If I Only Had a Duke(35)

Con caught Dalton's eye. It was time.

"Stay back," Dalton whispered in Thea's ear. "Be ready to leave. Quickly."

"Isn't she winning?"

"Yes, but things could go wrong if anyone realizes she's female."

Thea's eyes narrowed slightly. "She doesn't require rescuing." She shifted until their bodies weren't touching anymore. "You don't need to interfere. Trust me, Dalton. Let Molly make her own choices. It's important for her to have this moment of power over Raney. After the way he treated her."

Con glanced at Dalton, his eyes asking what the delay was about. Dalton made the abrupt slashing motion with his index finger that was their signal to halt an operation.

To retreat.

Con frowned.

"Can you trust me, Dalton?" Thea's eyes sparked in the dim light.

She'd spoken the same words at the inn.

This wasn't all about Molly. It was important to Thea as well. She'd had only orders and coercion from her mother . . . never trust. She spoke of Molly taking control and taking the reins of her power, when Thea was the one who craved control.

She'd been testing her power the entire journey, assuming bold, sensual roles. She wanted to own her power. And she wanted to be free of her mother's rules.

Dalton watched Molly closely. If she were in any true danger, he and Con would act swiftly.

Thea saw the look pass between Dalton and Con. She rose on her tiptoes. "Thank you," she whispered in Dalton's ear.

He tightened his grip around her waist, loving the way her curves fit him so well.   





 

She gave him a brilliant smile and suddenly the close, dark room shifted into vibrant color, as if he'd rounded a bend in a road and suddenly an ocean vista unfolded, sun sparkling on wide, blue ocean.

What he wouldn't do for that smile.

Now, to make her laugh. He loved the way she laughed. High and silvery like pealing bells.

Con wasn't happy about waiting but he didn't make any moves, standing with his head lowered, watching Molly intently.

It was Raney's turn to place his stake and throw the dice. He pushed a small stack of copper forward onto a portion of the mat marked with a crown. "All on crowns," he slurred.

The throng of spectators roared again. "The devil is smiling on you tonight, boy!"

"You're going to let that lad put your baubles in his pockets like that, Raney?"

The barmaid with the chestnut curls slipped out from under Raney's arm and sidled up to Molly and whispered something in her ear.

Molly gave her a coin and the barmaid threw her arms around Molly's neck and gave her a loud smack on the cheek. Molly kissed the barmaid's cheek in return and squeezed her waist.

The men around the table roared with laughter, pointing at Raney and thumping Molly on the back, obviously ribbing Raney about losing the affections of his fair-weather companion.

Raney glared at Molly and she grinned back at him, enjoying her triumph.

Dalton bent toward Thea. "Farm girls besting sailors and kissing barmaids," he whispered. "Now we've seen everything, eh?"

She stifled a laugh with her hand. "It's quite a sight."

"Swears and gambles like a sailor, your Molly," he whispered. "Wonder where she learned that?"

"She has ten brothers. I should think they were her tutors in those arts."

"Ten brothers." Dalton whistled softly and turned to Con. "Hear that, Con? She has ten brothers. Might know a thing or two about the male mind."

Con gave his usual noncommittal grunt, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.

Thea granted Dalton another approving smile, and he slid his hand along her back.

In a reckless move, Molly pushed her entire stack of coins onto the table. "I'm all in on spades. Time to bury you, knave. Prepare your coffin!" she called.

Raney's face darkened. "Your luck's bound to run out, my boy."

Molly lifted her pint glass and drained the contents in one long gulp, accompanied by the approving shouts of the small crowd. "Sure, and my luck ran out the day I met you, Jack Raney."

He glanced up sharply, searching her face, as if realization might dawn any second.

Con tensed.

Molly began her elaborate dice cup ritual again, the familiar rattling sound shaking loose too many memories in Dalton's mind. A cheer went up from the watching men as they started placing side bets.

"Five bob on the ship's boy!"

"Five on Raney!"

The crowd held its breath.

The dice hit the table and rolled.





Chapter 18





Thea couldn't bear to watch the outcome. She turned her head away from the table, watching Dalton's face instead.

The redheaded barmaid in the scarlet dress had called him a rogue. He did look the rogue with that cut across his jaw.

