The Perfect Duke (12 page)

He’d rather face another beating from Digger.

And so the huntsman devised a plan that night to lure Snow from safety. He would use those she loved.

Snow White

“My boy, what happened to you?” Papa took Garret’s arm and drew him closer to the parlor fire.

In the light, Garret’s injuries appeared worse than she remembered. The cut above his eye appeared swollen and there were several bruises starting on his left cheek and jaw. She could just imagine what the rest of him must look like. Sympathy warred with her anger at his recent duplicity.

Garret attempted to smile at her father, but it ended up more like a grimace. “It seems London isn’t safe these days.”

“I should have warned you away from certain areas.” Papa shook his head as he steered Garret to a chair near the fire. “Did they take anything?”

“No.”

“You’re not used to the city. It’s my fault.” Papa paused. “Scheherezade, I’ll help him to his room if you’d get something to cleanse his wounds.”

Garret stood. “I don’t need help. A little soap and water and I’ll be good as new.”

“Nonsense.”

By the time she’d retrieved her medicines, they were in Garret’s room. His chamber was next to hers, only one thin wall between them. Warmth stole into her face. She needed to stop thinking about him like that.

When she opened the door, Garret sat on the edge of the bed. He met her gaze, but she could discern nothing from his expression.

He rose to take the items from her. “I hadn’t expected either of you to wait up for me. Please, go to bed.”

She placed her hand on Papa’s arm. “He’s right. Why don’t you go on to sleep? I’ll make sure Mr. Stone’s comfortable and follow you shortly.”

“If you don’t mind.” He ran a veined hand over his face. Even his hair drooped.

“Go on now. I’ll see to him.” He’d overdone it these last few days. Cara waited while he slowly left the room.

Garret placed the bowl, rags, and ointments on a plain wooden nightstand next to his bed. He soaked a piece of cloth in the steaming water, then winced as he tried to wring the extra liquid from the material.

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Take off your shirt.”

He paused in twisting the rag. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t care for the other injuries unless you remove your shirt.”

“I see.” He dropped the cloth back into the bowl and came to stand over her. “What makes you think I have other injuries?”

“Why did you lie to Papa?” She stepped back from him.

“About?”

“How you were hurt.”

“I didn’t lie to him. I allowed him to draw his own conclusions,”—he raised an eyebrow at her—“which is what you should have done.”

“Leaving out the truth is still a lie.”

He drew his mouth into a tight line and rubbed his jaw. “Sometimes it’s kinder to refrain from giving out too much information.”

“Kinder for whom?” She pinned him with her gaze. “When were you going to tell me you knew the identity of the kidnapper and where to find him?”

His hand stilled. “As soon as the authorities had proof of his crimes.”

“I’m not a child, Garret.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “I won’t have you treating me like one. You should have told me what you’d discovered.”

“Perhaps, but it wouldn’t change things.”

“Yes, it would. Now that Michael has pointed out the man who took Tommy, I intend to involve the magistrate.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask father to summon one here.”

“No. Where were you when your troublesome student spotted the kidnapper?”

“Oh.” She smoothed her hands against her skirt. “I’d followed Michael to a club.”

“So, you saw the match.” His grim voice led her to believe he wasn’t proud of the part he’d played. “The boy’s a fool for leading you there. You should never have been in that part of London, let alone the academy.”

“You could have been killed.”

He came to stand so his breath tickled the back of her neck. “Would it have mattered?”

“Of course.” She couldn’t think when he stood this close. His heat warmed her body, luring her to lean against him. Fighting the urge, she took a step forward. “The missing children are my problem. I don’t want anyone injured in trying to help me.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes.

He moved to stand in front of her. “Now who isn’t telling the whole truth?”

She stared at him, trying to imitate the indifferent façade he normally wore. He mustn’t know how unsettling she found him or it would fuel his arrogant assumptions. “Regardless of what you believe, I won’t have anyone else hurt. I know the man responsible and I’m going to the authorities.”

“Will they believe you?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Do you have any evidence?”

“Michael can tell them what happened between that man and Tommy.”

“You don’t even know
that man’s
name.” He put one finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “It’s Farley. And you don’t want to be involved with his kind. Let me handle this.”

Isn’t that what she’d always wanted? A white knight to ride in and rescue her? “No. The school and Papa are all I have.” She broke away from him and crossed to the window, not that she could see anything but inky blackness. “You wouldn’t understand. You have a family.”

“Understand what?”

“Papa isn’t well.” It was the first time she’d admitted it out loud and she bit down on her lip until it began to bleed, the coppery taste adding to her queasy stomach. “When he’s gone, all I’ll have left is the school. They’re my family.”

“What about marriage and children of your own?”

“I can’t count on finding a husband.”

“Why not?” He crossed to her. “A man would be a fool not to want you.”

What should she say? That she’d been waiting for someone like him. “Few men would want to take on a woman with my responsibilities.”

“Then they wouldn’t deserve you.”

She almost smiled. Deserve her? “You may not have noticed, but I would bring little by way of a dowry. All I have to offer is a school filled with . . . what did you call them? Ah, yes,”—she gave him her best teasing look—“terrors.”

He smiled at her. She froze, then blinked. He’d never smiled at her.

She would have remembered.

His even white teeth flashed and a perpendicular crease, larger than a dimple, formed in each cheek. With his square jaw, she should have realized he’d have those lines when he smiled. He appeared charming, boyish, and exactly like the man in her dream.

She crossed to the nightstand. Her hand shook as she picked up the cloth. It wasn’t fair. A duke couldn’t be the man she’d been waiting for. Especially
this
duke. She swallowed. “So, how did you discover Mr. Farley?”

