Jillian Hunter: The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

Why had Edlyn not trusted him?

He knew the answer. The truth wouldn’t change. She blamed him for killing her father. She had never accused him, but, in fact, it was remarkable that during one of their countless quarrels, she had not thrown that suspicion in his face.

He walked home, heading north on Drury Lane, past the academy, to Oxford Street, and from there to Berkeley Square. His cousins had begun teaching him his way around London. He passed the Bruton Street brothel at which the Boscastle men had a standing invitation and laughed. Harriet would roast him over a spit if he mentioned a seraglio in her presence.

He slowed his pace as he approached Bedford Square. It only now occurred to him to wonder why Sir Daniel meant to come to the house. Had he been hinting that Lady Powlis and her companion could be in danger? Griffin had never once considered that Edlyn’s abductors might grow desperate and-

He turned on impulse and walked around the square to the back walk of his house. The sunken gate to the garden was closed. Or was it? He did not even remember if he had checked. But he had ordered the gates and doors to remain locked at all times, and someone had stuck a knife in the latch. His heart skipped a beat. It was five thirty. The street was still busy enough.

He pushed the gate open and heard footsteps on the pavement behind him. One of Sir Daniel’s men strolled by with a walking stick. Had the man noticed the knife?

“Out for an after-dinner stroll?” he called to the tall-hatted figure.

The detective’s man paused. He knew who Griffin was, and he knew they were not to acknowledge each other in public. “This isn’t your knife in the latch, is it, by any chance?” Griffin asked after a hopeful pause.

The man removed his hat. Griffin noticed three other gentleman pedestrians, one with a hound, advancing on the pavement.

“Your grace,” the agent said in a low voice. “This is a sign of criminal entry. I advise you to stay here until the house is searched.”

Griffin slowly shook his head. “I am going into my house through the servants’ entrance. In the event that I come upon any criminals, I shall deal with them as I must.”

“Your grace, if I may at least accompany you?”

“Yes. But you had best go to the front door. My aunt and her companion are not exactly what one would refer to as shrinking violets. And I must warn you that in all probability they are both armed.”

Harriet trained her pistol on the gaunt figure that had appeared like a ghost in the doorway. Dear God. She could have shot him for a stranger. He had tied his unkempt blond hair back with a bit of string. His coat and trousers stank to heaven. She was a little stunned to realize that from a distance one might actually consider him to be handsome.

“Should I shoot him first, Harriet?” Lady Powlis asked in a quavering whisper from behind the sofa.

“Don’t shoot at all. In fact-” Harriet bit her cheek, stepping around the sofa to remove the dueling pistols from Primrose’s unsteady grasp. Her ladyship was liable to shoot Harriet or herself the way those guns were bobbing up and down. “If anyone shoots our nasty visitor, it’ll be me.”

Grim Jack held his battered hat to his heart. “Is that any way to talk to your beloved sire?”

Lady Powlis’s eyes widened. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Harriet snapped. “He’s just some confused street gent who wandered in here by mistake. And he’s going to leave-”

Grim Jack brushed around her. “Madam, you’ve naught to fear from ’arry’s dad. We’re all friends, ain’t we?”

“Your-” Lady Powlis sniffed the air like a pointer. “What is that unusually pungent odor?”

“That would be my father,” Harriet said, passing Lady Powlis a scented handkerchief. “You’ve met him. Now he’s getting out, or I’m calling the constable.”

“’ang on a minute,” Grim Jack said, eyeing the fine Japanese vase on the mantelpiece. “I’ve risked life imprisonment, transportation, maybe even ’anging to come ’ere.”

“Nice of you to bother,” Harriet snapped, prodding his hand away from the table with her pistol. “You’re supposed to be dead. You killed someone-”

“In self-defense.” He stepped back, suddenly gaping at her as if he had seen a ghost. “It’s been a long time, ’arry. You look so much like her. I-I-”

“What do you want?”

“I know where she is-that duke’s girl that got abducted-if you’d give me a chance to slip in a word.”

“You dirty lying bag of-”

“Why don’t you let the man finish, Harriet?” Lady Powlis asked through her handkerchief. “And open a window while you’re at it.”

“Madam.” He bowed to her. “I apologize for my indecorous aroma. But I was in dire straits, and I’ve risked capture to be of service to the duke, when ’e’s at ’ome.”

Harriet walked him to the window, her voice shaking with contempt. “You know where Edlyn is? Is that what you want us to believe? Where is she? You, who couldn’t find a chamber pot if you stepped in it. You-”

“I saw ’er face,” he said. “I swear it. She was behind a barred window in ’anging Sword Alley. She even ’eld out a hand to me. I thought at first she were an angel. Then I saw all them posters.”

“What did she look like?” Lady Powlis whispered.

“White as a bloody corpse. Sorry, my lady. It was dark, and I thought I was seein’ things.”

“Could you find her again?” Harriet asked, dimly aware of a door opening in the servants’ quarters.

“Yeah. But it ain’t where I’d go. I went back there, see, right back to that lodgin’ ’ouse, after I realized who she was. Then I remembered that it’d been some bloody awful screamin’ that woke me up in that wheelbarrow.”

“Screaming?” Lady Powlis said faintly. “My niece was screaming?”

Jack frowned. “No. But some ravin’ shrew behind ’er was.” He bent his head to Harriet’s. “I watched a bit. The young lady never came back to the window, but after a while a man came out, so I followed ’im, careful like, to Blackfriars Bridge.”

“And he didn’t notice you?” Harriet whispered after a skeptical pause.

He scoffed, stopping himself before he swatted her with his hat. “I saw ’im meet up with a bargeman. I couldn’t ’ear everything, but I put together they was makin’ plans to sail tonight, if they ain’t already done so.”

Harriet regarded him without a hint of affection. “If you’re lying, so help me God, I’ll not only watch you swing, I’ll hang on to your ankles and turn somersaults between your feet.”

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Lady Powlis said, looking as if she were going to be sick, whether from Jack’s story or his smell, Harriet did not know.

She did know, however, that she’d never felt so relieved to see anyone as when suddenly the duke entered the room, the look of unmasked emotion on his face the stuff of fainting damsels and impossible dreams. His eyes dropped to the pistol she was holding at her side. She shook her head. His aunt started to cry.

“It’s all right,” Harriet said, swallowing over a knot in her throat. “But there’s no time to waste. This man-my father-thinks he knows where Edlyn is.”

He nodded tersely. His gaze holding hers, he strode past Jack and motioned from the window. Harriet noticed a man across the street, another appearing on the corner. There could have been a hundred armed guards about the place. It was Griffin’s presence that made her feel safe. She had known other gentlemen willing to overlook her imperfections, to offer themselves as her protector. But she had never met a man who needed her to protect him as desperately as he did.