If I Only Had a Duke(22)

 

Molly glared at Con. "That one was sneaking up on me."

"You were waving a pistol about and attempting to rob him. Of course he was sneaking up on you."

"Not loaded."

"Well, he didn't know that."

"Molly," exclaimed Thea. "You climb in the carriage this instant. Dread Dark Baron. What utter nonsense."

Thea turned to Dalton. "She'll ride inside with me." She said it challengingly, as if he might contradict her.

"Suits me." He'd never trust himself alone in a carriage with her again. Not after the earth-shattering kiss they'd just shared.

Con approached Molly and leaned over so their faces were level. "Well then, Master Molly, is it? Or Miss Molly?"

Molly's brown eyes narrowed to slits. "You're Irish?"

"As the Blarney Stone. And what brings you to the Bath Road this fine evening?"

Molly crossed her thin arms, and her knobby elbows stuck out from a threadbare coat. "I had my money stolen. The unholy basta-" She glanced at Thea. "The bad man that stole my money ran off to Bristol."

"We'll take you to Bristol, no fare necessary. Now in you go." Con helped Thea and the girl formerly known as the Dread Dark Baron into the carriage.

Dalton mounted one of the horses.

They were only a few minutes from the Bath turnpike now, and it was nearly dark. Not much risk of discovery.

When they were under way again, Dalton caught Con's eye. "And then there were four," he said, shaking his head.

"I have to give the lady credit," Con replied, shouting across the horses. "Never a dull moment. Highly entertaining."

Dalton gripped the reins. Entertaining was one word for it.

He could think of others.

That kiss had shaken him, shifted his center of balance.

Branded him as plainly as the cut across his jaw.

He was losing the battle for control.

Beast, he thought disgustedly. Couldn't control yourself, could you. Had to succumb to temptation.

But she'd been talking about the Hellhound. He'd only kissed her to stop her theorizing.

Guilt seared his mind.

He'd just sent a letter to her mother, for Christ's sake. Vowed to deliver her safe and unharmed.

By God, if he did one thing in this life, he'd damn well keep his word.

There'd be no more intimate conversations.

And absolutely no more kissing.



Molly refused the handkerchief Thea offered her. "I never cry," she scoffed, wrinkling her freckle-spattered nose. "Used to drive Da mad that I didn't cry when he took the strap to me."

"What were you thinking, Molly? You could have been killed. Those are dangerous men out there."

There was something thoroughly unconventional about the rapport between the duke and his servant. She'd been watching their silent interaction. They would have had Molly disarmed within seconds.

"The red-and-silver-haired Irish bloke's all right, but I don't like the look of that big handsome one with the brooding eyes. Don't trust handsome fellows. You shouldn't be traveling with him, my lady. He's apt to steal your heart . . . and steal your money, too."

"Is that what happened to you, Molly? Why on earth are you here?"

"Something like," Molly muttered.

"Something like what?"

"I can't tell you." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "Don't try to make me."

The middle child in a family of eleven children who'd recently lost their father, Molly had been forced to take work at a silk factory in Cork.

"Why don't you tell me," Thea urged. "It may feel good to speak the words. May make your troubles seem lighter. Maybe it's not as bad as you think. Or perhaps I can help."

Thea and her aunt had often visited Molly's family cottage, bringing jars of honey, fresh-baked bread, toys, and handmade quilts to the harried mother with gray-streaked black hair, a care-lined face, and eleven mouths to feed. They were tenants of one of her aunt's neighbors, a callous gentleman who left the care of his estate to managers who bled the tenants for high rents and didn't see to basic repairs.

The duke's estate had no remaining tenants. Only a small staff of ancient retainers who were growing as old and knotty as the olive groves on his grounds. With all that land, he could provide good housing and arable land for a host of tenants. But he kept the house shut and dark as Pharaoh's tomb.

Thea shivered, remembering what he'd told her of his brother. Only five years old. But still, no reason to let such a magnificent property go to seed.

"It's bad." Molly blinked her brown eyes. "I'm bad." She stuffed her long braids back up under the floppy blue cap. "And I don't want to be a girl anymore. Girls have the short end of the stick, and that's certain sure. Think I'll wear trousers from now on. And keep my hair hidden." She jutted out her lip. "Don't try to stop me."   





