Chapter One
Matthew tipped his glass of whisky back and finished it in a single swallow. His third in as many minutes. Any moment now the burning liquid would begin to numb the fresh wave of loss he’d felt before coming to the Kicking Horse Tavern and Inn.
He scrubbed his face with his hands several times. His last lead had gone cold. For the last two years, he’d been searching for his sister. The one person in this godforsaken country he loved. Or maybe it was just him that had been forsaken.
“I’ll have another.” He waved at a barmaid, who grimaced in response. He wasn’t certain if that meant she wouldn’t serve him or she just disapproved. He hoped it was the latter because he needed the forgetful bliss alcohol could provide. The worst part, he was the reason his sister Camille was gone.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured under his breath as the memories replayed in his mind. She’d come to him for help but he’d turned her away. Why had he done that? He knew the reason of course but it still made no sense to him. He’d been mired in his own difficulties and sure they were more important than whatever Camille wanted to share with him.
He’d never erase the immeasurable hurt in his sister’s eyes, though he’d instantly regretted his choice. They’d always helped each other. But his disappointment and anger clouded his good sense.
His head dropped into his hands as memories of Camille continued to plague him. Where was that whisky? The three glasses he’d already consumed did little to stop his mind from turning the details over and over. That night was the last time he’d seen Camille before she’d disappeared. Not six months later, their father had passed away. He’d become the Duke of Pennington but even his title couldn’t help him find her.
In fact, he’d found it a hindrance, particularly in places such as this, the seedy docks of London’s underbelly. So he’d posed as a commoner to try and gain any information he could. He’d traced her to the docks from a nearby tavern, The Kicking Horse, but the trail ended there. He believed her ship had sailed to France but he’d been unable to find anyone who could confirm it and her trail had gone cold.
So he’d returned to the last place he knew she had been, The Kicking Horse.
By all accounts, she hadn’t been here against her will; in fact, the tavern wench who’d seen her said she’d been with a man and they’d been happy, smiling at one another. It gave him some consolation. Though he missed her, the news gave him hope that she was alive, if only he could discover where.
A new serving girl weaved her way through the crowd, her tray unsteady. She had that look like she was unsure of what was happening around her. Her eyes were wide as she stumbled, trying to avoid bumping into patrons.
A pang of sympathy stabbed at him. She was lovely, really, with her dark hair pulled back at the nape and wide blue eyes that seemed to beg for someone to save her. As with all tavern wenches, she showed a fair amount of bosom and while her breasts weren’t overly large, they appeared exactly right for fitting into a man’s hand.
He shook his head. Christ, he had to slow down on the whisky if he was ogling some poor girl. He blinked to clear his vision but he couldn’t help but look at her again when she stopped next to him to serve drinks to the fellows beside him.
Her back was to him but he grudgingly noted the tininess of her waist, the perfect lines of her neck, and the silky tresses brushing down the slim column. He gave himself another shake. He’d never been a man to indulge himself in the pleasures of women. He’d kept his dalliances few and far between. Not that he didn’t have his share of female attention. But he found affairs sordid, distracting him from more meaningful pursuits. It was better to spend his time caring for the people around him, the servants and workers who depended upon him for their livelihoods. After all, he should have been caring for his sister rather than dallying with a hoyden.
Though he hadn’t known Sarah had ill intentions, the one time he’d fallen in love, she’d only proven what a distraction affection truly was. Sarah had not only broken his heart, she’d clouded his judgment. He’d never forgive himself for allowing Sarah’s betrayal to push Camille away.
The serving girl made to leave but one of the men at the table stopped her. “What’s yer rush?” He crassly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. “Ye just got here.”
She pushed at his chest. “There are a great many customers and I—”
There was no mistaking her accent. It sounded as refined as she looked. But what would a woman of grace being doing serving in a seedy place like this?
“Don’t ye sound lovely.” The man holding her captive spoke Matthew’s thought aloud. “I’ve always wanted a woman like you under me.”
With those words, she jerked away, knocking into the table, as the freshly poured drinks tipped wildly. Matthew stood instantly and caught the table, righting it. But the drinks did not recover as well and several spilled, crashing to the floor.
She jumped back as the liquid soaked her, bumping into him. Without thought he wrapped his free hand around her waist. “I’ve got you,” he whispered close to her ear.
She turned back to him then, as those wide blue eyes stared into his, her mouth forming an O. For just a second, he pulled her closer, she felt like nothing he’d ever held before, and then he tucked her behind him.
The men at the table stood. “You idiot,” the man who’d just held her roared. “Yer paying fer those drinks.”
The others grumbled in agreement and Matthew let go of the table, standing straighter. “You should have kept your hands to yourself.”
“Stay out of it.” The man stepped closer, waving his finger in Matthew’s face. “It’s not your concern.”
“I disagree.” Matthew began just as the man swung his fist directly at Matthew’s face. He sidestepped the blow, rather impressively, he thought to himself, considering the amount of whisky he’d consumed, and gave the man a quick fist to the gut.
The ruffian doubled over even as one of his compatriots came at Matthew. Readying himself for the fight, he didn’t have a chance. A very large man grabbed him and the would-be assailant by the collars of their shirts. “That’s enough.” His voice boomed, silencing the noise around them. “All of you out.” Then he looked over Matthew’s shoulder. “And you’re fired. Leave with ‘em.”
He heard a soft gasp that turned into a choking noise from just behind him. She’d lost her job because of these men. Him too. Even worse, they’d all be tossed out on the street together. Matthew would have to continue this fight outside or leave her to their vagary.
He’d two pistols holstered under his coat, but he’d prefer not to have to use them. He’d preferred to avoid an altercation and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself and his real identity. So giving
the incredibly large innkeeper his best smile, he withdrew several pounds from his waist coat. “We’ll happily leave. Here is money for the damages and another round of drinks for these fine gentlemen. They’re not to blame for this incident.”
The innkeeper fisted the coin and nodded to another wench to serve the drinks. Matthew reached back and grabbed the woman’s hand, pulling her out of the inn and onto the dark street. Fortunately, his carriage was just outside, his driver being of the highest quality and before she could say a word, he pushed her into his carriage. Then he climbed in and snapped the door shut.
“Sir,” her strangled protest caught him by surprise. “What do you mean to do with me?”
He blinked several times. “I meant to remove you safely from those hooligans.”
“Fair enough.” She huffed a breath. “But what then?”