The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,17
the ground and took a shuffling step forward. “I’ll cut ya, Yer Grace, as you bleed red like the rest of us. Makes no matter to me. My recommendation? You leave the chit to her own misfortunes, as they be plenty.”
“Thank you for the suggestion. It’s actually prudent, but no.” Shoving Delaney aside with a hoarse whisper to stay, Sebastian moved, swiftness she wouldn’t have guessed his recent illness allowed, slamming the messenger to his belly before Delaney could take her next breath, the knife skittering across the slick cobblestones and against the brick wall. “She’ll be keeping her boots as well,” he added, wrenching the messenger’s arm high, a crack that rang through the alley.
“You broke my arm,” he wailed, “when I’m just a bloody runner! I ain’t the one you want. I’m only delivering the dispatch. The ghost delivered it, the doxy who haunts my lodging. Scared the very soul from me, she did, and promised never to leave if I didn’t do her bidding. I was just told to find her.” He jerked his head in Delaney’s direction. “The troublesome American chit.”
“It’s not broken.” Sebastian released him to dig through the man’s pockets, finally coming up with a crumpled, sweat-stained sheet. “Dislocated. Pop it back into place, which is dreadfully painful, I’m sorry to say, and you’ll be fine in a few days. Unless I decide to kill you, which I’m more than happy to do.” He trailed the pointed corner of the note up the runner’s jaw. “Give me a reason; go ahead. That blood you speak of, I’ve spilled a lot. Another drop won’t matter, as hell welcomes me already.”
“Don’t,” Delaney whispered in a ragged pant. Sebastian looked to her, his eyes glowing, his face a brutal mask. No more death, she thought wildly.
Shaky, despite his impressive show of force, Sebastian rose to his feet, calmly unfolded the note and tilted it into the meager moonlight wafting through the alley, placing his boot on the runner’s back. Whatever he read had him sucking in a tight breath.
The fire came out of nowhere, igniting a bundle of rumpled broadsheets tucked in the corner of the alley with a dull roar.
Leaning down, Sebastian jerked the man to his feet. “Smother that, Temple, will you?”
Delaney leaped to stamp out the blaze, thankful it was insignificant enough for her boot to kill it, all the while watching an incensed duke negotiate with a now-meek messenger. Her messenger. Her message. Coins exchanged hands as well as harshly uttered assurances of never being seen again unless another missive arrived. Then the runner stumbled into the night, the putrid haze swallowing him whole.
The moment he was out of sight, Sebastian braced his hand on the wall and released a pained breath, revealing the infirmity she’d been sure was there somewhere. She had to restrain herself from going to him. Protecting as he wanted to protect. Of all the crazy notions, when they were strangers and nothing more.
“You’re a danger to me, Temple. Worse than a bee sting, worse than the fires storming through my dreams, through my life since I was a boy. Victoria and Piper help me control them, while you make them rage. You make me want to burn without recompense.” In a fit of pique, he yanked his hand through his hair, sending those magnificent strands flying. “And your English accent is horrible, by the by. As dreadful as your disguise. Have you not learned with your talent? Reading about things doesn’t bring them to life. Lines of text don’t translate to living.”
“You’d have made a good marauder,” she found herself admitting, awed by his brute strength, his skill at defending himself, his calm command. The muscles in his arms and thighs were flexing and shifting from the skirmish, drawing her eye and sending a spiral of heat through her belly.
Even the smoldering ruins of the blaze he’d accidentally set stoking her interest.
Delaney wished this wasn’t true but could only admit it was.
She’d never been dazzled by a man before.
“That’s what you think to say to me? That I would make a fine marauder? When, at any moment, I could incinerate this city?” Ripping the note from his pocket, he threw it at her. “Stop looking impressed, when your duplicity has landed you square in a fine muddle. And I know. Please don’t feel you have to tell me that I don’t understand the half of it.” He kicked, his boot connecting with a bottle that shattered against the