He hadn't shaved and there was dark brown stubble across his chin, obscuring the cleft, but Thea still knew it was there, just waiting for her to discover it again.

The barmaid had explored his body with her eyes as if he were a prize goose at Christmastime.

Well, who could blame her?

His was the dangerous beauty that made a woman stop and stare because she wondered if he'd fallen from the heavens, plummeted to earth, and might be ready to drag her with him down to hell.

His large hand clasped around her waist possessively. Claiming her.

Trusting her instincts.

A cheer rose up and Thea whipped her head back to the gaming table.

Molly snatched her cap off her head and her long braids tumbled out. "It's me, Jack Raney, you beef-witted gull. Molly Barton! Remember me?" She grabbed a fistful of coins and stuffed them into the basin of her blue cap. "I'll be taking these."

Jack's eyes screwed into mean slits. "You," he sputtered. "You . . . why, I'll-"

The crowd of sailors erupted into mirth, slapping their thighs and hooting with laughter.

"Gammoned by a girl!" one shouted.

Raney reached for his vest pocket with a deadly look in his eyes and Thea clutched Dalton's arm, but Con was already surging forward with long, powerful strides. He parted the crowd easily and thrust a menacing arm around Jack's shoulder, preventing him from drawing his hand out of his pocket.
   





 
"Met my niece, have you?" Con asked.

Molly gasped and stared at Con. Her head whipped around and she grew pale as she recognized Thea and Dalton as well.

"Leave off, old man," Jack gritted out, attempting to shake off Con, but the older man was far too strong.

"Seems to me she won fair and square," Con said. "Come along, Molly." Con dropped Jack and gestured to Molly. She grasped her cap in her hands and followed Con.

"Don't run," Dalton instructed Thea, taking her arm and steering her toward Con and Molly. "Walk with confidence. Like you own the place."

He threw some coins on the bar, more than enough for their drinks, and the four of them sauntered toward the back exit through the jostling crowd.

The alleyway behind the public house was fetid with rotting refuse.

Thea glanced back, half expecting the door to burst open and an angry mob led by Raney to follow them outside, but the doorway remained empty.

The alley, however, quickly filled.

Three large implacable-looking men stood waiting for them, black-brimmed hats jammed low over brutish brows.

Dalton stiffened and stopped abruptly, shoving Thea behind him. Con did the same with Molly, the two men forming a bulwark of solid muscle between Thea and Molly and the three brutes.

Thea had to peer around Dalton's formidable back to see what happened next.

The men lumbered toward them menacingly. Guards hired by the tavern, no doubt. Prizefighters seeking a back-alley match.

Thea shivered and glanced at Molly.

"We'll be all right," Molly whispered. She squeezed her hands into fists. "We'll fight if we have to," she said with a fierce glare at the advancing men.

"Good evening, Albertson." Dalton's voice dropped to a deep and dangerous pitch. "You own this alleyway as well?"

"I'm about to own you," Albertson replied. Up close he had a crooked nose, mangled ears, and cruel blue eyes.

He stopped inches from Dalton and poked a finger into his chest. "There's a reward for your capture, Jones."

Thea's mind darted between the possibilities. Did Albertson think Dalton was Jones again? Should she speak up? Try to distract them?

She stole another glance at Albertson from around Dalton's shoulders and quickly decided against that plan of action. The man had shoulders even wider than the duke's and enormous fists with bruised knuckles. He was obviously a professional pugilist. Far more dangerous than the bumbling dolts at the inn yard.

"Mack," Albertson said. "The sheet."

Mack had a flat, wide brow and small, deep-set eyes. He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew out a sheet of wrinkled paper, and passed it to Albertson.

Paper rustled as Albertson held out the sheet. "Trent says be on the lookout for the Hellhound. Fled London two days ago disguised as a gentlemanly type. Got a drawing here of a bruiser of a fellow. Six foot. Twelve stone. With a scar." Albertson slashed a finger along his jaw. "Just here."

Thea gasped. Dalton had said the scar came from fighting a duel with a jealous husband. Or had he actually said those words? Maybe she'd only made an assumption.

Albertson crumpled the paper and threw it to the ground. "I'd say that matches the description of someone in this alleyway."

Dalton's entire body went still as a stone.

He didn't say a word, yet Thea heard his bass voice in her head.