My Duke's Seduction (Wicked Lords of London 1)

She slipped into the same alley she’d been in the night before and hid herself behind some steps. This time, she was determined to remain safe.

For over an hour she remained crouched down. Cold and tired, she watched the occasional passerby, looking for Ryker.

But as the hour grew later, Tricia nearly gave up hope. He wasn’t coming tonight, or had come already, or had passed by another way. It had been a foolish plan, like all her recent ones, born out of desperation.

But then a noise caught her ear. The tap of feet clearly running rather than walking. As the person approached, she caught the sound of labored breathing and then a deep baritone yelling, “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

Ryker. She recognized the sound of his voice bellowing through the dark streets. Without a thought, she jumped up and ran to the mouth of the alley just as a man dressed entirely in black ran toward it. Even his face was covered. Without a thought, she stuck her foot out directly in his path.

His legs tangled with hers and he tumbled to the ground, and Tricia landed squarely on her bottom. She quickly pulled her foot back in as the man gave her a scathing look, at least that was her assumption from what little she could see of his face while he tried to right himself.

“What do you think you are doing?” a voice growled just to her right. Her head snapped up and she saw Ryker standing above them both, his pistols out again.

“Helping you?” she replied, a question in her voice.

He gave her a hard glare. “I wasn’t talking to you, actually. I will deal with you after I take care of him.”

Another man ran up just behind Ryker. “Did you catch him?”

He was an older gentleman, though spritely of form, and his keen gaze swept over her in a way that made her feel as though he’d just learned all of her secrets.

“Yes, Mr. Hart, this is him. Tie his hands and then check his right front pocket.” Ryker waved the pistol in the general direction of the man’s chest.

Mr. Hart did as he was told with an efficiency that made Tricia swallow. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his brutal capability.

Once tied, Mr. Hart turned the man over and reached into his pocket. From it he withdrew a small satchel. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Ryker replied.

At the same moment, the man lying on the ground finally spoke. “You can’t take my personal possessions.”

“Actually, it’s you, sir, who took mine.” Ryker took the sack from Mr. Hart. After pulling its tiny string open a lovely ruby necklace tumbled out onto his palm.

She gasped, and then covered her mouth as he tucked the piece of jewelry back into the satchel and then closed it, tucking it into his pocket.

Together he and Mr. Hart hauled the other man to his feet. Ryker turned to her. “I’ll be back in just a few moments. Do yourself a favor, for once, and hide.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He seemed sure she’d obey as they began marching the man down the street.

Tricia backed herself into the shadows. She knew Ryker was a Lord, or perhaps the son of titled gentleman so why was he chasing thieves who’d stolen very expensive jewels? She couldn’t help but wonder despite having promised not to ask. As she prepared herself to wait he returned, striding into the alley and hauling her to her feet with no more grace then he had the thief. “Tricia,” he hissed.

“Ryker,” she returned, her hands resting on her hips, her irritation bubbling to the surface.

“Don’t give me guff. What the bloody hell are you doing here again?” he growled, stepping closer to her.

“I wanted to speak with you,” she murmured, a little less irritated. He was likely right to be angry. It was folly to be here.

He searched her face with dark, penetrating eyes until her insides squirmed with a restlessness that near left her breathless. “Why?”

She huffed a breath, more to clear her head than express her irritation. His presence was making her forget all sound reasoning. “Fenton.” She only managed the single word.

“What about him?” Ryker wrapped an arm around her, propelling her forward in the exact route they had taken the evening before. It was almost familiar, comfortable.

She rubbed her temples to try and make her mind remember the conversation they were having. “You don’t know who I am, I don’t know who you are. How will you tell me if you’ve found him?”

His carriage pulled in front of them, as if it were summoned from thin air and he snapped open the door and near pushed her inside. Then he gave the exact address where he’d dropped her the night before. Climbing in, he sat across from her. “I’ve already found Fenton, delivered him to a sanitarium for treatment, and left you a note via the orphanage. It will likely be delivered to you first thing in the morning.”

“What?” She blinked, her muddled brain trying to process what he’d said. Relief made her limp and a joy made her breath catch even as her mind attempted to catch up to her body’s reaction.