My Dangerous Duke (36 page)

“Why, you brassy little hoyden,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. “You’re making a play for marriage, aren’t you? You want to be a duchess. Those women put the notion in your head.”

“No!” she exclaimed, looking startled at his accusation. “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Kate, but that’s never going to happen. And I don’t appreciate your trying to manipulate me.”

“I am not trying to manipulate you, I am being as honest with you as I know how! I’m just trying to do it in a way that will not scare you!”

“You, scare me? Why, you impertinent little thing! Pray tell, whatever do you mean, scare
me
?”

“What I have to say, you don’t want to hear.”

“No, speak, please! By all means.”

She eyed him, clearly losing patience. “Never mind. It’s not a play for marriage. I know I’m not highborn enough for you.”

“That’s not why I said that,” he corrected her at once. “Frankly, my refusal has nothing to do with you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “The curse.”

He nodded darkly.

“Rohan.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure how to tell you this. But the curse is just a tale.”

“Kate—”

“If you don’t stop using it as an excuse to keep love out of your life, you are going to end up a very lonely man.”

“So, you accuse me of lying?”

“Only to yourself, my love.”

“Right. Was it a lie that killed my mother?” He checked his growing ire. “The curse is no ‘excuse,’ Kate. It’s real, and so is my ability to carry it out. Which is why I would rather see my line die out than ever marry, or even fall in love. Understand that now.”

“You don’t mean that,” she reproached softly while his cold, stony words still hung in the room. “You’re just scared, Rohan.”

“Damn it, I am not the one who’s scared!” he fairly roared at her. “
I’m
the one who scares others! You have no idea what I am capable of! But I do. I know what I am, and how far I can go—which is why I made you the offer I did. So, take it or leave it, Kate. It’s either my mistress or nothing. That’s the best that I can do.”

He instantly saw this had been the wrong thing to say. The green eyes narrowed, defiance blazing in their depths; those pretty shoulders he had so often covered in kisses slowly squared; her dainty chin came up a notch.

Damn it, hadn’t he learned by now that she could be nearly as stubborn as he?

“Very well.” She went to the settee and picked up the pieces of the costume he had brought for her.

Rohan watched her, knowing he was in the wrong, but too full of three types of pride to give an inch: the pride of the duke, the pride of the soldier, the pride of the male. He was choking on all three. “Would you do me the honor of answering, please?”

“You want an answer? Certainly, Your Grace. Here’s your answer!” She swept the wad of cash off the table nearby and whipped it at his head.

It bounced off his shoulder, and she stalked to the door.
That’s my girl.
“So, it’s nothing, then,” he drawled.

She kept walking.

“Kate. Come back.”

“You’ll have plenty of company soon enough. Enjoy your harlots, Duke, but I will not be one of them.” She paused in the doorway, glancing back. “You’re going to regret losing me for the rest of your life, Warrington.”

“If I had a penny for every time I heard that.”

She shook her head in wonder. “Why are you being so heartless?”

“Because I have no heart, Miss Madsen!” he exclaimed in a razor-sharp, casual tone. “Haven’t you figure that out by now? Just ask the last chap I killed in Naples.”

At these words, she paled and came back into the room; he stared harshly into her eyes as she approached with hesitant steps.

Rohan swallowed hard, but he could no longer hold back the bitterest of his secrets. She had to know the perfidy of the man she was dealing with. “The target I was sent to. He had had three little tots and a wife inside the house. So I took him in the garden. He grabbed my gun. They heard the shot. Then I heard the screams when they came out and found him dead. Of course, by then, I was already gone. Now, you tell me,” he ground out, “that someone like that deserves what you call love. Don’t make me want what I can’t have.”

“But you can.”

He stared at her in longing, but in that moment, he was like a caged animal. He longed for freedom, but if she came too close, he feared he’d bite.

