In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,6

children and their lost status.” Her eyes darkened, and when she spoke, her whisper was filled with such terror that gooseflesh pebbled Lila’s skin. “But not the real danger.”

Sylvia glanced to Lila. For help? Lila couldn’t be the voice her sister sought. Not in this, the first time she’d ever really agreed with their straitlaced mother. Lila let her gaze fall to the floor, earning another frustrated sigh from Sylvia.

“Given your feelings for the country, you are welcome to remain with me at my townhouse,” Sylvia said to her. “But I’m not leaving,” she added for their mother’s benefit.

“There’s no reason for you to stay in London,” the countess cried. “Since Norman’s death, you don’t even attend ton events.” And then she pressed a fist to her mouth in a belated attempt to catch the gasp that escaped her.

Sylvia winced.

“Sylvia,” their mother said frantically.

“It is fine,” the elder of her daughters said with a tight shake of her head, then marched across the room. Suddenly, she stopped at the threshold of the room and looked back. “You’re right,” she said evenly. “I haven’t gone to any functions. I don’t go to balls or soirees.” She’d not shed her widow’s weeds, but in her willingness to go out during the day and bring her son to the park or visit shops, she was still more alive than Lila. “But if I run off to hide in the country, all because of some baseless fears, then I never will. Then I’ll be—” Sylvia stopped. But she needn’t have. Her meaning was already clear.

She’d be no different from Lila.

“Mother. Lila,” she said, dipping her head.

And as her middle sibling rushed off with their mother hot on her heels, Lila couldn’t even be hurt.

Lila had hidden herself away from the world . . . And now, by her sister’s revelation this day, Sylvia intended to reenter the living. And what was more, she’d do so without a proper worry over the dangers that faced them all.

Restless, Lila bent and began stacking the newspapers.

As she did, the inked words flashed before her eyes, replaced by the other paper to cover it.

Dark deeds . . .

Stolen children . . .

Evil . . .

Danger . . .

As she knelt on the floor, the words on the top paper held her locked in place.

Lila didn’t know whether her sister or her mother were, in fact, correct. What she did know was that there was a threat, and if . . . when . . . peril eventually came, be it the danger written about in these papers or another unknown one, her sister would be lost. And because of it, Lila’s nephew would, too.

Lila added the last and final paper, The London Inquisitor, to the top of her pile . . . and paused.

For her sister had been incorrect. There were apparently additional stories outside the tale of the Lost Lords that merited society’s interest . . .

THE SAVAGE GENTLEMAN

“Savage Gentleman,” she muttered to herself. Those very words a contradiction. She stood, and unwittingly, her gaze went back to that article.

Whispers abound that Savage’s Fight Society’s greatest, most skilled bare-knuckle fighter, Hugh Savage, will return to the ring for one of his far-too-infrequent matches. Never felled by a single fighter, he remains a legend.

Though there is speculation that talks of the Savage Gentleman’s return are merely a ploy to raise revenue and increase membership, the hope remains that he will step into the arena soon . . .

M. Fairpoint

Wistfully, Lila reread the column several times. Certainly, this Mr. Hugh Savage had never known the terror that gripped Lila still. What must it be to possess a skill whereby one needn’t live with fear? Where one was capable of looking after oneself and not holding one’s breath in anticipation of inevitable doom.

She didn’t move for several moments.

Why couldn’t she possess that same skill? Why couldn’t she be the one to take control and ownership of her fate and, while she remained here in London with Sylvia and Vallen, ensure that she was capable of caring for them?

Her heart pounded a little harder in her chest . . . as in that moment, a plan was hatched.

And with it, hope born . . .

Chapter 2

Hugh Savage’s abhorrence of violence made his role as proprietor at Savage’s Fight Society a peculiar one.

Those men born to the streets, however, didn’t really come into this world with any real choice.

Principles and honor didn’t stave off hunger. They didn’t offer shelter from a country