Chapter Three
R osilee watched with furrowed brows as a large, imposingly grand carriage pulled to a stop a few feet away from them. Her doubts about his identity vanished while other questions—like why Leopold had never mentioned this duke—took its place. She didn’t have time to gather her wits or organize all the questions in her mind, however, before a tall young man stepped from the carriage.
More questions arose.
“Is that your brother?”
The duke snorted disdainfully. “He’s my butler.”
Butler?
She studied the duke’s face. Was he teasing her? She couldn’t tell. For all the bad luck she had been struck with since she started her journey, could the tides truly have turned so completely that a mysterious duke had truly arrived to save the day? One who had a connection with her brother? It all seemed rather like a fairy tale. One, quite frankly, she was desperate enough to believe in.
“It seems I arrived just in time,” the man remarked, flashing a grin at the duke. He didn’t seem like any butler Rosilee had ever known.
“You are late.”
The butler ignored the duke and directed his smile to her. “You must be Lady Rosilee. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Finally?
Had Leopold spoken to them about her?
The duke cleared his throat. “This is the carriage.”
Rosilee had never had so many question marks appear in her head as today. She didn’t know quite what he meant to convey, unless he was merely pointing out that this was indeed, the carriage. That would escort her? She gave a slight nod, unsure how to answer, but the corner of her lips still lifted at his awkward, stiff posture.
What an intriguing duke.
“Forgive my employer’s clumsy manner, my lady. I am Giles Bishop, the duke’s right-hand man, and I’m here to assist you and him in any possible way.”
Right-hand man? What happened to being a butler?
“Miss Green,” he added, “is also an acquaintance of mine.”
That caught Rosilee’s undivided attention. “You know Evangeline? How?” She glanced at the two men suspiciously before asking Mr. Bishop, “Are you also acquainted with my brother? Tell me the truth, did Miss Green send you to me?”
“She did not,” Mr. Bishop said, shooting an odd glance at the duke. “We heard through another source since we’ve been keeping an eye on Baston for some while now.”
“This is all rather remarkable,” Rosilee said. Given her predicament, she shouldn’t simply disregard such odd coincidences, especially when they mysteriously worked in her favor. However, she didn’t detect any sense of malice from either of these two men. So, she would give them the benefit of the doubt, and pray they were indeed telling her the truth.
“Shall we?” the duke said, motioning to the carriage.
Rosilee nodded, eager, and Mr. Bishop held the door open for her to enter. The duke followed, settling in across from her. “Are you not joining us?” she asked when Mr. Bishop moved to shut the door.
“Me? A mere servant? I wouldn’t dare.”
Rosilee blinked. Why did his designation keep changing? “Wait! What about Ben?” She’d almost forgotten about Ben!
“Do not worry, my lady,” Ben called from the outside. “I shall ride in the front with Mr. Bishop.”
“Are you sure, Ben?” Rosilee asked, unsure.
“Yes,” came the boy’s reply, and before she could even think to answer, the door shut.
Well, I never!
There was a flurry of movement outside as they presumably transferred her belongings, and moments later the carriage lurched forward.
Was all this all right?
They were heading to London just like that?
“My carriage...” Not that she thought them fools, but they did seem to have an air of carelessness about them. “And horses...”
“Do not worry about them,” the duke answered calmly. His eyes met hers. “My men will see to them.”
“What men?” They were all bunched up in the driver’s seat, weren’t they?
“The ones who followed the carriage and will probably arrive shortly.”
There were more men? She must be losing her reason. All this was more than strange. But then, Rosilee had learned to embrace strangeness at a young age, since her family had always enjoyed odd pursuits and regularly got themselves into strange circumstances. Just look at her brother and now her.
He motioned to the book still clutched in her hand. “You enjoy reading?”
She glanced down at the novel, rubbing a finger over the surface. Another thing she had forgotten about. “I do.” She sent him a skeptical glance. “Don’t tell me you are one of those men who scoff at a woman who reads.”
“I am not. I quite enjoy reading myself.” He bent down and slid open a hidden drawer that opened by his legs under his seat.
Her breath caught as she glimpsed what lay within.
Two rows of finely bound volumes were neatly arranged inside, their spines gleaming in rich hues of burgundy, green, and gold. The scent of aged paper beckoned her closer.
“There are three more drawers.”
“A library?” she exclaimed, delight filling her. “In your carriage?”
