She made a small mewl of contentment and snuggled closer to him. He’d pulled her into his arms, and she’d fallen instantly asleep. She must have been exhausted. Now she lay in his arms, her head on his chest, her breathing deep.
Ewan had always known Lorraine was not for him. But damn if he did not want her now with a fierceness he’d never before allowed himself to feel. As a child he had wanted toys or treats, and it had always seemed that the more he wanted something the less chance he had of receiving it. He’d learned to tamp down his wants. If he didn’t desire, he wasn’t disappointed.
His arms closed tightly around Lady Lorraine. He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms like this night after night. He wanted to give her the pleasure he hadn’t been able to tonight, watch her come apart as he held her. How would he manage to stand by and watch her wed to another? To know another man put his hands on her, breached her tight walls, knew the sounds she made when she found release?
He’d kill the bastard.
Which left one option. He’d return her to London, then go abroad. Perhaps in Rome or Austria he would be far enough away to, if not forget her, put her out of his mind. He would find work. There were always kings and emperors looking for mercenaries to fight their battles. He could kill for profit, and imagine every man he slaughtered was Lady Lorraine’s new husband.
In the meantime, he couldn’t stay here tonight. They might be in Edgware, but that would not stop gossip from spreading if he were to be found in her bed in the morning. Ewan carefully extricated himself from Lorraine’s arms and dressed. With a last look at her sleeping figure, he exited the room, closing the door behind him.
He’d expected the public rooms to be empty. It was still too early for any servants to be awake, but as he descended the stairs, he saw Neil’s dark head bent over a cup. Without looking up, Neil said, “Join me.” He pushed another cup to the place across from him.
Ewan glanced about for Jasper but the bounty hunter was not present.
“He’s sleeping. No rooms available here, so he bedded down in the stable.”
Ewan sat, lifted the cup, and sipped the ale. “You aren’t tired?”
“Oh, I’m thoroughly done in, but someone had to make sure you weren’t caught with the lady. I would have given you another half hour, then come up and dragged you out myself.”
Ewan sipped the ale.
“Did you ruin her?” Neil asked.
“You knew what would happen when I went to her room.”
Neil nodded. “I hoped you might exercise some restraint, but I imagine the lady was overcome with gratitude. She’s in love with you.”
Ewan nodded.
“You will marry her.” It was not a question but an order. Wraxall’s voice took on the same quality it had when they’d fought together and Neil had been his superior.
Ewan looked down at his ale.
“She was ruined before you…er, went upstairs, but at least we could all swear she was untouched. Those fiends were just after the blunt.”
“Where are they?” Ewan looked up, his hand clenching the cup enough to bend the metal.
“Locked up in jail. Safe from you. The magistrate will take care of them. I imagine they’ll be transported or worse, so don’t get any ideas. At the moment, we have another problem—Lady Lorraine.”
“Her father won’t want me.”
Neil waved a hand. “Doesn’t seem to matter what the duke wants at this point. You’ve ruined her, and you will take responsibility.”
Ewan nodded. He would. It was the honorable thing to do, though he could not claim to have much honor after his actions tonight. “What do I do?” he asked.
Neil frowned. “Go to His Grace and tell the truth… Well, omit a few details.”
Ewan waved a hand. “I mean, when he says no.”
Neil considered for a long moment. “Is the man that much of an arse?”
Ewan raised his brows.
“You think he’ll marry her to one of those fops with an old title and not two farthings to rub together?” He studied Ewan. “That is what you anticipate. And what is your plan? Kill the groom?”
“Go abroad.”
Neil slapped a hand on the table. “Run? You? You’ve never run from a fight.” He held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you can’t win, because I’ve watched you overcome worse odds than this. You don’t run, Protector. You fight for her.”
“Why? To leg-shackle her to the muscle in a gambling hell?”
“Do you think that’s all you are?”
Ewan shrugged.
“All you can be?”
Ewan raised a shoulder.
Neil stood and shook his head. “Then perhaps I was wrong. You don’t deserve her.”
*
Charles ran to Susan’s room, the letter crumpled in his hand. He did not knock. He merely opened the door and rushed inside. Susan’s maid gave a little shriek as she pulled Susan’s robe over her nude body.
Charles might have taken more time to admire the glimpse of naked flesh, but he was too happy. “Look.” He held out the parchment he’d crumpled in his haste to show his wife.
“If you don’t need anything more, Your Grace,” the lady’s maid began.
Susan waved a hand. “Thank you, Teasley.”
As the maid exited the room, Susan took the paper from Charles’s hand. He knew what she saw—
Your daughter is safe and unharmed and will be returned tomorrow.
Susan wobbled, and Charles caught her before her legs could give out. “She’s safe,” Susan said, tears filling her eyes. “He found her.”
“Of course he did.” Aware she wore nothing beneath the robe, Charles did not take her into his arms. He had exercised extreme control these past weeks, holding her when she wanted affection but asking no more of her than that. Now, he was not so certain he could keep his hands from stroking the bare skin beneath her robe.
She looked up at him. “She’s ruined, you know. Even if we try to keep this a secret, word will get out.”
“We can’t force Mostyn to marry her. He didn’t abduct her.”
“Perhaps he will want to marry her. I do not think Lorrie would object,” Susan said.
The tears in her eyes had cleared, and he could see her thoughts had moved to how they might handle this crisis. “And what of the list you made?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Charles lost his breath for a moment from the shock.
“Perhaps I was wrong about the list. Perhaps title and pedigree are not the most important factors in choosing a mate.”
Charles looked down at his wife, stroked her cheek. “You want her to marry for love.”
“Don’t you?”
“I want them both to marry for love. I won’t make it easy for him.”
“Good.” Susan nodded her approval. “Your Grace,” she whispered, pressing against him. “I have a secret.”
He raised his brows.
“I married for love.”
His heart felt so full he was not certain his chest could contain it. “I love you too, Susan.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” She stepped back and dropped the robe to the floor. “Take me to bed.”
The duke was never one to disobey a direct order from his duchess.
Twenty-two