My Duke's Deception (Wicked Lords of London 2)

“I hardly recognize you.” He gave her a wink but her words unsettled him. He wouldn’t want to do anything that would compromise her safety. And travelling back to the Docklands at night was likely not the wisest choice.

Chapter Seven

Matthew’s carriage rumbled along the dark, quiet streets and Ella peaked out the curtain of the window for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Trying to keep her hands busy, she smoothed the simple skirt she’d changed into for the occasion. While she didn’t want anyone to recognize her as the tavern wench who’d recently been fired, Matthew had made an excellent point. It was better to blend into the crowd. If their clothes were too fine, they’d be in danger for a different reason all together.

In just a few short nights, Ella had grown accustomed to their quiet evenings in the safety of the inn. Nervous jitters raced along her skin as she watched the shadows that played out on the dark London streets.

“Are you all right, Ella?” Matthew’s voice startled her into dropping the curtain.

She attempted to give him a confident smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been looking out the window as though you are watching for something.” He rose from his seat and pivoted to sit next to her. His arm came about her shoulders even as his other hand reached for hers. “What’s the matter?”

She took a shaky breath. His heat, his touch, and his smell gave her a great deal of comfort. “I am all too aware of what is out there in the night’s shadows.”

He squeezed her, pulling her closer. “I should have waited until the morning. I’ve unsettled you.”

She gave her a head a shake. “No, please don’t worry. I should be helping you. If we waited until the morrow, he might be gone.” She took a steadying breath. “I feel much better with you next to me.”

His cheek dropped to the top of her head. “I’m glad.” She could feel the vibration of his throat as he spoke. “My detective is there as well. Not that we’ll talk with him, we don’t want to ruin his disguise. But should we need him, I am sure he will help.”

“How do even know how to find your man?” she asked, her cheek pressing into the hollow of his throat. She’d like to kiss it but it would be a mistake. Hadn’t she made that error in judgment once already today? Besides, she was determined to make her own way and protect herself.

“He’s tall, burly, black beard, white uniform. Goes by the name of Pierre.” Matthew said. “We’ll do our best.”

She sighed with relief. “And we’ll go straight back to the inn once we’ve spoken to him?”

“I promise,” he said. The vibration and sound of his voice soothed her further. “Here is a miniature of my sister. You can use it to see if he recognizes her.”

She took the picture from his hand. She had to admit her curiosity to see it for herself.

The carriage arrived at The Kicking Horse and they entered the establishment. The smell, a foul and familiar stench, hit her nostrils. Stale ale, liquor, and unwashed bodies made her nose crinkle in protest. Matthew had tucked her hand in his elbow and she gave it a squeeze. She’d had to return here today but thanks to him, she’d likely never have to again.

They found a table and ordered ales, though she had no intention of drinking the foul brew.

“There.” Matthew nodded to a man sitting at the bar. “That must be him.”

Ella’s hand trembled. The tavern wench who’d taken their order returned with their drinks. “There’s somethin’ familiar about ya, love.” She tilted her head to one side, regarding Ella, her eyes narrowing.

Ella grabbed the ale and took a large swallow. “You look familiar too.” She was a terrible liar. “Do you know that man at the bar? The big one with the black beard?”

“Can you introduce me to him?” Ella asked, trying to remember the woman’s name. Matthew silently lay a guinea on the table for her trouble.

The wench’s eyebrows rose. “Ya want to meet Pierre? Are ye sure? Ye seem refined like and he’s a rough sort. I’ll tell ya.”

Ella’s heart beat wildly but she took another swig of her ale, its bitter taste burning down her throat. Then she stood. “That’s all right. I’d like to meet him anyway.”

“Follow me.” The wench waved her hand and began weaving through the crowd. Ella followed but sick dread made her limbs heavy as she walked.

They hadn’t even reached the man when he turned, clearly aware of the women heading toward him. He gave a lascivious grin, showing several gaps in his teeth.

He tapped his glass as the tavern wench approached. She gave a jerk of her chin in understanding and took the cup from his hand. She gestured toward Ella as she said something that Ella couldn’t hear.

As she walked away, she looked at Ella. “Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, Ella stepped forward. “Bonsoir. Étiez-vous un marin sur le Saint Madeleine?”