“How many are there?” Luke asked, springing off his stool.
“I didn’t bloody count ’em,” Rob said. “There’s a carriage coming down the street.” He ran a hand through his flyaway red hair. “Wanna come with us, ’arry? We’ll cut you in a bit.”
She shook her head. “When are you going to learn? Get on, and if anything happens to that little baby-”
They were gone. All through the house, footsteps echoed, mattresses creaked, trapdoors opened and banged shut. Without giving it a second thought, she picked up Lady Constance’s reticule, walked to the corner, and dropped it in the empty cradle.
“There’s your christening gift from Auntie Harry, little precious, courtesy of someone who’ll never miss it.”
She walked from the kitchen and out into the night. The duke stood at the end of the alley, as dark and menacing as anyone a girl could meet on these streets. He was not going to let her past this time. Harriet forced herself not to run toward him. He’d shed his coat and cravat. His white lawn shirt needed a wash. He could use a good shave. She could have wept buckets at the sight of him.
“Did Lady Powlis send you here, duke?”
“Believe it or not,” he said with a quiet sigh, “I do not do everything I’m told.”
“Oh, I believe it.”
He looked up at the stone-gray tenements. A figure wobbled on the rickety footbridge that arched midair from one upper window to the next. A glint of moonlight captured the strong angles of his face. She heard carriage wheels creak in the street. If he hadn’t been the duke, Harriet might have mistaken him for a thoroughly disreputable person.
“So, what do you think of the place?” she asked softly, moving around him.
He shifted. His body stopped her progress. “Get inside the carriage, Harriet.”
“What do you-”
He glanced at her. “It’s a hovel.”
“It’s my home. Well, it was.”
He blew out a breath. “Not exactly Mayfair.”
“I ain’t no May queen, neither.” She paused. “I realize that this is an awkward time to ask, but I don’t suppose you would give me references of character for another position?”
“Get into the carriage before I am forced to carry you.”
She ventured a step back and smiled.
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.”