Page 36 of From Duke Till Dawn
She straightened her own shoulders, summoning all the regal grace she could.Don’t show fear. They’ll cut you down where you stand if you’re afraid.
And Alex was with her. That gave her a peculiar, irrational relief.
She mounted the steps, Alex right behind her. The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open. A crush of noise and angry voices met her. Half of the staff had crammed themselves into the foyer, lying in wait for her. A sea of enraged faces glared at her.
All of them demanded answers. Pay. Blood.
She held up her hands, asking for silence. “Where’s everyone else?”
“In the main hall,” one footman spat. “Bitch.”
She ignored his comment, though Alex didn’t leap into the fray to defend her.
“Come on, then.” She pushed through the mob. They didn’t want to get out of her way, so she shoved and jostled a path for herself. She glanced behind her. Everyone moved out of Alex’s way, parting before him, quieting their complaints as he passed through.
Typical. A duke and a lowborn woman were different animals. One gave nothing to a scavenging rodent and respected the noble wolf.
At last, she made it to the main hall. More people gathered there, and a huge outraged cry went up the moment she appeared.
She climbed up onto one of the faro tables and motioned for quiet. A minute went by as the crowd settled into angry silence.
Alex stood at the rear of the crowd, his expression stony.
“You all deserve an explanation,” she began. Furious murmurs of agreement rumbled from the mob. “As of tonight, the gaming hell is closed.”
“We were promised a month of work!” shouted a serving woman. “It’s been half that.”
“What about my wife, my kids?” demanded a faro dealer. “Can’t pay my landlady with broken promises.”
“I know.” Cassandra tried to speak above so many enraged voices. “I...” She struggled to speak. “I’m sorry.” Two apologies in one night—a new record for her.
“Don’t want any ‘sorry,’” the first serving woman yelled. “I want my blunt.”
“You’ll get it,” Cassandra said.
“How?” It was the maid from earlier in the day. “I saw the safe. It’s cleaned out. You’re just feeding us more lies.”
Cassandra scanned their faces. Hatred and hunger burned in each one of them. The mob was a hairsbreadth away from rending her limb from limb.
“I’ve got the money,” a male voice announced calmly.
Everyone turned to look at Alex, who stared back with cool authority, as unruffled as a gentleman in a drawing room.
“Who are you?” one burly footman asked timidly.
“The Duke of Greyland,” Alex replied icily. “And you’ll address me as ‘Your Grace.’”
The footman wilted. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Alex strode to the foot of the table on which Cassandra stood. As she clambered down, he took her hand to assist her. It was a natural gesture of courtesy, done without thinking. Still, he kept her from falling. His grip was tight, however, almost bruising.
“Now be quiet,” he told the staff once she was beside him. “Line up, and I will pay you your wages. Then you will all disperse.”
A wave of silent disappointment moved through the deflating crowd. They had hoped for blood, and it was denied them. But money was just as important. The mob meekly obeyed, arranging themselves in a queue without a word of complaint. Of course, Alex could do that—command an unruly mob to do his bidding as easily as he breathed. This crowd that would murder her would scurry like insects to obey him.
“Tell me their names as they approach,” Alex said to her, “and what they are owed.”
For the next thirty minutes, they ran through the entire staff. Cassandra stated each person’s name, their position within the establishment, and how much they were due. Alex paid each and every one. And gave them five pounds extra.
