In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,87

the first time, Hugh wondered at what hell had come in his absence. For each year of the Fight Society, there’d been an increasing violence and viciousness. When he’d been cutting down men in the fields of battle, what miseries had his partners known? Guilt, an all-too-familiar sentiment where these men were concerned, threatened to overwhelm him.

Restless, Hugh stood and walked a path to the sideboard.

He reached for the nearest bottle and then froze. His eyes took in the half-empty crystal decanter of brandy. Spirits he himself had never consumed but instead had been drunk by another. One responsible for Hugh’s kidnapping, and the reason he’d found himself tormented by his own demons. Beholden to the two men behind him. Fury lent a tremble to his limbs, and he returned the decanter to its place.

He settled himself at the edge of the sideboard. “Do you truly believe those men kept any link to what they were involved in?”

“Those armbands were trophies,” Bragger said with a confidence surely born of desperation, a need to trust that there was some way to link those men to their crimes . . . to the three of them.

To Bragger’s lost sister.

“And we the spoils,” Maynard murmured. Grimacing, the burly man gave his head a shake. And coming out of his seat, he crossed to Hugh and took the bottle Hugh had passed over. On his walk back, he yanked the stopper off and drank deeply from the bottle.

“And you believe they’re going to keep them in plain sight?” Hugh asked after Maynard sat. In fact, as he’d said before, it was foolish to think they’d kept them in the first place.

“Nah.” Bragger held a hand out for the bottle Maynard had pilfered. The other man immediately gave it up. “Oi believe yar gonna ’ave to ’unt for them. And that is why ya need to get into their ’ouseholds.” As Bragger availed himself of a long swallow, Hugh stared on at his two partners.

They were determined. They saw Lila as the way in, and they’d not relent.

And he’d be reminded all over that he wanted a woman he had no place wanting.

And when he was done, when his use of her was complete, he’d have to walk away all over again.

This time, without sparing a glance for the spirits previously touched by the man who’d destroyed his life, Hugh grabbed a bottle and a glass and carried them to his desk. After he’d sat, he tried one more time. “I already told you. I don’t want to have any more dealings with the woman.”

“Pfft.” Maynard scoffed. “Now, ya don’t?” He motioned to Bragger for the brandy. “When she moight actually be of service to us?”

This was different.

Before it had been about just being with her. A woman who, in a handful of days, he’d come to admire. Who’d made him laugh, and teased him, and spoken of him as though he was far more than the street trash he was.

But that had been then.

When Hugh hadn’t known her intentions or plans, or the fact that a future with her wasn’t possible.

And yet he’d sold his soul before. Put himself and his needs and interests first, without giving a damn for any of the other boys and girls. And he could not do that. Not again.

Pouring himself a large drink, Hugh downed the contents in one long, slow, fiery swallow. With a grimace, he set his glass down.

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly, catching the pleased look his partners shared.

And he could not shake himself of the feeling that he was making another perilous mistake all over again.

Chapter 21

THE LONDON INQUISITOR

Though the Duke of Wingate has been located, not much information about what happened to him has been learned . . . And let there be no mistake: that is all Polite Society cares about . . . How safe is it, really, to trust a man with Cannon McCade, the Duke of Wingate’s, reputation?

M. Fairpoint

It had happened.

Sylvia had found her way back to the living.

With the modiste she’d summoned and three girls flitting about the room, layering fabric to Sylvia’s frame, readying her costume for the grand masquerade, Lila’s sister chattered on.

“And the Town has given him the cut direct.”

And on.

“Can you imagine the gall?”

And on.

Actually, she could very well imagine it. “Mmm.” That obscure response from Lila, who sat off in the corner of the parlor, was enough for Sylvia, who proceeded to prattle on about society’s sick fascination with the latest Lost