Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

They reached her family and leaning over to Bash, he spoke quietly in the man’s ear. “I don’t think Emily feels well.”

“Have you met your obligations here tonight?” Bash asked, giving him an easy smile. It was one Brandon had never seen on the man.

“I have.” Then he quirked a brow. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” he answered. “All four Carrington sisters are married or engaged. I only have Avery left to contend with and months to come up with a plan. I can now sit back and enjoy my marriage.”

The other man eyed his wife.

“Will you allow me to escort Emily home? We are now an engaged couple, but if you’re more comfortable, Aunt Mildred could chaperone.”

Bash frowned but gave a terse nod. “I do believe Isabella would like to stay and Abigail needs a chance to get to know Blasphemy.”

“Word of advice,” Brandon said, turning away from the sisters. “Call him by his actual name if you want them to soften toward the man.”

Bash scratched his chin. “I’m not even certain I know his actual name.”

Brandon turned back to Emily. “I’ll find your aunt. I think it’s time to take you home.” She gave a terse nod, but her shoulders slumped in relief.

Half an hour later, he had the two women bundled into the carriage. A very tired-looking Emily and an irritated aunt.

But he settled across from them, watching the woman he’d chosen for his wife.

She was clearly upset, and he knew why. He was an ass. Worse. He wasn’t being honest about this past.

He cleared his throat. “You made a favorable impression on our king.”

She didn’t look at him. “Aunt Mildred can tell you that I frequently make a good first impression.”

“She does,” Aunt Mildred said, giving him a large, albeit disingenuous smile. “But none of the men who has shown an interest has been as charming or handsome as you.”

Emily sighed. “None of those other men seemed to stay by my side for very long either.”

“Their loss,” he rumbled, his eyes squinting as he stared at her. He knew that meant something but what?

She didn’t respond as the carriage slowed on a busy thoroughfare. “How strange,” she murmured. “Those men are weaving through the carriages on foot.”

He parted the curtain on his side, looking out. Sure enough, four men headed their way; and worse still, they were all staring fixedly at his carriage. “Damn it all to bloody hell.”

“What is it?” she asked, sitting forward.

Aunt Mildred gasped. “I don’t know why I ever get in a carriage with you people.”

He rapped on the wall. “Get us out of here, now!” Then he drew a Derringer from his waist.

The whip cracked and the horses whinnied. “Where, Your Grace?” the driver called back. “Most ways are blocked.”

“Just go,” he barked, every muscle tensing. The men had nearly reached the carriage. One had reached the back corner while another was coming around the side toward the door.

Brandon watched as the man pulled out a pistol and then reached for the door.

Brandon grabbed the door and swung it open with a quick jerk, knocking the man to the ground. Then he jerked the door closed again.

Just then the vehicle lurched forward, taking a sharp turn down an alley.

The sound of a shot filled the air, and muffled screams followed them as they began to speed away.

Brandon looked out the window again. The men and the crowd disappeared.