Page 44 of Dukes Do It Better
“Would you like to see me later tonight?” she asked softly.
“Absolutely. Yes. A thousand times yes,” he said, just as quietly.
She smiled, then turned her attention to Alton. “Wipe your mouth, darling, before that glob of mustard falls and stains your shirt—not with your coat sleeve. Lordy goodness, Alton.”
Chapter Thirteen
Family complicates everything. Too bad I’m so attached to mine. Well. Some of them.
—Journal entry, May 1, 1824
Someone was following her and they weren’t being subtle about it.
Emma noticed the curricle back on Hill Street. It was hard to miss, with its bright blue paint and yellow wheels. The rig was even more out of place in Mal’s neighborhood. Emma peeked around the edge of her hood as she stepped away from her carriage onto the pavement.
In Mayfair, the driver had been hard to discern, beyond a general impression of bulkiness under a driving cloak and hat. Distance kept her from discerning the driver’s identity, so other than making note of the unfamiliar carriage, she’d thought no more of it.
What were the chances of two carriages leaving Hill Street at the exact same time, bound for the exact same place? The day after her sister-in-law had received a vague note warning of more blackmail and threats to come? A belief in coincidences could carry one only so far before one had to admit to being justifiably wary.
Ahead of her, the black door with the shiny brass knocker beckoned, alluring with its feeling of familiar safety. Cal’s coachman, Hobby, murmured a good night to her and gave the horses their cue to pull away, heading back to the nearby mews to await her summons.
She’d made it up three of the four steps to Mal’s door before she was yanked back with a rough hand on her arm.
Emma yelped in surprised fear and lashed out one foot to mule-kick whoever had grabbed her. The grip on her arm disappeared, and she whirled to see Roxbury bent over nearly double, gasping.
“What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing, Devon?” she shrieked.
Across the street, someone closed their window with a sharp clap. She glanced up and down the quiet street, illuminated by pools of light from gas lamps. Twilight transitioned to nighttime rapidly these days, and it was nearing dark.
Behind her, the black door opened, and a shaft of light spilled down the steps. “What have we here?” Mal drawled, bouncing down the steps with a loose gait she didn’t mistake as casual. More like the way a boxer shook their arms and legs to keep them warm and limber between fights.
“I didn’t touch her! I swear. I just want to talk,” Roxbury said, holding up one hand, but not standing fully quite yet.
“Kicked him in the berry thicket, did you?” Mal asked her.
Emma lifted her hem enough to show her foot. “Walking boots. Wood sole.”
“That’s my girl,” Mal said and brushed his thumb over her cheek, then turned to Roxbury. “What brings you to my door, milord?”
“No desire to see you, I assure you. This is between myself and Lady Emma. It’s a private matter,” Roxbury said, finally straightening and facing them belligerently.
“If you’ve no wish to see him, then you shouldn’t have assaulted me on his steps,” Emma said.
“I didn’t expect you to be calling on your protector,” Roxbury nearly yelled. His cheeks were bright red, and the eyes she’d once youthfully claimed she wanted to fall into were dark and beady, nearly lost to the fleshy bloat brought on from too much alcohol.
Emma crossed her arms and glared. While she may not be ashamed of her relationship with Mal, she didn’t want the details literally shouted from the street corner either. “Take your coarse innuendos elsewhere, if you please. I’ve already said I have no wish to speak with you. There is no relationship between us, and there never will be.”
Mal placed his body between her and Roxbury. “May I hit him if he doesn’t acquiesce to your request? It’s not sporting that you got a whack in and I haven’t.” The grin accompanying the statement showed far too many teeth.
Roxbury stepped back one pace, but kept his gaze on Emma. “You sabotaged my last chance to marry the money I need, and you stole my heir. You owe me a dowry, you little bitch. You’re not helping anyone by ignoring my attentions.”
Anger, edged by dark fear, made her heart pound. But before she could register much beyond the flash of uncomfortable emotion, Mal’s fist shot out in one clean move, cutting off any more ugliness from Roxbury. Devon had no stamina in a fight. With a nearly comical wheezing grunt, he fell to the pavement in a crumpled heap, leaving Mal standing over him with clenched fists, looking vaguely disappointed.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but did I just witness the worst marriage proposal in history?” Mal asked.
Emma blinked in surprise at how quickly the situation had escalated, then been resolved. Mal hadn’t even hesitated at Devon’s claim that she stole his heir, but then, there hadn’t been time to react. “I can explain. What he said—”
Mal held up a hand. “Tell me only if you want to. What he shouts while drunk on a street has no impact on our relationship. All right?” The expression he wore was so compassionate, and he was so calm about the whole situation, that Emma felt tears threatening. Emma nodded, hard enough that her hood fell off her head.