“You met Lord Bradford. A friend of his, Lord Morgan, had suspicions about Farley.”

“But why were you fighting?”

“It was Morgan’s suggestion. He wanted to gain the man’s trust.” He joined her, then reached out to take the rag she’d been wringing, even though there wasn’t any water left. “I’m serious, Cara. Will you let me handle the situation with Farley?” He set the cloth on the table.

All she could do was nod.

“Good.” He chose that moment to remove his shirt. A long scratch, crusted with blood, crested over his right nipple, and several bruises marred his lower left side, but other than that—he was perfect. Her heart pounded until she thought he would hear.

He draped the garment on one of the posts at the end of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “You might want to get started before the water cools.”

As though in a trance, she retrieved the rag and rubbed a bar of soap across it several times, then approached him. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
Focus on his face.
The wound above his eye appeared to be the worst.

It had to have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as she cleansed the cut, then applied an ointment made with honey. In fact, he was so still she leaned back to study him.

Pain shadowed his eyes, but what she read in their depths shook her. Loneliness. Possession. Desire.

Her body flushed, making the room seem unbearably warm. A relationship was impossible. Surely he knew that. She would not be his current conquest.

She started to leave.

His voice stopped her before she reached the door. “What of the cut on my chest?”

She turned back, fighting to sound normal. “It didn’t look that bad.”

He picked up the cloth, soaped it, then stalked toward her. Everything about him belied fluid grace as he handed her the fabric, a challenge in his gaze.

With as much indifference as she could muster, she dabbed at the cut on his chest.

“Harder,” he breathed, his dark velvet voice sending shivers down her spine. “You’ll not hurt me.”

She cleansed the cut, admiring the feel of the hard muscle beneath the cloth. Her fingertips extended beyond the material to caress his moisture-slicked skin. She stepped closer, until his chest was the only thing in her vision.

The rag dropped between them. Of their own volition her fingers spread, pressing her hands flat against the hard contours of his body. She began an exploration, noting the fine dusting of curling golden hair that tickled her palms as she moved them upward.

The smell of the ointment clung to him, but it couldn’t block his alluring scent, a mixture of brandy, wood, and spiciness. She inhaled deeply, savoring the heady combination as she ran one fingertip around his nipple, marveling at the pebbling on the outside edge.

Part of her brain acknowledged she shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She moved even closer to him, surprised when she felt a hardness press into her stomach.

He groaned.

It was the first sound he’d made, and she glanced up at his face.

His breathing seemed ragged and there were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth. Beads of sweat filmed his brow. His rigid arms appeared glued to his sides and ended in clenched fists. “I promised not to touch you unless you asked it of me.” His rough voice broke, sounding more like a growl. “Either release me from my promise, or go.”

His eyes burned with a passion that made her aware of her femininity and instilled in her a sense of power. Had she really done this to him? She backed away, unsure of what she should do.

“Go.”

Shame and humiliation replaced awe the minute he was out of sight. She ran the short distance to her room and locked herself in. After her wanton display, could she ever face him again? She’d insisted that he not touch her, yet she’d practically attacked him.

Even Tess had never been so bold as to caress a man’s naked chest, a duke’s chest. Cara wrapped her arms around her body and tried to calm her trembling as she leaned back against her door, sliding down until she collapsed in a puddle on the floor.

What was she to do? He’d bewitched her until she’d agreed to let him handle Farley. She’d given her word, but if the kidnapper were never brought to justice, the church council would act on their decree. She closed her eyes, willing the last hour to be a dream, because if it wasn’t, the fate of the school now rested in Garret’s hands.

Garret glanced across the table at Cara, who blushed and turned away. What had possessed him to challenge her? He’d been a fool. Still, it had almost been worth it to see her reaction to him.

He wasn’t an expert on woman, but he’d wager the Kendal name that she desired him. He could still feel her tentative touch roaming over his chest, exploring his body the way he burned to explore hers.

It was just as well that he’d been hindered by his promise, though damned uncomfortable. The vicar’s home was no place to ravage his daughter.

Garret toyed with a cooked tomato and sausage on his plate. Farley had better make his move today. If not, they’d have to come up with some way to watch the children this evening.

The vicar cleared his throat and stared at Garret’s nearly full plate. “Are you well, my boy?” He leaned forward and studied the cut above his eye. “Perhaps Sheherezade should put something else on your injury this morning?”

“No.” He and Cara responded at the same instant.

So, she was hesitant to touch him. “I’m fine.” And he was, if you didn’t count the fact that every muscle in his body ached and he’d not slept at all last night.

The vicar assessed each of them. His bushy eyebrow’s arched. “If you insist.”

“I would ask a favor of you, however.” Garret placed his utensils on the edge of his plate. “I’d like a full history of each student, including the missing children, and their residence if they aren’t staying at the school.”

“Our records are limited.” The vicar shook his head, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “Some of them live on the street.”

“Anything you have would be appreciated. There may be some pattern we’ve overlooked.”

“I must see to my Parishioner’s this morning, but you could show him the files.” He glanced at Cara, whose pretty mouth was turned down in a frown.

“I need to teach this morning.”

Now what had he done to anger her? “Then I’ll accompany you. This afternoon would be acceptable.”

“As you wish.” She rose and abruptly started to clear the table.

The pink of her cheeks reminded him of the blush on the peaches at Belcraven. He wanted to kiss her frown away, but that would have to wait until he’d resolved this matter.

If Farley didn’t make his move today, then they’d have to watch each child’s home. The sooner he could get the list of students to Bradford, the better. His friend had
associates
everywhere in London and he’d need to get them in place before tonight.