Chapter Five #2
A folded sheet of paper on the bedside table caught her eye. It was a list of names: Kitty, Janet, Tessie, Laurel. Ah, now this was interesting. Conquests? Potential wives? Sisters, even?
A mystery for her to solve.
She sipped more brandy as she tiptoed around his room, careful to leave no trace of her exploration. A black silk dressing gown hung on a wardrobe hook. She lifted it free and held it to her nose. Yes, it smelled like him. The earthy musk of the ambergris, the refreshing citrus tang.
An image of him wearing nothing but black silk, drinking brandy, propped up in bed reading Shakespeare popped into her mind. She shivered, hugging the dressing gown closer.
“Ahem.”
She spun around, heart pounding. Please don’t let it be the duke.
“I thought I told you not to touch anything, Miss Crewe.”
Only McArdle, with a censorious frown.
“I was just having a look around.”
He sighed heavily. “Follow me, Miss Crewe.”
Ana grabbed her boots from the rug in front of the fireplace and hurried after the butler. It wasn’t until they were halfway down a long hallway that she realized she was still clutching the duke’s silk dressing gown in one hand.
“No trouble at all, says she,” McArdle muttered under his breath as he glided ahead of her. “Ha!”
“What the devil happened to you?” asked Dane, Duke of Rydell, when Dex entered the Thunderbolt Club. “You’re even more battered and bruised than usual.”
Dex groaned and flung himself into a chair. He’d run away from his house so fast that he hadn’t even changed his ripped coat or wiped the blood from the scratch across his cheek. “Miss Analise Crewe. That’s what happened,” he said glumly.
“The young lady you’ve been searching for?”
“The very one.” Dex accepted a tumbler of brandy. “I found her.”
“Excellent news! You’ve been searching for her forever. Where was she?”
“The rookeries.”
Dane gave him an incredulous look. “I hope you removed her swiftly.”
“I attempted to. She had other ideas.”
“What’s she like?”
“Small of stature but grand in energy. Self-described as a redheaded spitfire of a hellion.” He smiled slightly, thinking about how she’d attempted to dissuade him from wanting to make her his mistress.
“Delicate and tough, like the progeny of a bare-knuckle boxer and a goldfinch. Crewe was a mild-mannered man, though stalwart and deadly in a battle. She must have gotten the spitfire from her mother’s side. ”
Dane laughed, studying his fresh injuries. “Don’t tell me she did that to you?”
A servant handed him a cloth and Dex wiped his cheek. “Thought I was a bounder attempting to steal her virtue. Wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise to explain myself. Fought like a cornered alley cat.”
“Wish I could have seen that. Hey, Somersby,” he called to their dark-haired, strong-jawed friend who was slumped in a corner, nursing an entire bottle. “Warburton was trounced by a young lady this evening.”
Somersby raised his bottle in their direction. “Young ladies. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em, am I right, gents?” He swallowed an unhealthy amount of whiskey and then slumped over the table, propping his chin on a deck of cards.
“Somersby’s drowning his sorrows,” said Dane. “His latest opera singer jilted him for a marquess.”
“Think I’ll do some drowning myself.” Dex finished his brandy and the waiter quickly poured him another.
Dane joined him in another drink. “You probably didn’t explain yourself to Miss Crewe, you just grunted and attempted to stuff her in your carriage.”
“I did try to explain myself.” Though he hadn’t done a very good job of it.
Silence was a habit he’d learned in the hospital that became more and more difficult to break.
It was the protective shroud he wrapped around himself, the invisible armor he wore.
“She mistook me for a gentleman sent by a brothel keeper to take her as his mistress.”
“Then I’m glad she attacked you.”
“She fought valiantly, if ineffectually.” He shuddered. “If I hadn’t arrived in time and she’d fallen into the clutches of the brothel madam . . .”
“But you did. And she’s safe now.”
“She’s at my house. I can’t return until I find a suitable chaperone.
I was supposed to be halfway to Drakefell by now.
I’m stuck in London instead. I was thinking of asking my aunt Glynis to chaperone Miss Crewe.
She used to make me quake in my half boots when I was a child.
I promised Lieutenant Crewe that I would see his daughter safely settled and I damn well will. ”
“You mean to find her a husband?”
“I suppose that’s the usual meaning of seeing a young lady settled.” He tried to imagine Miss Crewe on the marriage mart, viewing every suitor with mistrust, all raised fists, fiery curls, and flashing eyes. “Although she’s not exactly your typical docile debutante.”
“What I don’t understand is how she escaped your attention for so many years.”
“She took a position as secretary and companion to Lady Claridge, the celebrated authoress. They remained sequestered at an estate in Cornwall until Lady Claridge died and her nephew inherited the house and was, I gather, attempting to inherit Miss Crewe, as well. She fled Cornwall with only the clothes on her back and a few family keepsakes. She’s been fending for herself ever since. ”
He was the worst guardian in the world. He’d failed her miserably.
Small wonder the girl had taken one look at him and run for her life.
She was wary, and understandably so. While he’d been searching for her, she’d been accosted by a reprobate, forced to flee at midnight, and propositioned by a bawd.
Fury tensed his body into hard knots. He’d make certain the finishing school mistress, Lord Claridge, and the boarding house owner and her sister received their just rewards.
“What’s she like? Other than sharp of tooth and nail.”
“Sharp of everything. A pointy little chin, razor wit, talks non-stop. Just turned eighteen. Redheaded. Freckles. A blur of motion. She doesn’t trust me fully yet. I’ll have to convince her of my respectability and good intentions if I want to escape that sharp pencil and tongue of hers.”
She put on a brave face with her jokes and her good-natured chatter, but she wasn’t the same innocent, trusting girl who had written those letters to her father. Life had taught her hard lessons.
“I would offer my wife as a chaperone,” said Dane, “but we’re going on holiday next week. Perhaps one of the other ladies in our group?”
“No offense, but I don’t think they’re stern and unimpeachable enough. If I recall, your Sandrine was chaperoned by two elderly ladies whose permissiveness resulted in all manner of mischief.”
“Ah, I do recall,” Dane said fondly. “Bless their inattentiveness.”
“I’m certainly not allowing my ward to sneak out and attend masked balls and meet the likes of you in hedge mazes.”
“You’d better trim away any rose trellises near her window, then. I’m told that’s how Sandrine made her escape.”
“Good God.”
“And definitely don’t allow her to join the Pink Ladies.”
“Are those ladies still terrorizing society?”
“Afraid so.”
“I’m her guardian,” Dex growled. “She will not be debauched in pleasure gardens on my watch.”
“Even if she freely chooses debauchery?”
“She’s my responsibility. I swore to her father I would see her safely and comfortably settled. She’ll marry a worthy man within the year.”
He would see to it that no one ever made her eyes cloud over, or her shoulders tremble ever again. Life had thrown her cruel twists and turns, but from this moment forth she would be safe and protected.