The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

He took a step toward her. “You did not have my permission to leave the park. In fact, I forbade it.”

“Please tell me your aunt is not waiting for me in the carriage.”

“My aunt is not waiting for you in my carriage. However, I have promised her that you will not leave us again.” And then, quicker than lightning, he advanced another step, locked one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders, and, as Harriet would later describe it, bore her off into the night.

Chapter Sixteen

The Daemon leaning from the ethereal car Gazed on the slumbering maid.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

The Daemon of the World

The carriage had slowly rolled up behind them. A head popped up from one of several barrels that bordered the alley. A skeletal figure in a cape flashed a blade.

Griffin backed into the carriage steps. He could only hope that Harriet had neither noticed the pistol he had drawn from his waistband nor heard the bottle that one of the shadows had broken against the carriage wheel. Shattered glass, unfortunately, had a rather distinctive sound.

“Inside you go,” he said cheerfully, pushing her safely against the squabs before he closed the door.

His coachman cocked his flintlock muskets.

He nodded grimly to the two footmen, who had dropped from the rear, both of them pale as chalk. “Do what you must. But please do not risk your necks in a fight.”

The street gang surged toward him. He planted his back against the carriage door and stood his guard.

The brawny leader of the shadows stared at him in silence, then raised his gaze. A subtle gentleness softened his scarred features. Griffin had no doubt that were he to turn around he would discover Harriet’s face in the carriage window. Another male with blazing red hair barreled his way to the front of the group. Griffin blinked. He hadn’t realized how closely the cutpurse in the park resembled Harriet.

It gave him pause. How could he possibly harm one who reminded him of the woman his aunt had sworn she could not live without and had made him promise on his mother’s grave he would return safely to her side?

The cutpurse lifted his hand. He was a fool misguided by a false sense of power if ever Griffin had encountered one. He waited. It was a well-known fact in the family that many a Boscastle had claimed victory by simply outwaiting the opposition, be it a soldier on the field or a lady in a bedchamber.

The leader of the street gang clearly took offense at anyone who challenged his authority. The law of the underworld would be obeyed, or else. He shouldered Harriet’s half brother aside and bowed mockingly in Griffin’s shadow.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and those who are by nature neither, let us offer safe passage to these, our most esteemed guests, the Duke-and Duchess-of St. Giles.”

The carriage door flew open and hit Griffin’s shoulder. “Get in now, duke,” Harriet said, “or I’ll not be responsible for what happens next.”

He complied. He would have hated to take down her brother when he looked so much like Harriet. The carriage set off undisturbed into the darkened street. Harriet settled beside him, not protesting when he drew her closer. The slippers she had thrown at him in the park sat on the opposite seat. He thought briefly of insisting she put them on. Instead, he reached down and caught one of her feet in his hand.

“You’re as cold as a corpse,” he exclaimed. “Give me your other foot so I can rub some blood back into your veins. You could catch your death walking about without shoes.”

“What a fuss you make at times. I’m perfectly fine.”

He should have taken her at her word. But of course once he touched her he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He removed her garters and peeled off her ruined stockings, one at a time. The warm awareness of bare flesh lured him like a beggar to a banquet. It wasn’t every day that a woman tossed her shoes at him and led him on a wild pursuit. Or that he had a legitimate excuse to knead her calf and inch his hand slowly toward her thigh.

He waited for her to protest, but when he glanced up he saw that she had closed her eyes. “Dear God, Harriet,” he said with a laugh. “You do know how to turn a day in the park on its head. Why didn’t you tell me right off that was your brother? It would have been easier on us both.”

She breathed out a sigh and smiled with a sultry regret that sent his thoughts in a thousand directions, all of them dark and tempting. “It happened too fast,” she said. “And I lost my temper. I don’t have red hair for nothing.”

He shook his head. “Well, I think I’ve seen more of London this evening than I really wanted to.”

She slid down deeper into the squabs. “I’ve never had anyone rub my feet before,” she murmured, her voice languid, as if she was half asleep. “It felt nice. You have gentle hands.”

He swallowed. “I have to admit that my hands are fighting temptation right now.”

“Better than fighting a street gang, don’t you think?”

He grunted. “I can’t disagree with that.”

She sighed deeply as his fingers drifted beneath her bent knee. “You needn’t have worried, though,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I would have enjoyed watching you take on a bunch of thugs to protect me.”

“Somebody has to keep wayward young men in line.”

“Forgive me if this sounds like an insult to your family, but I think those gentlemen are past the age of redemption.”

“It’s the only way they know to survive,” she said, frowning up at him.

His hand tightened reflexively around her knee. “You learned a different way to live.”

“Maybe,” she said wistfully. “Who knows how long it’ll last?”

“It had better last at least for the period for which my aunt has paid you. I wouldn’t put it past her to come blazing here in a phaeton with pistols drawn. And even then I’d be the one who would get the blame for it.”

She laughed. “I didn’t get the purse,” she said wistfully, then admitted, “No. That’s a lie. I did. But I gave it to a little baby. I have a nephew no one thought to tell me about.”

“Hang the purse.” And its owner, he might have said. How could he possibly think about another woman when Harriet was letting him touch her like this? She hadn’t made a single move to stop him. He hoped to God she wasn’t relying on his willpower. Just because he wasn’t a London rake didn’t mean he was a saint. But, Lord, he couldn’t help himself.

“She’s beautiful,” Harriet said out of the blue.

“Aunt Primrose?”

She bit her lower lip. “You know who I mean.”

“Oh, her,” he said absently, his hand stealing upward another inch. “I didn’t notice.” Her skin felt like raw silk. The texture of it sharpened his hunger.

“What did you notice?” she asked in curiosity.

“Her hat.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“That’s all?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Then-”

“She had really sharp teeth.” “You’re awful,” she whispered, laughter in her voice.

“She probably thinks so, too,” he said with a grin.

“She might if she knew what you were doing right now,” Harriet said, studying his face.