My Dangerous Duke (39 page)

“Traps?” Kate murmured.

“Aye, the whole place is rigged with cunning snares and mechanical devices—like the one that killed your mother.
The Alchemist’s Journal
contains the clues that Warrington will need to make it in and out of there alive. Even so, you be careful,” her father warned the duke. “Those cruel puzzles are all too easy to get wrong.”

Kate turned to Rohan in alarm, but he was silent.

Then her father grunted with pain when the carriage hit a bump.

“Are you hurt badly, Papa? Tell me the truth,” she demanded, peering worriedly at his progress with the bandages in the dark.

“Just a flesh wound. Believe me, I’ve had worse. Glad to see these London streets are still the same as I remember—full of holes.”

She smiled at his grumbling, then hugged him, mindful of his wound. “I can’t believe you’re alive,” she whispered, then she gazed at Rohan. “Thank you.”

He seemed emotionless, staring back at her, his gleaming eyes cold and otherworldly, his angular face expressionless. He said nothing. Her gaze fell slowly to the dark streaks and stains that marred his clothes. She held her breath, realizing he had blood all over him.

He looked out the window.

The carriage rolled on through the night. A gulf as wide as the Thames seemed to separate them while Eldred tried to help her irked father tend his wound.

When they arrived at Rohan’s mansion, again, all was speed, efficiency, and action.

Rohan forbade Kate to change out of her costume until they were safely aboard her father’s ship and well away from London.

Then he went to change his clothes, while she ran upstairs to the bedchamber and retrieved her mother’s book from the bottom of her borrowed traveling chest.

When she caught a glimpse of herself in the bedchamber mirror, she sighed at her dowdy appearance and continued packing, throwing the few items of warm clothing back into the trunk.

But as she handled the same, ill-fitting, stolen garments that she had been wearing since they gave them to her, tears suddenly pricked her eyes without warning.

She did not know why such an inconsequential thing as clothes should hit her so hard at the moment, only that she had not seen her father in how many years, and she did not even have a decent gown left to meet him in.

The stranger’s wardrobe seemed a reminder of all she had lost—and she feared what she had lost tonight was Rohan.

Maybe he really could not love her.

After what she had seen … maybe his darkness was greater than her light.

He had claimed he was not fit for love. At least now she finally understood what he was talking about.

“Are you all right?”

Quickly blinking back her tears, she turned in surprise and found him leaning in the doorway. She did not know how long he had been watching her. She had not heard him arrive.

She cleared her throat and nodded, smoothing her skirts. “Yes, of course.” He had changed into fresh clothes, and indeed, looked more intimidating than ever, dressed entirely in black.

The fractured look in his pale eyes worried her, however, and she also noticed he had a bandage wrapped around the palm of his right hand. “You’re hurt.”

“Cut myself a bit. It’s nothing. I barely feel it.” He walked into the bedchamber and picked up her traveling trunk.

Kate struggled for something to say to try to bridge the gulf between them. She had seen him like this before. Bleak, remote, formidable. She remembered the day she had discovered him practicing his combat skills in the Hall of Arms at Kilburn Castle.

He had not liked her seeing that, and had definitely withdrawn from her when she had shown him the dragon book with the Initiate’s Brand. But even when he had escorted her to her cottage, barely speaking to her along the way, even then, he had not been as completely shut down as he was now. It was as if he was slipping away from her, into the night.

She touched his arm, trying to bring him back. “Thank you for saving my father.”

He just nodded, then he pulled away and carried the trunk out, mumbling as he brushed past her. “Best hurry.”

She frowned as he stalked out, but she followed a moment later. As she walked down the stairs, she could hear Papa cursing with seaworthy vigor as he stood in the entrance hall, gingerly putting some weight on his bandaged leg. Without a word, Eldred handed him a wooden crutch to lean on, apparently keeping a supply of various medical items on hand, given his master’s occupation.

“Anything I can do to help?” Kate offered as she joined them.

“Good as new,” Papa vaunted, sending her a grin.

“We need to go,” Rohan urged them from the doorway, before disappearing again.

“And we’re off,” Papa replied. He nodded his thanks to the butler, at whom Kate also smiled.

