Page 35 of From Duke Till Dawn
There was no way not to be aware of him. On every level. His forbidding presence was bigger than life.
Every one of her nerves was stretched tight as a fiddle string, ready to snap. On all sides, she was being pulled. Lacey and the investors, the staff of the gaming hell, her reputation in the underworld as a plain dealer. And Alex. Him most of all.
His anger was a living thing, all teeth and bristles. It crouched between them, snarling, terrifying. There was no one to blame for the beast’s existence except herself. Her heart pitched low every time she glanced at him, seeing the distance between them that she had created.
And beyond his bitterness, there was also his vengeance. At some point in the future, he’d wreak his retribution against her. What would it be? When would it happen? She feared it. She wanted it to happennow, just to get it out of the way.
She rubbed at her neck, trying to push back the panic that threatened to choke her. She’d never had to confront an angry mob before. If she’d had her way, she never would.
This must be what thieves felt on their way to the gallows. She’d seen hangings before—they made for a good harvest when picking pockets, with everyone’s attention turned toward the figures jerking and twisting on the end of a rope. They were supposed to be warnings, those executions, threats against those who broke the law. Death was their future. But that threat stopped no one. It was either steal or starve.
She was now heading to her own possible hanging. If the staff ripped her to shreds, she wouldn’t be surprised. No good fate awaited her in any direction. Lacey, the staff, Alex. Doom on every side.
Even as a child on the streets of Southwark, her life hadn’t been this hopeless.
She shivered. The cold forced its way through the fabric of her dress. No spencer or pelisse offered her protection from the chill.
Alex glanced over at her, opening his mouth as if to speak. She held herself in suspension, waiting for what cutting remark he might have for her. But he only shut his mouth and pointedly looked away. As if she wasn’t worth the effort of words.
Which was worse? Sitting here in this carriage with him and his hatred, or the fate that awaited her at the gaming hell?
Finally, the coach pulled up outside the club. It was early enough that no crowd had formed outside, waiting to get in. Tonight, and every night after, all they’d find was disappointment.
Her heart thudded painfully. Someone shouted on the street, causing her to jump. But there was no turning back now.
A footman jumped down from the carriage and hurried to open the vehicle’s door. The servant reached in to help her out. She slid her hand into his, but couldn’t take the first step. Her body froze as her mind whirled.
Alex was there to pay the staff, which should have given her some relief from anxiety. But she wasn’t used to facing angry mobs.
“Go on.” Alex’s voice reverberated from the dark.
“I’m trying.” But she still couldn’t move. “Not eager to put my neck on the block.”
“No one’s chopping off anyone’s head,” he answered. “Not while I’m around.”
Her worries frayed to the breaking point. “Is that supposed to be a comfort?”
“It’s the truth. Whether or not you’re comforted by it isn’t of concern to me.”
“Ma’am?” the footman asked.
She jumped when something large and warm cupped her lower back. Alex’s hand.
“Easy,” he said quietly. “I’m right behind you.”
“You want me to suffer.”
“As long as I’m with you,” he said steadily, “no one will hurt you. I give you my word.”
“Am I safe fromyou?” she asked pointedly.
“I won’t harm you physically while you’re under my protection.”
It wasn’t a complete acknowledgment of her safety, but it was something. Her muscles relaxed, starting where he touched her. Despite every reason to the contrary, she believed him. If anyone could guarantee her security, it was Alex. The future was unknown, but for now, she was protected.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped down from the carriage. She smoothed her rumpled skirts as Alex climbed out of the coach. Compared to his clean, handsome elegance, she resembled a rag left out in the rain. No one would listen to a word from her mouth, not looking as she did. But maybe his presence—and money—might give her avowals some weight.
One thing about executions—it was key for the condemned to put on a brave face. That meant stepping up to the rope with shoulders back and chin held high. No fear. No blubbering or begging. Go gamely. Once, she’d seen a woman who had killed her cruel husband go to the gallows with the proud air of a queen. No tears streaked the condemned’s cheeks as the rope was slipped over her head. That bravery had amazed a young Cassandra, never to be forgotten.
