The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,5
behind him. Loosely-drawn in vivid strokes, the woman’s face peeking from beneath the atrocious bonnet, etched in splendor. Hidden to any but an artist’s eye. “Is that her?” the viscount asked, his gaze landing solidly on his brother. “The American from your dream?”
Leaning over the table, Finn circled the sketch into view. He drew a breath and let it out with a sigh. “It could be.”
Sebastian traced the mottled scar on his wrist he’d gotten outside Meerut in the Indian Rebellion, the pulse beneath it thumping wildly, wondering why he was experiencing the same pinch in his belly that he’d had when stepping onto a battlefield.
Julian retrieved the drawing and slipped it inside his folio. “We need a personal item of hers, this Temple woman, half of London’s Terrible Two. Something I can touch. Anything will do. A glove, a scarf, a hairpin. A button. She rides every day along Rotten Row.” He glanced at the men assembled in the room. “How hard can it be to make that happen?”
They stood in a tight circle, united except for Simon, who fiddled with his cards and whispered to someone Sebastian didn’t want to imagine. They suspected he had a crush on one of his haunts, which was horrific to envision. As if adolescence wasn’t tricky enough without falling in love with a ghost.
Humphrey pointed the bottle in Sebastian’s direction. “I vote we send Fireball. Perfect for the job. Hyde Park is a natural habitat for a duke. No one will blink when he saunters through.”
Sebastian leveled Humphrey with a scowl that would send most men to their knees. “Do I look like I have the patience to deal with this girl, a big brain with bad habits?”
Simon stepped into the circle, shaggy hair the color of wheat and a smile that would someday break hearts. Living, breathing hearts, Sebastian hoped. The boy tunneled his hand in his waistcoat pocket and extracted a metal box etched with initials not his own. Popping the case open, he slipped out five toothpicks. Modern, made of birch and manufactured by a machine. “Let’s draw. Shortest goes in search of the untouchable.”
Julian snatched one of the toothpicks from Simon’s hand and tossed it to the floor. “Sixteen-year-olds under my watch do not wager.”
Finn lifted his hand to his lips, too late to contain his burst of laughter.
“Seventeen.” Simon elbowed Finn in the ribs, the brother of his heart if not blood. “I never get to do anything when I could be of spectacular help! I can filch her blind. Get a trinket for you to read.”
Sebastian seized the silver case from Simon and read the inscription. “Winthrope. Dear God, did you steal this from the marquess earlier this evening?”
“We’ve talked about the thievery, Simon,” Julian grit out, his pencil snapping cleanly in two. “You left that life behind, and you don’t have to chase it down every time you get the chance.”
Sebastian noted Simon’s downcast gaze, the wretched expression. Dammit. “I’ll take him. Tomorrow morning,” he said, and tried mightily to ignore the naked sentiment shining in the boy’s dark brown eyes when they met his. “My men will be with me. He’ll be safe. And he might be helpful. I’ll create a diversion, we pilfer an insignificant article from this hellion’s person, Julian can read it, and we’ll go from there. A plan?”
“Always good to have a soldiering duke among us,” Humphrey murmured from the dark corner into which he’d retreated. “No one better at making a plan.”
Sebastian sighed and tucked the marquess’s toothpick case in his pocket, the feeling of a battle brewing an unwelcome tickle between his shoulder blades.
When he wanted nothing less than to fight again.
Chapter 2
The next morning, a spring fog lay so thick over London, the dome of St Paul’s was lost in it, potentially rendering a ride along Rotten Row an impossibility. Sebastian and Simon, with two of the duke’s men nearby, crossed through Grosvenor Square and down Brook Street, where they’d decided to leave the carriage.
“Stay with me,” Sebastian whispered to Simon as they entered Hyde Park, dew-soaked grass slicking his boots as he tramped over it. “No arguments, no talking to your haunts, no theft. Until I tell you to, that is. I’m happy to convey to Julian that I erred and you’re not prepared for adventures yet.”
“I’m not going to mess up.” Simon sprinted to match Sebastian’s long-legged stride. The boy was almost able to look him in the eye, which was shocking when he was