“Good-bye for now, Eldred.”

“Safe journey, miss.” Eldred followed them to the door.

Parker was waiting with the coach under the portico as they walked outside. “All aboard,” the sergeant said ruefully, opening the carriage door.

Kate let her father go ahead of her and waited to assist if he needed help. But her attention was on Rohan, who was standing restlessly at the edge of the portico, his back to them as he smoked a cheroot.

She could not recall seeing him smoking before.

All of a sudden, she heard running footsteps coming from behind her. “Wait for me!”

Rohan and she both turned around to look as Peter Doyle came rushing out of the house, clutching his pack of supplies.

“I’m coming with you!” he declared.

“You kept your end of the bargain, Pete. You’re free to go back to Cornwall,” Rohan said with a distant hint of wry amusement.

“But I’ve come this far, haven’t I, sir?”

“Hm. I fear we’ve made an adventurer of you, Peter. It’s up to Captain Fox. It’s his ship.”

“Cap’n?” Peter asked her father hopefully.

“Caleb’s boy, are you?” Papa tossed back.

“He’s my uncle, sir.”

“Good enough. Get in, then.”

“Thank you, Cap’n!” Pete grinned and bounded into the carriage.

Kate hesitated, waiting uncertainly for Rohan. As he dropped his cheroot on the ground and stepped on it, putting out the spark, all of a sudden, a stately black Town coach drawn by a team of four black horses rolled to a halt in front of Rohan’s home.

He glanced at it, while Kate’s heart sank.

Oh, no,
she thought, dreading the return of one of his persistent lady conquests. Of all the bad timing.

But then, to her surprise, the door opened, and a handsome dark-haired gentleman jumped out of the coach.

“Rohan Kilburn, Duke of Warrington! A word with you, sir! No, I must insist. Immediately!”

“As do I!” shouted a second man, lean and fair-haired, who also emerged from the carriage.

“Max, Jordan,” Rohan said uncomfortably.

“There he is, the villain!” a golden-haired lady taunted from inside the coach.

“Daphne?” Rohan mumbled, hands on his hips.

Kate worried that maybe these were two of the countless men he had cuckolded. Angry husbands to contend with.

“Don’t blame me, Your Grace!” a dainty red-haired woman chimed in from the carriage, waving to Rohan. “I told them you would tell us when you’re ready! They wouldn’t listen—”

“You nefarious bastard!” the dark-haired man greeted him in a tone of jovial indignation.

Kate exhaled slightly at the jubilant undertone of humor in his voice.

“What’s afoot?” Rohan asked them.

“Oh-ho, don’t play innocent with us!” the sandy-haired man warned.

“I
knew
you were acting odd when we saw you earlier today!”

Kate let out a furtive gasp. Agents of the Order!

“How
could you look us in the eyes and not breathe a word of what’s been going on?”

“Ignore my husband, Warrington. We’re very happy for you—and your lady! Hullo! I’m Lady Rotherstone and this is my friend, Miss Portland! We’re very eager to meet you!”

The two lovely women were now waving at Kate.

Who wanted to crawl under a rock, in her hideous disguise.

But his two friends were not done scolding him. “To think that we, who knew you since we were boys—the closest thing you’ve got left to family!—had to hear this news secondhand at some bloody soiree!”

“We didn’t even need Miss Portland to tell us the gossip this time. It’s all over Society—that you’re married!” the two exclaimed nearly in unison and quite matched in their fond outrage.

“Bloody hell,” Kate murmured, borrowing a favorite from Rohan’s idiom.

“Is this the lucky lass?” The light-haired gentleman sketched an elegant bow toward Kate.

“Bride of the Beast. Heaven help you, poor thing,” the dark-haired one drawled.

She began gingerly backing away. “Um, actually—I’m afraid there has been a bit of a, er, misunderstanding.”

The one he’d called Max lifted one eyebrow, while his friend, Jordan, frowned, studying her. “How’s that?”

Rohan cut this charming conversation short. “I have to go. Get in the carriage, Kate.”

“Ah, so Kate’s her name!” Max taunted, sending his friend an aside. “Did you know he had a Kate?”

