and with a twist, wrenched from the attacker’s arms.

  The large behemoth of a man turned to grab her. Brandon didn’t hesitate. Raising his fist again, he punched the man square between the eyes.

  The larger fellow fell like a sack of bricks.

  “You,” she gasped, and Brandon turned to see a pale Emily staring back at him.

  Her hair was pulled out of its neat coif, her eyes were large and watery, and her arms wrapped about her waist. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. “Me.”

  She took a tentative step toward him. “I think I’m going to faint.”

  Her knees began to buckle, and in a second, he had his arms about her, lifting her into his embrace.

  He heard a moan behind him and knew they only had moments before her kidnapper awoke. He had another choice: set her down and risk losing the fight and her…or letting this man go but getting Emily to safety.

  For a split second he grappled. But then reason prevailed. He’d nearly lost her today, choosing his investigation over her safety. He shook his head. Such a fool.

  He should have come yesterday, but he hadn’t. His gut turned as he started toward the entrance of the alley. They spilled onto a wide street and then an even wider, busier one, where he flagged a hack.

  He didn’t stop to think of how he looked both in appearance and carrying an unconscious woman until the driver gruffly rejected him.

  “Please,” he begged, hoping he sounded convincing. “My wife needs help. I’ll pay double.”

  The driver gave them another glance and frowned as though he didn’t believe Brandon but then a quick nod and Brandon hopped into the carriage before the man could change his mind. “Triple if you hurry,” he called out and then snapped the door shut.

  There, he settled Emily onto his lap.

  She was still out, her body limp against his, her lashes resting on her pale cheeks.

  He skimmed a thumb over her high cheekbone, her breath warm against his palm.

  Without much thought, he traced the curve of her jaw, the delicate column of her neck, her brow, the shell of her ear.

  She was so lovely, there in his arms.

  His breath caught as his tiredness fled, his limbs gaining back their strength.

  Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes like the wings of a butterfly as large brown eyes met his.

  “Emily,” he breathed as he stared down at her.

  “Where am I?” she asked, trying to push up. He could feel the weakness in her limbs.

  “A hack. On your way back home.”

  “You saved me,” she said, giving up and settling against him. “Again.”

  He couldn’t hold the next words back. “I’ll always save you.” Except he almost hadn’t. Except he’d hardly saved her at all. His actions had caused her far more trouble than they had peace.

  She smiled then, soft and sweet and relaxed as she snuggled against him. “Why?”

  The word was gently whispered on an almost-sleepy sigh, but it struck him like lightning. Why indeed? “Because,” he said, clearing his throat. As much of the truth as he could reveal seemed the only appropriate answer. “I owe what I have in life to your father. He was more of a father to me than my own in many ways.’

  “Oh,” she said, this time lifting her head and pushing up into an awkward sitting position. “I see. That makes sense.” Her voice had lost its dreamy quality, going flat. Had his answer disappointed?

  He wanted to pull her back against his chest, cradle her in his arms. He wished to hold her close and whisper…what? He shook his head. He was exiled, in danger from the men he’d been hunting, and she was even more vulnerable than he. Now was not the time to wax poetic. Besides, if she’d known how he’d pulled Ewan away…

  She scooted across the hack, taking the seat across from him, their knees still touching. “Thank you,” she said, leaning forward. “For saving me. I’m sure my father is now forever in your debt, as am I.”

  He swallowed, clenching his hands to keep from touching her face again. “You’re welcome.”

  “May I ask...do I look atrocious?”

  “You look beautiful. As always.”

  A blush stained her cheeks then. It was the sort of pink that made him think of roses in summer. He closed his eyes. He was about to make a fool of himself. What was it about this woman? He hadn’t dallied with any female in such a long time. Was that the problem? He’d been so focused on his fu
ture, on restoring his name and then solving this mystery. For a moment he considered after…when all those goals were met. Would he marry? Have children?

  But he opened his eyes again, looking at Emily. Now was not the time to become this distracted. He hadn’t actually achieved anything yet. But he also had to confess that this attraction was specific to her.

  And it was most unwanted. He had an agenda, and she was dividing his loyalties, making him question his plan. His actions.

  “I appreciate those kind words, but I don’t want my sisters to worry too much. Tell me…” She lifted her hands to her head. “Should I undo my hair? Do I have any tears in my dress? Noticeable bruises?”

  His jaw clenched. She was worried about her sisters now? But that was one of the things he liked about her. In a world that had been so harsh, she was kind and caring.

  And she was right. Her hair was a lovely mess.

  “Come here,” he said without explanation, and to his astonishment she obeyed.

  She squeezed next to him on the seat. He ignored the ripple of pleasure that coursed through him as her hip pressed to his.

  He lifted a hand and gently massaged her scalp at its base, finding hair pins and pulling them out one by one. The act was intimate in a way even tupping a woman was not and his body hardened in response.

  Emily’s tresses were even silkier than he’d imagined, and he nearly groaned with pleasure as he worked. Her hair tumbled down her back in sections and with each piece, he forgot why he needed to keep her at a distance. What was more important than the light floral scent of her hair?

  He’d be free soon. Back in the good graces of the crown, unfettered from these thieves.

  Brandon pulled the last pin from her locks and she gave her head a tiny shake sending ripples down the long locks of hair. He wished to run his fingers through the length and let them slide through his hands. Hell, he wished he could bury his face into the mass of it.

  Then he’d kiss the column of her neck.

  But she lifted her hands to begin braiding the mass of hair and the position thrust her breasts forward. Now, he forgot all about her hair as his gaze fixated on her chest, the narrowing of her waist, the curve of her back.