Page 2 of Eliza and the Duke
“You need a physician,” she whispered. The club must have someone on staff who could be called upon to handle medical issues. If not, then a doctor could be sent for.
The man only grunted in acknowledgment of her words and pushed forward. It seemed it took all of his concentrationto stay mostly upright as he continued down the hall. She made to put an arm around him to assist him.
“No.” It was the first word he’d said and was spoken in a low and gravelly tone that gave her pause.
“I can help you,” she insisted.
“No.”
Standing upright again, she looked at him with growing annoyance. “Who are you?”
“Who’m I?” He might have laughed. She wasn’t sure how to interpret the chortle that barely made it out of his chest before he swallowed it. “I’m the Duke, milady.”
A duke?
He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he continued down the hall, his shoulder pressed to the wall to keep himself upright. This time an arm trailed behind him, exposing his scraped knuckles.
What had he been up to tonight, and what did he mean by calling himself that? He wasn’t a duke. Although his accent was decidedly English, it lacked the crisp drawl she had come to associate with the aristocracy. The worddukewasn’t spoken with thedjsound that so many of them seemed to use, and the wordswhoandamhad slid into one.
Light seeped in beneath the secret door that led to Mr. Thorne’s residence. Her good angel urged her toopen, open, openthat door. It would lead her to safety and to a life where a very well-qualified nobleman would marry her at the end of summer to gain her inheritance.
Her hand hesitated on the latch. Safe was almost always boring.
Sensing weakness, her bad angel rose to the task of leading Eliza astray and urging her to follow the strange man. He was already halfway down the corridor and a million miles awayfrom the monotonous life that had been laid out for her. It would take her five minutes to find out who he was and where he was going. His destination couldn’t be that far. If she was quick, no one would be the wiser and her boring life would be waiting for her.
She followed him.
Two
Eliza crept after the injuredman feeling a little like Alice following the White Rabbit down the rabbit hole. The narrow passage took a sharp turn, and the man walked toward the very last door. He obviously meant to go inside that one, but before he could, he stumbled and would have fallen if she hadn’t rushed to catch him.
“I have you,” she murmured as he groaned in pain.
His arm looped around her shoulder, this time eager to accept her help. Bloody fingers with their busted knuckles gripped at her body like a lifeline. She faintly wondered if they would leave stains that she wouldn’t be able to explain, but the thought was whisked away as he nearly fell forward again. It took all of her strength and concentration to keep them upright. Even then, they managed to bump up against the door.
It opened immediately, as if the inhabitant inside the room had been waiting for him. A man stared down at them with an expression of wild incomprehension. The thick, ruddy skinof his face crumpled as his brows drew together and his eyes darted back and forth between her and the invalid. Eliza couldn’t blame him for his momentary confusion. She knew her own expression must mirror it back at him. Her heart fluttered like a caught rodent’s. Was he friend or foe?
Someone had to say something. “Do you know this man?” she asked the stranger in the doorway.
To his credit, he didn’t hesitate to take ownership of him. “Course I do, ma’am.” To the invalid leaning heavily on her he said, “Simon, you bloody twat, get in ’ere!” A powerful hand accompanied the gruff voice and yanked him inside, relieving her of the burden.
Simon. His name was Simon. For some reason it was very important that she knew his name.
The door would have closed behind them if Eliza hadn’t rushed forward to catch it. There was no way she was leaving without solving at least a little of this mystery. With a glance at the deserted corridor, she promised herself that she would stay only a minute and closed the door behind her.
The room was a lounge of sorts. It was a fairly large space, at least as large as Mr. Thorne’s dining room. The walls were a rich brown, and that color was echoed in the rugs that were shot with threads of crimson and gold. Oil paintings of hunting scenes dotted the walls all the way to the ceiling, except for one wall that was almost entirely covered in chalkboards with white scribbling and tick marks all over them.
Closed double doors were directly across from her. They would no doubt lead to the club. She noted the key was turned, which would lock them in. Good, no one would wander in and find her here. Several groups of small tables and upholstered chairs were set around the room. An intricately carved mahogany bar loaded with various liquors occupied an entirecorner. A scarlet sofa faced the hearth, and this is where the room’s occupant deposited Simon.
Simon groaned in pain. Her heart twisted for him. Whoever the man was that had helped him inside didn’t seem to be the least bit gentle.
“D-do you know what’s happened to him?” she asked.
Simon’s friend—she was fairly certain he was friend and not foe, at least to Simon—grunted but he didn’t answer her. He tore open Simon’s coat and clucked his tongue at the welts of rapidly forming bruises. “Simon, me boy, how much?”
Simon opened his eyes. They were blue, and they reminded her of the sea, deep and fathomless. To her amazement, he grinned. He had a gold eyetooth and it winked at her in the gaslight. “A hundred quid.”
The man exclaimed, jumped back, and landed a blow to Simon’s shoulder, but then he laughed so she took this to mean he was happy. Simon groaned again from the shock of the blow but his smile broadened. She was terribly confused.
