My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 15

For an instant, Blackwood was too stunned to react.

Alice didn’t cry. Alice raged and fought.

But this was she, leaning upon him.

Great, gasping sobs against his chest.

He froze. One dark, helpless moment.

Then he came back to himself and wrapped his arms about her.

He held her, that was all, as she grieved a terrible, desperate grief. He didn’t try for words of comfort. He knew there weren’t

any. He could only hold her while the storm raged.

And abruptly ended. In a few heavy heartbeats it was over. She set her palms against his chest and drew back.

He did not release her. His mind came back from wherever it had gone to during that first, dumb instant. With it came flashes

of the past few minutes: of bewilderment and fear and the frantic search for her. A short search, though those few minutes

had passed like eternity in Hell.

She tried to pull away.

He let go, but only to lift his hands to her shoulders and grasp her firmly.

“Never,” he said. “Never without me, Alice. Do you understand?”

She looked up at him, through lashes glistening with tears.

“Never without me,” he said.

She was safe, unhurt. His heart still beat too hard. The panic was slow to subside. He needed to crush her to him. He needed...

He made himself release her.

“We’re going back to collect the other thief,” he said. “Then we’ll deal with this in a rational manner.”

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She fumbled at her pocket. He drew out his handkerchief and gave it to her.

She blew her nose briskly and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket. Her lip trembled. She bit it and took a deep breath.

“I didn’t have time to be rational. He was running away.” Her voice was choked and thin, nothing like the voice he’d heard

a moment ago, so cold and deep and dark.

Like Ripley’s when he was in a dangerous mood.

Like Blackwood’s.

But they were men and she was a woman. She’d pursued a drunken poltroon. Another sort of man could have laughed at that dangerous

voice. Another sort of man could have easily disarmed and assaulted her in the short time before Blackwood caught up with

them.

He told himself it hadn’t been another sort of man. He told himself she hadn’t cried because she’d suffered violence, but

because of Ripley. He told himself that What Ifs, after the fact, were nonsensical. Here she was. Alive. In one piece. Apparently

undamaged.

Apparently.

He said, very, very calmly, “Did he hurt you?”

She looked up at him, and he caught a glint of humor in her eyes. “He tried. But I hurt him .”

He looked down at the thief, who remained on the ground, curled up, whimpering.

“I think you hurt him very badly in his pride,” he said.

“I hope I broke his nose.” She rubbed her gloved hand.

“The way he carries on, you must have done. Good work. But your hand might swell. I should have recommended the whip handle.

You are not practiced in bare-knuckle boxing.”

“I know how to throw a punch. The whip was too far away. My fist was handier.”

“Good point. It worked. Come. Let’s do what we can.”

She started walking toward the carriage, head high and body stiff.

“Get up,” he told Bray.

“My nose is broke!”

“I don’t care. Get up or I’ll drag you by one ankle.”

Bray hauled himself upright, and they followed Alice. Pratt, who’d chased after them, stood by the vehicle, as Blackwood had

ordered. It did not look to be in prime condition. Clearly it had endured a few knocks. The horses seemed to have suffered

no injury, though.

He focused on cattle and carriage because if he thought about what might have happened to her, he’d kill somebody.

He wanted to kill Keeffe. If not for Cassandra Pomfret’s bedamned jockey-groom-bodyguard, Alice would not assume she was a

match for gang leaders and ruffians and possible murderers.

His uncooperative mind said, Keeffe’s the only one to blame? What about you and her brother and Ash mont? What about the example you set, never thinking about what you might be teaching her? Because she’s only a girl.

It was no use asking his provoking mind what other girl would have followed their example, and so he didn’t.

He told himself—again—that it was pointless to stew over what might have happened to her had Bray been a larger and more vicious

article. It hadn’t happened.

What mattered was, she had not suffered any injury. She’d inflicted some.

Keeping this in mind, he focused his rage on the young idiot she’d chased through these rutted byways. An unwashed, gawky

youth, who’d probably had more than enough to drink recently, judging by the smell. He’d been celebrating with his friend

in their cottage while they gloated over their treasures.

A broken nose wasn’t suffering enough, but it would do for now.

After he put Pratt in charge of Bray and stowed Alice safely in the passenger seat, Blackwood gave the mares a quick examination.

No visible injuries.

He stroked them and told them what good girls they were. Under his breath he added, “Thank you for not letting her break her

neck.”

As to the carriage: Apart from scratches in the previously pristine paint, he discerned no obvious damage. That didn’t mean

it was in perfect condition. Later he and the two servants would examine the cattle and vehicle more thoroughly.

Meanwhile, he’d simply have to take care. They couldn’t afford further delays. They had to find Ripley soon.

Not long thereafter

“But he were here!” Moss said.

“Swear he were,” Bray said. “We was at a friend’s last night, like we told you. We come down the lane, goin’ home. We stopped

right here. That big old tree, see? To do a piss. And tripped over him.”

