Marquess of Menace (Lords of Scandal 10)

“I’m coming,” she said, her fists balling.

“No,” both men answered at that same time. Dylan knew she wished to be part of the action, but this was dangerous. If all she’d said was true, there could be an attack on this warehouse.

“You’re not.” Bash added. “I let your surprise trip to the park go but—”

“You let it go?” Eliza said, her voice growing louder. “You let it go? I’ve let your bossiness go. Which is not easy, either.” She threw up her hands. “Dukes.”

“Eliza,” Dylan said, touching her arm. They still had a great deal to discuss but this wasn’t the time. “We’ll go to the warehouse. You’ve had enough excitement for one night. Besides, someone needs to stay with your sisters.”

She pulled up even taller. “I thought you understood. I don’t want to sit at home and wait. That’s why I didn’t wish to marry. I was never meant for that life.”

Silence met her words. Because Dylan didn’t understand. But in this, he didn’t want her there. It might be dangerous.

“I can fire a pistol, you know.” She crossed her arms. “I could dress like a man like Isabella did. I could—”

“You could be hurt,” he replied sliding a hand down her arm. “If I die, the next dullard cousin gets the title. If you die…your sisters…”

Her shoulders hunched and she looked at the floor. “I understand. You’re right. But—”

He shook his head. He wanted her safe. But she wanted…adventure. Action. Even after what had happened tonight, she wasn’t afraid. “We’ll go during the noon hour tomorrow.”

“What?” Bash barked.

Dylan shook his head. He was going to regret this. Another bad decision to add to the list of personal failures.

But either he met her goals or his. And today, he chose her…

Chapter Eleven

Eliza shifted, attempting to adjust to the feel of men’s trousers. They were…odd. Isabella had worn pants like this every day for a month and Eliza had thought nothing of it. But now, with them on, she was aware that every curve from the waist down was on complete display. And Dylan was aware of them too. His eyes had been on her rear since he’d picked her up this morning.

Dylan had kept his word and they sat outside the warehouse, carefully tucked in a doorway as they waited for someone to leave or arrive.

But he’d kept his hands to himself.

He didn’t have a choice really because Bash had insisted on coming too. And the duke had grumbled about the ridiculousness of the decision ever since they’d left. Eliza didn’t care. Let Bash lament her being here. Dylan had understood. And that mattered.

But Bash kept at it and finally tired of hearing him, Eliza had sighed. “You didn’t grouch this much when I snuck on the back of the carriage and attended the meeting with Dishonor.”

He gave her a level stare in return. He sat across from her, his knees pulled up to his chin, while Dylan was next to her in the same position. The narrow doorway wasn’t meant for three people, especially not ones as large as the two men.

Bash growled in the back of his throat. “We knew who we were meeting then. And we were in Hyde Park. This is different.” He leaned closer. “We could stumble across anyone. Friend or foe.”

Eliza grimaced. He had a point. But so did she. “I’m able to do this, Bash. And what’s more, I never intend to be a normal lady, so don’t bother trying to shove me into that role. The moment my parents were both gone, and I had to take care of my sisters, any hope of me being that woman disappeared.”

Bash clamped his mouth shut, not answering as he stared at her. But something softened too. “It’s not that I don’t understand how strong you had to be to keep your sisters fed for so many months, it’s just that…”

“I like me better like this, Bash.” Then she reached out and patted her brother-in-law’s hand. “I’m learning that I don’t have to do it all alone.” She glanced over at Dylan. “But I don’t want to go back to waiting in the drawing room for the man I care about to return. I’ll never do that again.”

Bash’s eyes lit with understanding and Eliza was so grateful.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed off the stone, and whatever Bash might have replied was lost. All three of them looked out at the large double doors of the only warehouse on Fennington Street. They were carefully padlocked closed.

The steps grew louder until finally two men came into view. But to Eliza’s relief, it was Dishonor himself who stood in front of the massive doors. The other man to his right. Eliza narrowed her gaze. The other gentleman looked oddly familiar.

As if Bash had the same thought at the same moment, he said, “I’ve seen him before. The one with Dishonor.”

Dishonor’s companion was tall, broad, his vest made out of a Scottish tartan. He whispered low to Dishonor, but Eliza couldn’t make out the words.