“Don’t you understand that’s what I’ve been saying all this time?” she asked softly, coming closer with a gaze full of the most exquisite tenderness. “Love is all you need, my dear, and I can give it to you.” Tears filled her eyes as she reached for him. “I love you, Rohan—”

“Stop this—foolishness!” He brushed her aside, roughly turning away. His heart pounded. He tried very hard not to let her see that he was shaken. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. I love you. You already know I do.”

“It’s a delusion, Kate. I am not fit for
love.
Do not speak of it to me again, I pray you,” he finished in a pained whisper.

“Rohan.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her gazing at him in tearful bewilderment.

“Kate. If you weaken me, you’re the one who’s going to end up hurt.” He stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the tears that had filled her eyes. He shook his head. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

“What do you think you’re doing now?”

“Leave me,” he breathed, shutting her out. “I can’t give you what you want.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then shook her head, pivoted, and strode back toward the door. His heart continued pounding as he shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, she had gone.

And his rage exploded into swirling despair.
Damn it!
He suddenly punched the nearest wall, smashing a splintered dent into the plaster.

He couldn’t believe he had just hurt her, but that’s all he seemed to have been born and built to do.

As he stood there, chest heaving, blood collecting on his knuckles, he fixed his fiery stare on the ground and struggled to hold his anger in check—for now.

He would save it up, use it for fuel tonight when it came time for him to do what he did best. Then, perhaps, she’d finally see the truth about her “love.”

Chapter 17

I
t hurt. Badly. To tell someone you loved him, only to have it thrown back in your face. But Kate refused to give up hope. Drawing on a great reserve of tenacity she’d hardly known she possessed, she dried her tears and vowed to keep trying until she found a way to reach him.

Rohan needed her whether he knew it or not.

True, some of the things he had said to her had been hurtful and heartlessly cold, but she knew he didn’t mean it. It was just defensive bluster. He was merely rattled that she had given him back his money because that meant he was no longer in control.

He wanted to be able to dictate the terms of “how far he could go” in letting himself get close to her, as he had said, but half measures would not suffice for her, when she had given him everything.

Mentally, she stood her ground, determined to gentle him eventually. To tame the wild Beast. She had developed a certain knack, after all, of persuading him to trust her, bit by bit.

He thought he could chase her away with his stormy roars, like a great lion with a thorn in its paw, or that he could scare her off with his terrible tale of murder in Naples. But all this had only revealed to her that he needed her love even more than she had thought.

No matter what dire warnings he invoked, she knew he was incapable of ever hurting her, as he so feared.

How could he think he was not fit for love? He was generous, unselfish, and brave. Yet he could not seem to see that, indeed, he was entirely worthy of her devotion. She wished he would stop fighting it, but no matter. She was at least as patient as he was stubborn.

At any rate, their row had not altered their plans for the evening. They were both adult enough to put it aside in order to deal with the problem at hand.

That night, as scheduled, they set out for the rat-catcher’s shop in Shadwell, riding in a plain, shabby carriage used by the servants.

Parker was driving with Wilkins riding, armed, on top of the coach.

Eldred was stationed in the room at the lodging house that Rohan had prepared as a fallback position if anything went wrong.

The darkness was deep, the January cold relentless.

Rohan sat beside her, remote and brooding as the Cornish cliffs. Kate, meanwhile, was feeling rather silly and self-conscious in her costume. How Papa was supposed to recognize her like this, she had no idea.

Her hair was hidden under the nasty old wig. The ruffled white spinster’s cap was tied under her chin. Spectacles with plain glass lenses were perched on her nose, the better to mask her face. The size of her figure had doubled with all the padding stuffed into the scratchy, gray, wool gown. At least it kept her warm.

Sitting across from them in the carriage was Peter Doyle. She hoped that he really could be trusted. If he betrayed them, Rohan would surely kill him on the spot. The rumpled young smuggler looked highly nervous, with good cause. What if O’Banyon refused to accept the tall stranger in Denny Doyle’s place?