His face was streaked with dried blood. If his nose had been straight before, it wasn’t any longer. When he spoke, he sounded

as though he had a severe head cold. His right eye was swelling.

Alice must have hit harder than she’d thought. That would explain why her hand ached.

She wasn’t sorry. She’d do it again if she had to.

But Bray had had enough of her, and his friend wasn’t eager to test Blackwood’s patience. After a halfhearted attempt, the

pair had given up protesting their innocence and led them to the spot. Not happily. Not willingly. They were truculent. They

whined about their injuries. They whined about having their hands tied together. They whined about having to walk in front

of the carriage.

Now they stood with their captors and the two servants, all gazing at the place where Ripley was supposed to be.

It lay at the end a footpath that opened into the lane they’d traveled, not far from the main road.

Dead men did not get up and walk away.

Relief made Alice dizzy. For a moment she came perilously close to fainting. Absolutely not , she told herself.

She and Blackwood turned to stare at their prisoners.

“He were there!” Moss said. “Big as life, early this morning, I swear. We called to him. Shouted. He never moved.”

“And so you robbed him,” Alice said. “A man lying there, helpless.”

“We thought he was dead,” Bray said.

“What’s a dead man want with clothes and money?” Moss said.

“Was he breathing?” Blackwood said.

“I wasn’t going to get in his face to find out, was I?”

“You must have touched him to get his things. Was he cold?”

“It weren’t full sunup yet, so still dark , weren’t it, and cold?” Bray said. “How could we tell? Didn’t move or nuffin’. From all we could tell, he were dead, weren’t

he?”

Two drunken men as conscienceless as Worbury, Alice thought. They’d descended on their victim like vultures. Yet there was

no body.

She had no trouble imagining all too many ghastly scenarios. They applied better to London, though, and this wasn’t a London

slum or a graveyard. No resurrection men here. While some places were unsavory, the area seemed, for the most part, to be

pleasantly rural.

Kensington was where Ripley sent his linen to be washed, she remembered. Thanks to clean air and a clean spring, Kensington

Gravel Pits was home to laundresses. Even the Blue Sow was the resort of people scraping by, according to Blackwood. Some

kept pigs. Others made bricks. Still others farmed. Not all of the local population were criminals.

She turned her attention to Blackwood.

Brow knit, he was studying a place on the ground. “Something is there,” he said. He bent down and retrieved the object from

the tangle of undergrowth.

“He was here,” he said. “They’re not lying about that.”

He handed her the item: Ripley’s watch, chain, and seals.

He turned to the thieves. “I’m curious. How did you miss these valuable articles?”

“Didn’t miss ’em,” Moss said. “Dropped ’em, didn’t I?”

“You had too much to carry?” Blackwood said.

He shook his head. “He made a noise. Godawful sound, like a banshee wail. Scared me out of my skin.”

“Then we hopped it, didn’t we?” Bray said.

A short, stunned silence ensued.

Blackwood’s shout of laughter broke it.

The laugh simply erupted from him, a shout of relief. Only at that moment did Blackwood realize how deeply he’d despaired.

Alice stared at him.

If he were Alice, he’d stare, too.

He drew her a few yards ahead, to thwart eavesdropping.

“I cannot promise he’s perfectly safe or well,” he said. “But when this pair of bacon brains tripped over him, he was in a

deep, drunken sleep. Anybody who’s heard that snore won’t forget it soon. The first time I heard it, my blood ran cold.”

“Snoring. Well.” She let out a long, shaky breath. Her gaze turned to the place where Ripley had supposedly lain. It was a

gloomy spot a few yards from the road, under a clump of ancient trees. In the deep shade, lying among the weeds and brush,

Ripley wouldn’t be easily visible even in broad day. Small wonder Bray and Moss hadn’t seen him until they tripped over him.

“Either he fell off his horse or dismounted to answer Nature’s call,” Blackwood said. “He must have sunk into slumberland before he could remount. Once he’s in that state, there’s no rousing him. We’ve shaken him. We’ve shouted at him. We’ve tried emptying buckets of cold water on him. He only snorts and turns over and recommences the aria.”

At last her green gaze came away from the shady spot. It did not return to him but to the watch in her hand.

She put him in mind of the grubby little girl he’d watched pummel Worbury all those years ago.

Strands of black hair dangled from under her hat, which had tipped to one side and lost one of the ribbons adorning the crown.

Dirt speckled her face. Though the dress’s brown color hid a multitude of sins, it was undoubtedly dirty and clearly wrinkled.

The dark spots might simply be the dust of travel or filth the horses kicked up when she chased Bray. That, or Bray’s blood.

She needed a bath. Her clothes needed to be burnt. His hands itched to put everything right, to smooth and brush and rearrange.

“Do you believe my brother is wandering, naked, somewhere among the fields and clay pits?” she said.

