Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

“Who are you?” she asked as she stared up at him, nearly hypnotized by the green flecks in his eyes.

His fingers splayed out on her back, his chin dropping close to her ear. “I’m the man who will always protect you. I promise you that. From now on, I will keep you safe.”

What?

How could he make such a promise when they’d never even met?

The carriage slowed and Emily finally tore her gaze from his. Bash and another approached on horseback. She drew in a quick, deep breath of air. But quickly released it again when one of his hands twined with hers.

Her gaze snapped back to his. “That doesn’t tell me anything,” she accused even as he lifted her hand to the handle on the back of the carriage and pushed her fingers around the bar.

“I wish I could tell you more.”

&nbs

p; “You can,” she started to say, but her words were lost as he jumped down from the carriage and darted into an alley.

Cold, hard wind bit through her pelisse as she watched him disappear. Never had a man affected her so and she didn’t even know his name.

Chapter One

Six weeks later…

* * *

Brandon stood tucked in the shadows in a filthy alley of the docklands as he watched the king’s wine being sold for a third of its value. Not that thieves cared how much the wine was actually worth. It was all profit to them.

But his partner, Ewan McLaren, had infiltrated the ring of criminals, which enabled Brandon to track their movements. Some of the goods went to high-end black market auctions, while others landed on the streets. Each night, Brandon followed another man home, carefully marking his address, his name, his occupation.

All told, he’d identified six and thirty men who were part of the organization that had targeted the crown.

They’d targeted Brandon’s business too but that was of less concern right now. His own shipping business could withstand the losses.

But his reputation? That was another matter.

And solving this mystery could restore his good name and his standing with their king. A position his father had all but destroyed.

He’d made a great many sacrifices and compromises to get to this moment and he was so close to meeting his final goal and rejoining society.

“Enjoy your evenings, lads,” the thief called as he turned and left, winding his way through the alleys and streets of the docklands.

Brandon stuck to the shadows and followed. He’d had special boots made with soft bottoms so that his feet wouldn’t clack on the stone. The man never looked back, never started or gave even the slightest indication he knew he was being followed.

Brandon smiled.

Technically, Ewan was only one of Brandon’s five partners. The other four, however, were the daughters of the founder of Carrington Shipping. For their safety he’d kept them completely in the dark. He winced a bit.

He’d intercepted Ewan on his way to protect his cousins and drawn him into the web of spies. He’d told Ewan it was for the girls’ good. That Ewan was helping to protect them another way. But the truth was, they’d been in danger anyway. Scrubbing his face, he recalled that at that time, he’d been more motivated by his own needs than theirs. And they’d suffered for his choice.

He’d only just managed to rescue them when their scum of an uncle had tried to steal them away.

The idea made his gut churn. Because it made him feel like he was as bad as his father. Hurting other people for his own gain. Of course, his father had been dead within a year of being outed as a French spy.

He left his son with the consequences of his actions and the burden of righting their family name. An endeavor he’d been working five years to correct. And he was so close.

He was fortunate that the king hadn’t stripped all his lands and holdings, but he’d taken enough.

Brandon had one property in the country, with its lands and income. Eight others had been seized by the crown, a payment for the betrayal.