Kate looked askance at the duke beside her transformed into a smuggler. He certainly looked the part of the cutthroat ruffian. Indeed, he fit the role a little too well. In his outlaw garb, he resembled the worst highwayman in England.

But there must be something wrong with her, Kate thought wearily, for even though he looked like an escapee from the gallows, she still found him wildly appealing. He made the kind of outlaw that left a girl wishing to be kidnapped.

He had rubbed a bronze-tinted stage makeup into his face, darkening his complexion to a swarthy suntan like that of a proper seaside ruffian. He had worked some olive oil and a handful of dust into his long black mane; it looked dirty and wild, and so did he, unshaved, a loose red neckcloth tied around his throat, a mass of weapons slung around his waist.

He wore a grubby, natural shirt, a black vest, and loose matelots held up with a rope belt. These ended at his shins, and below them, slouchy boots that concealed an extra pistol in an ankle holster and an extra knife.

Over it all, he had donned a shapeless coat that somewhat concealed the countless sheaths and scabbards for blades, shoulder holsters, and bandoliers of ammunition strapped across his chest. The man was a walking armament, with an evil gleam tonight in his pale eyes.

Looking at him now, she marveled that she had deemed it wise to chastise him a few hours ago. Provoking him looked like a good way to get a swift appointment with Saint Peter.

“Almost there,” he reported, watching out the window as the coach rumbled through the darkness toward ever-more-treacherous parts of Town. “Any questions?” He sounded much too calm. “Pete, you remember what you are to say?”

“Aye, sir.”

“And do you remember the price you’ll have to pay if you betray us?” he added in softer tone.

Pete stared at him. “I won’t, sir. I gave you my word.”

“Perfect,” Kate muttered. “Our lives depend on a criminal’s word of honor.”

“Stand firm, Miss Madsen. There’s no way out but through now. Just be mindful not to let on that you know anything about who they are and what they’re really after.”

“I’d feel better if I had old Charley’s shotgun.”

“Trust me, you won’t need it with me around,” he answered grimly.

They pressed on all the way through the City proper and into the densely packed East End. Heading for the wild-and-woolly docklands, they turned south into the dark and rugged Thames-side warrens of Shadwell.

Though the narrow cobbled streets were dark, Parker did not miss the turn into the oddly named Labor-In-Vain Street, where they had been directed to present themselves to the rat-catcher.

Kate looked out the window in trepidation as they rolled past a noisy, crowded tavern, where a glow of lanternlights and bumptious music spilled out into the otherwise pitch-dark street.

She saw a table where tattooed sailors arm-wrestled, surrounded by their mates, who held pewter tankards filled with foamy stout, loudly cheering for the contestant on whom they’d laid their wager. Meanwhile, a number of garishly painted women were entertaining the men with their drunken dancing on the tables.

Kate sent Rohan a pointed look but refrained from making a sarcastic comment. She had wanted to see the world beyond her little cottage, and to be sure, she was in the thick of it now.

At the end of the street, the carriage slowed to a halt. She glanced out the window and saw a wooden sign hanging above the shop with the cartoonlike picture of a rat in a cage.
Vermin removed. Since 1784. Inquire within.

Pete looked at them, pale and wide-eyed. “I’d best go in and let ’im know we’ve come.”

Rohan nodded. “Steady, lad. Take a drink. You can do this.” He handed Pete his flask.

“Thank ye, sir.” The lad helped himself to a swallow and gulped some down, then gave it back to him. Taking a deep breath, Pete nodded and got out of the coach.

He glanced up at the sign of the rat, then went into the small, unlit walking space between buildings. It was as dark as the tomb in there, a perfect place for a murder, Kate supposed. Best not to ponder that while sitting beside an assassin.

Through the darkness, they could just make out Pete’s movements as he climbed the rickety, exterior stairs and banged on the rat-catcher’s door.

Meanwhile, in the carriage, the silence between them grew more tense by the second. Unable to stand it anymore, Kate broke it with a halfhearted question that she already knew the answer to. “So, someone’s supposed to let us in here?” she whispered.