He made himself stop fretting about her appearance and how much worse it might have been. “He’ll have taken shelter somewhere.”

“Then why hasn’t he sent word?”

“I don’t know,” Blackwood said. “What I do know is, if he was sufficiently intoxicated to fall into that particular state—and

this is not as frequent an occurrence as you might imagine—he mayn’t have recovered yet.”

“Yet he must have recovered sufficiently to leave.”

“It’s possible that persons possessing charitable impulses found him and transported him”—his gaze swept over their bucolic

surroundings—“somewhere.”

“So we hope.”

“A well-founded hope, enough to put your mind at rest,” he said. “We’ve talked to dozens of people hereabouts. Apart from our petty larcenists, who happened on easy pickings, villains don’t seem to infest the place. When those two were done with him, Ripley had nothing left worth stealing. Why kill a man for nothing?”

She looked about her. “True. I had Worbury in my mind. But he’s too cowardly to stalk my brother, too devious to ask about

him openly. Had Worbury done the normal thing and enquired, as we’ve done, somebody would have told us.”

“You might also want to ask yourself why anybody would make off with the corpse. Why go to the trouble? Why not leave him

here? Those two numbskulls wouldn’t have found him if they hadn’t tripped over him. He might lie in this place unnoticed for

days.”

“True enough.”

“He’ll be somewhere in the vicinity,” Blackwood said. “Still asleep, very likely. He usually needs a full twenty-four hours

to recover.”

“Juno grant me patience.” She rubbed her forehead, spreading the dirt into dark streaks. “I don’t understand. Perhaps I never

shall. I’ve never understood what drives you three. But this confounds me utterly.”

At last she turned to him. “He was to return to Newmarket. He meant to leave early this morning. Why, instead, did he go out

to visit a former mistress? And then, why did he not stay with her, instead of going out to who knows where with who knows

what companions, and reduce himself to that extreme state of drunkenness? And where are these companions?”

Why why why why.

Women. So many questions.

He shrugged. “What does any of that matter? The evidence points to his being alive. We shall bestow our two miscreants upon the local constabulary. Tomorrow, with or without the help of the police, I’ll organize a search party.”

“Tomorrow! And what do you propose in the meantime?”

He swallowed a sigh and several bad words. For a precious few minutes, she’d seemed to be reasoning as he did. But the combative

tone was all too familiar, as was the lift of her chin and the shift in her stance. Defiance stared him in the face. Not for

the first time.

He wished he’d left her with her aunt. He wished he’d left her tied to a chair, in a locked room, with armed guards outside

doors and windows.

Remain calm , he told himself. A gentleman does not give way to his passions. The man who lacks self-control cannot control others.

He moved a step closer. Voice quiet and even, he said, “I propose that we accept the facts. It grows late. The area is thinly

inhabited. Farmers and such do not keep late hours. We don’t know the neighborhood. Once darkness falls, we can do nothing

except get ourselves lost. I propose instead to take you back to Sussex Place.”

“No.” She folded her arms.

No surprise there.

He gathered his patience. “Alice, be sensible. Depending on the condition of the carriage and the number of vehicles clogging

the roads, I may need an hour, even two or more, to get you back.”

She shook her head.

Be calm.

“You cannot remain here,” he said.

“I won’t go back. I cannot bear it.”

He was at a loss. She kept throwing herself into danger, and he didn’t know how to stop her. He’d been sick with fear while he hunted for her, and the feeling lingered. She made chaos of his mind, and he hated the confusion.

He wanted to shake her. He kept his hands at his sides and his frustration tamped down. “I will find him, Alice. I always

do. This mad adventure has gone on long enough. I ought never to have let you overcome my and your aunt’s good sense. I do

not understand why I indulge your whims.”

“Whims.” Her expression hardened.

He was distantly aware that he’d blundered. But the thought was faint and fleeting, crowded out by frustration and worry and

other emotions he would not examine now or in this lifetime, if he could help it.

And so he said, “I wish you would use your intelligence, not your feelings. I’ll find him. I don’t need your help, and I don’t

need the added bother of running after you and worrying about what’s become of you.”

“Bother.”

“You were supposed to wait in the carriage. You might have been injured—assaulted—killed!”

“Oh, might I, indeed?” The green eyes flashed. “So might you, every day and every night. So might Ripley. So might Ashmont.

Yet I’m obliged to sit by helplessly, with my anxiety to keep me company. Indeed, my heart grieves for the bother I’ve given you. I vow, I’m altogether desolated to learn I’ve caused you the least inconvenience.”

She threw the watch at him and turned away. She stomped along the lane in a flurry of skirts. She threw up her hands. She

kicked a stone into a ditch.

“Alice.”

“I’ll find him myself,” she called over her shoulder. “You may go to the devil.”

He stood for a moment, watching the tempestuous exit. He clenched and unclenched his hands. He picked up the watch and dropped

it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

He went after her.