He nodded. “Traveling can be tedious, and I’ve learned that a good book is the best remedy for boredom.”
She reached out, a finger tracing the delicate lettering on the spines. “Whoever designed this was a genius,” she murmured. “Such a treasure trove to have at your fingertips while traveling.”
“I’m glad you like it. I have this volume, too.” A touch of pride surfaced in his tone as he pulled a book from its place and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed lightly, sending an unsettling flutter through her.
She skimmed the title. It was the same book on her lap.
Her chest tightened with an unfathomable emotion. Her father had always said that a man who cared for books possessed a wealth that could not be spent or stolen, a wealth that endured through time. Then again, he had also said a man who read possessed uncompromising sense. So he hadn’t always been exactly right, but she agreed with the first sentiment.
I made the right choice .
“I must confess,” she said softly, “I’ve never encountered a man who travels with a library.”
Such a man . . .
She couldn’t fathom they existed. Her gaze returned to the books, their titles. She recognized them all, had read them all. It was almost as if this library had been stocked just for her. But that couldn’t be.
She slid the book back into its spot and looked up at him, and she realized that this man, like his carriage with its hidden library, had hidden depths she couldn’t even begin to imagine. But strangely enough, like the pages of the book she held, she wanted to discover each new layer.
“This all seems rather surreal, if I’m honest.”
He nodded, shutting the drawer. “Why are you going to London? You seem to be in quite the hurry.”
She arched a brow. “Your sources didn’t tell you?” When he stared at her blankly, she almost laughed but still said solemnly, “I must find a husband.”
“Are you in a hurry to find one, too?”
“Unfortunately, I am.”
He nodded again. “And who shall you find to marry you at such short notice?”
“I shall not do the finding, but a Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Have you heard of her?”
The corner of his eye twitched. “Nothing good.”
Rosilee blinked at him, startled. “You know Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“Not personally, no, but I know the men who frequent her gambling hell aren’t good husband material.”
Rosilee cocked her head. “How do you know that?”
“They’re in a gambling hell. They gamble. Need I say more?”
“I suppose not, but I need such a man to take a gamble on me and my circumstances,” Rosilee said and paused. “You mentioned you are here to help me, and that you know about Baston. Did you have some particular help in mind?”
“Whatever you need, I will deliver.”
Anything she needed?
What sort of man would go so far for a person he had just met?
Perhaps it was his directness, the way he met her eyes without hesitation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he had shown up at the precise moment her options had run thin. But sitting across from him in a carriage that felt like it belonged to royalty, staring into his gaze that felt familiar yet so unfamiliar, it struck her—
She’d stepped into the carriage with a stranger. She’d put herself in a dangerous position. And, heaven help her, she wasn’t certain she wanted to step back out.
Whatever you need, I will deliver.
Had he just said that? Bloody brilliant, Blake. Why not offer her the moon? The sun? The whole damn kingdom? More importantly, how did he plan to help? He did not have the barest idea and would have to come up with something more substantial.
His mind reeled.
As far as his intentions went, they had been straightforward when he’d first set out—rescue her and her brother, and that would be the end of it. But the moment he nearly ran her down, he had realized how inadequate that plan truly was.
It had never been that simple.
If her brother had signed papers—though they had yet to confirm this—and if debts or obligations loomed, it would take far more than a show of bravado and a bit of money to set things right. This was, after all, the work of that blackguard Baston, a man who felt nothing about betrayal. And if things went wrong, Lady Rosilee’s reputation could be dragged through the mud. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen.
Of course, Bishop had sent men to investigate the situation, to retrieve her brother and any incriminating documents. They were supposed to be efficient and meticulous, and if anyone could handle a matter this delicate, it was them. But even Bishop couldn’t guarantee success, and Blake was not about to sit back and leave things to chance. At least, not in this.
Because this was about her .
He would do anything for her.
She suddenly rubbed her hands together, studying him with a smile. “Anything, like anything I need?”
“You don’t believe me?” Of course, he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t entirely trust him. Why should she? He was a stranger who had swooped in, claiming to know her brother and offering vague promises of help.
“I mean, I—”
“Name it. I give you my word, you shall have it.”
She waved her hands for him to stop. “Very well, no need to go on, I shall believe you for now.”
“Do you always believe strangers so easily?”
A grin split her face. “I have a good feeling about you. And you know Leopold.”