“No. Last I heard, it was—never mind that.” Jordan smiled innocently at them.

“Aren’t you at least going to introduce us?” Max demanded.

“Some other time. Come on.” Rohan propelled her firmly toward the carriage.

Kate offered the two handsome noblemen a hapless half smile, mortified in the extreme by her frumpy costume; the padding complicated her efforts to get into the stupid carriage.

“Where are you rushing off to, anyway?” Max persisted. “You know, you’re being damnably rude.”

“Max, it’s Warrington. You know it’s just his way,” Jordan drawled.

Kate finally wedged her chubby, padded figure into the carriage. They all seemed friendly enough, but this glamorous foursome in ball gowns and velvet coats made her feel even more awkward in her silly mob cap, funny spectacles, and dowdy dress.

Jordan had been studying her costumed appearance in amusement, but now glanced quizzically at Rohan, as if to say,
Not your usual fare, eh?

“Sorry, we have to go,” he mumbled to his friends as he followed her into the coach. “I’ll call on you when I get back.”

“When will that be, damn it?” Max demanded.

“I don’t know!” he bit back as he banged the carriage door shut. “Parker, for God’s sake, drive!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Was it something we said?” Max taunted, stepping out of the way as his carriage rolled into motion. “Ma’am.”

“Good-bye, Kate!” Jordan sent her a roguish salute.

She nodded to them, feeling like a fool.

The ladies still sitting in the coach had not heard the particulars of their exchange, but they waved at her, calling invitations that she should come for tea.

She waved back haplessly just to avoid being rude.

“Married?” Her father raised an eyebrow, glancing suspiciously from her to Rohan, but he said nothing.

“No, Papa,” Kate answering for them with a blush. Suddenly realizing that perhaps she ought to worry what her formidable sire might have to say about their arrangement, now that he suddenly reappeared in her life, she cast about for a speedy change of subject. She turned to Rohan. “How nice to meet your friends.”

“Mm.” He folded his arms across his chest, but it was clear he wanted no questions. Once more, he was lost in his brooding, staring out the window while the coach rolled on toward the river, where her father’s moored frigate waited to take them out to sea.

Chapter 18

T
he Prometheans’ schooner rode at anchor a few miles out to sea beyond the Thames estuary. Until the prisoner could be made to talk, they could go no farther.

An ugly mood hung over the decks after the death of Talon and several of his men.

Drake knew that Prometheans did not exactly care about each other, but they had respected Talon, and they certainly hated defeat. It was now past midnight. Above them, pillow clouds tried to suffocate the moon.

Leaning against the mainmast with his hands in his pockets, merely trying to stay out of everyone’s way, Drake hid his secret jubilation that his oppressor, Talon, the hated eye-patch man, was dead.

Of course, James was saddened by the loss, and Drake could not be too happy about anything that upset his revered benefactor. After all, if it were not for James, he would still be rotting away in that Bavarian dungeon, only waiting for his daily visit from the torturers.

Still, he felt liberated. For a moment, he gazed in concern at James, who stood at the rails, brooding over the demise of his longtime assistant. Then he looked over at the sound of a large splash off the stern.

The surviving Promethean foot soldiers were getting rid of the bodies. One unceremonious watery plunk followed another as they dumped their slain mates into the sea.

Others were busy in the lanternlit stateroom, taking out their anger on the elderly bo’sun they had captured.

Drake was careful not to look in that direction. He could not bear it. The sounds of their taunting and mocking and striking their captive made him cringe, triggering terrible memories of his own ordeals in Germany.

But there was nowhere to go on the sleek, compact schooner where he could escape, and as much as he tried to pretend he heard nothing, he still could not avoid their display of brutality. The flickering lamplight in the stateroom where they were abusing the old man cast the moving shadows of the Promethean foot soldiers in large over the deck.

Everything in Drake told him to go help that poor old fellow. But he would not listen, already sick to his stomach with the nearness of their deliberate cruelty.

Instead, he stared at the dark sea, taking large draughts of the clear, bracing wind. And he distracted himself with the churning questions about the events of this night. If only he could remember more of his old life!