 

Thea smiled. "I wouldn't try to stop you. The Dread Dark Baron can do whatever she wants."

"That bit was good, don't you think? Had 'em quivering in their fancy boots."

"Oh, they were terrified."

Molly gave a wobbly smile. "I didn't know what else to do. I had no other options."

Thea nodded. "Just as I thought."

"'Twas one of the books you lent me, a history of Richard Turpin, the highwayman."

Molly had followed Thea home one evening, trailing two steps behind, watchful and wary. When Thea arrived back at the cottage, she'd headed straight for the bookshelves because she'd seen how Molly's eyes lit when she saw them.

From that moment on, Molly had spent all her spare time reading every book in the house. Thea had been drawn to the young girl who walked with a swagger and swore like a sailor and wanted to read every book in the world.

Molly arrived at the cottage in the evenings with her fingers stained bluish-purple from indigo silk dye, and her mind hungry for escape. She and Thea had read, side by side in front of the fireplace, during the long winter evenings.

"Oh, so now I'm responsible for your delinquency?" Thea asked.

"Course not," Molly said. "'Twas all Jack Raney's fault." She clapped a hand over her mouth, her lively eyes darting to Thea's face.

"Jack Raney? You may as well tell me now, Molly."

Molly sighed, her thin shoulders heaving. "I . . . can't."

"How about if I tell you a secret first?"

Molly leaned forward. "Go on."

"You mustn't tell anyone, but the handsome man with the dark blue eyes is none other than the Duke of Osborne. He's traveling in disguise as a merchant named Mr. Jones, because he's on the run from the jealous husband of one of the wives he dallied with."

"Osborne? You mean the Osborne of Balfry House?"

Thea nodded. "And I aim to convince him to open the house again."

"Well." Molly let out a surprised gush of breath. "I never thought he'd visit Ireland again." Molly glanced at her suspiciously. "But why are you traveling with him? You're not . . . are you and he . . . ?"

"Nothing like that," Thea hastened to assure her. "He's merely my escort back to Aunt Emma."

"Is that so?" Molly whistled disbelievingly. "I saw the way he looked at you."

"I told you my secret, now it's your turn."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Fair's fair. But first tell me why you left London. You've only been there a month or so."

"I missed Ireland too much. And I missed you, too. I was planning to bring you a carriage-full of books, but I left in a bit of a hurry."

"You missed me?" Molly smiled shyly. "You were going to bring me books?" Her face fell. "I can never go home again."

"Why?"

"He seemed my best option at the time, Jack did. The lying, cheating bastard. Excuse me, my lady. But it's true." She balled her hands into fists. "When I catch him he's going to wish he'd never been born, that's what."

"What happened?"

"One of the factory managers grabbed me and got a knee in his bollocks for his trouble." Molly propped her elbow on her knee. "I lost my position. Couldn't tell Mam. Had to run and I had no money. So I went with Jack to Bristol. He's a sailor and he said he'd find me work as a chamber maid at an inn in Bath."

"The scoundrel."

"You don't know everything yet," Molly said bitterly. "Jack said we needed money, to buy me a maid's uniform, said there were costs to be paid first. And so I . . . I stole the funds from me own mam. All the money buried under the yew hedge."

"Oh, Molly. You didn't."

"I told you I was bad. But I was going to replace it." She shook her head. "Jack took me to Bath and ran off with the money. He's back in Bristol making his runs between Bristol and Cork. Having his fun at the Anchor Tavern. Left me with nothing but an old pistol and a pair of his trousers."

Thea understood now. There were few options for a fallen girl, alone in a strange city.

"When we reach Bristol I'm going to find him," Molly said vehemently. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to get that money back."

She kicked the rusted pistol lying on the carriage floor. "First I'll have to learn how to load this pistol."

"No more pistols."

"Well, he's not going to part with the money if I say please and thank you. I'll have to scare it out of him."   





 

"That's a terrible idea. I'll talk to the duke. Maybe he'll be able to help."