Page 32 of Secrets of a Duke's Heart
Now, looking at him through Harriet’s lens, he realized two things: first, that the man he’d selected for his beloved niece’s husband was nearly three times her age, and the reason he hadn’t seen it sooner was that he was getting up in age himself.
Forty this summer.
His slowing pulse was a reminder that he was still in good shape for thirty-nine, no matter how much he was feeling his own mortality.
“Is that you, Montague?” the earl called out querulously. “I just saw your niece and a young man running toward the town. She said the wedding was off!”
He was about to apologize for dragging the man all this way when Lucarran climbed out and smacked one horse on the rump. It startled, lurched forward and almost overturned the entire coach, to the driver’s consternation. Jude leaped in to help guide the horses out of the predicament they’d gotten into.
“Get in, lad. I have a bride to catch. I cannot allow her to slip through my fingers. The dowry is sufficient, but comely, obedient young ladies don’t grow on trees. Harriet is ripe for the plucking.” He grinned lasciviously and motioned for Jude to get into the carriage.
Lord Lucarran’s rudeness was surpassed by his rank breath. Had the man never heard of tooth powder and daily brushing before? The way he was speaking about Harriet made Jude’s skin crawl.
If he had made such an error of judgment in betrothing the girl he’d raised like his own daughter to this—thisdisgusting pigof the realm, what else had he gotten so badly wrong?
Clarissa.
He should have trusted her not to be so venal as the women he had spent all of his adult life avoiding. He should have known that marrying for money alone was a recipe for an impoverished life indeed. Without affection, money was worth nothing.
All this time, he had been blind.
He was in love with Clarissa Penfirth.
Madly. Wholly. After only a few days of acquaintance, he had lost his heart to her.
He would go back to Prescott’s and sort things out with her the minute this escapade was over.
“Women,” huffed Lucarran. “Always thinking with their hearts and not with their heads. You’d better be right that she remains untouched. I won’t raise a cuckoo’s chick. Not in my nest.” He clucked his tongue. “Any brat resulting from this alleged kidnapping will be sent away.”
Cold horror coursed down Jude’s spine. That was precisely what his family had done to Harriet when she was a baby.
History was repeating itself, despite his best efforts to steer his family onto a safer course.
The horses clattered into the courtyard where white feathers danced in the air, a clear sign of a recent disturbance. White birds hissed and honked warning. Harriet stood framed in the light spilling into the yard from the Cock and Bull Inn.
Why had they come back here?
There was no time for questions. Harriet and her roguish Frenchman ran into the taproom. The Riders had gathered here for a celebratory pint, and the none-too-sober men tripped over one another trying to chase their quarry.
Harriet and Rémy ran to the back, past the alcove with the secret passageway, into a closet. Jude followed them.
At the back of the closet was a second passageway.
“Clever misdirection,” he said.
“After them! We cannot let Le Fantôme escape!” shouted a ruddy-faced Leacham. Down they went, following the fresh sea air blowing in from the caves below. He wasn’t sure what he would do when they spilled onto the lip of the cave where he had spent a couple of hours getting to know Miss Penfirth.
If Harriet felt a fraction of what he did for Clarissa toward her French smuggler, then Jude had no business trying to stop them.
Fortunately, the runaway couple had a friend. Benoit, the dark-skinned American man whose home they had attempted to search, grinned widely as he pushed the boat toward the mouth of the cave with a long pole.
He gave a salute. Leacham reached for his pistol.
Jude put one hand on his back and sent the Rider tumbling into the shallow water before he could take aim.
“Godspeed,” he called to his niece, but they were already gone.
* * *