Of course. The viscount. You really ought not trust everything you hear, Lady Rosilee. A knot lodged in his chest. He didn’t deserve her trust. But he would earn it. “I hope I will not disappoint you then.”
“The only way you can do that is by preventing me from achieving my goal.”
Ah, yes. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the notorious matchmaker. Who hadn’t heard the whispers of her dealings, the despairing women she catered to, and the wealthy men who sought amusement and became distraught cannon fodder for the veiled widow’s schemes. Such a place was unworthy of Lady Rosilee. “What if I can secure you a match without having to enlist the widow’s help?”
Surprise flashed in her eyes. “You could do that?”
He didn’t know. But he could damn well try. No matter what, he couldn’t let her walk into the Lyon’s Den without at least attempting to offer her an alternative. “I still have contacts in London.”
Christ.
That rang flat even to his own ears. He supposed he did have some connections, or would, eventually. Or rather, his title would afford him influence. Did Bishop have any contacts? Probably not. If he did, the man wouldn’t have ended up half-dead in a ditch on his property, would he?
Her eyes locked with his, and he tensed beneath her scrutiny.
Blake could see the wheels turning in her mind. She was deliberating his offer. He understood her hesitation. How many times had he heard tales of men promising help, only to disappear when it was most needed? Books were riddled with them. But still never as much as reality was. He would never be one of those stories.
“Very well,” she finally said. “Let us see if your London contacts can procure me my solution.”
Relief numbed his limbs. “I assure you, Lady Rosilee, I shall do everything in my power to help you.”
“May I ask how you know my brother?”
Blake paused for a moment, picking his words with care. “He, we...” Damnation. He thought back to that night. It wasn’t her brother, but it was a Fairchild. “We crossed paths some years back. He...”— you— “...helped me out of a predicament.” She didn’t remember him, so it shouldn’t matter saying this much. After all, he couldn’t simply tell her they, she and him, had met before. How could he remind her? It would seem strange for him to come to her rescue over something she’d done so many years ago. She would think him a monster of sorts, wouldn’t she? “I’ve been grateful to him ever since.”
“Oh. And what sort of predicament might a duke find himself in?”
She sounded so intrigued Blake inwardly cursed. “I’d rather you didn’t ask.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because...” He furiously fought for a suitable answer. “Men things?”
“ Men things?” Her fascination grew.
“Yes,” Blake said firmly, nodding for emphasis. “Men things .”
She laughed, the bright melody of it filling the carriage. Lord, if his ears could catch hold of that sound and never let go, they would grasp it with a grip that would never unfasten. How long had it been since he heard such sincere, artless laughter? Too long.
Far too long.
“I suppose we all are allowed our secret things,” she said, her laughter fading into a soft chuckle. “Very well, I won’t pry.”
Blake relaxed, reassured, and braced for whatever lay ahead. “Thank you.” It suddenly occurred to him. “You’re not traveling with a chaperone. Why not?”
“At my age? Do not make me laugh. My driver was enough.”
Nonsense. “Your driver was a boy. Can a boy protect you against ruffians?”
She pulled a face. “I am an adult, though. I can take care of myself.”
“You can’t be more than . . .”
She arched a brow.
“Twenty.”
“ Four and twenty.” She laughed again. “A veritable spinster.”
“They attach the label of spinster at such a young age?” Blake scoffed.
“Oh, yes,” she said with mock seriousness. “By society’s standards, I’m practically ancient. Why, they might as well send me to the healing waters of Bath to knit socks and tell tales of the good old days.”
“Well, if you are ancient, I’d say it suits you, healing waters or not.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Please do.
Blake observed Lady Rosilee as silence fell between them, the corner of her lips still curved in a half smile. What was she thinking, what plans and schemes were forming in that mind of hers? Did that even matter at this point?
She was here.
He was here.
They were together. They had met again.
He admired her courage, her willingness to take risks, to step into the unknown. It was a rare quality, especially in a world that valued caution and restraint. Blake had never been one to charge headlong into action. He usually avoided it. But once he set his mind to something, his determination was unshakable. They had that in common. It had driven him to this point, just as it had led her to set off to London without a chaperone.
Damnation. The chaperone.
“We will be staying overnight at an inn,” Blake said, his mind racing. “Should we hire a maid for you?”
She surprised him by saying, “No, need. Let’s just say we are family.”
Family.
Ah, Christ.
Why did his heart suddenly start to throb?