Page 73 of The Wayward Duke
His mouth flattened into a grim line, clearly unconvinced. “Somehow, that does little to reassure me. Need I remind you that you took a bullet weeks ago?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe I’m impervious to bullets now. I might even catch them in my teeth.”
“Promise me you won’t attempt to catch any projectiles tonight. Not with your teeth or any other part of your anatomy.”
“No bullets,” she promised. She knew Julian only lectured because he cared. Because the memory of her injured and bleeding still haunted him. “No unnecessary risks. I’ll go around back and alert the staff I’m here.”
Her boots clicked out a rapid staccato on the cobbles as she hurried to the servants’ entrance, stripping off her cap and donning the demi-mask she’d hidden in her pocket.
She knocked. Caroline listened to heavy footsteps approach from within, the bolt scraping back. The weathered door swung inward to reveal Leo O’Sullivan’s imposing silhouette.
Rumour held the club’s factotum had once killed a man with his bare hands. Violence lurked in him, coiled tight and leashed. He had the golden good looks of a fallen angel – beautiful, but remote.
Squaring her shoulders, she offered him a smile. “Mr O’Sullivan. How lovely to see you.”
He sighed, clearly unenthused by her presence. “As I’ve said a thousand times, the ladies from Maxine’s go to the front—”
“And what about the Duchess of Hastings?” Caroline interjected before he could dismiss her.
He raked her with a look, taking in her disguise. “Her Grace forgets whatever mischief brought her here and goes home. Now.”
Mr O’Sullivan moved to shut the door, but Caroline slapped a hand against the scarred wood to stop him.
“I don’t think so. I’ve come on urgent business regarding a gentleman who gambles here. Bartholomew Pritchard.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Might we speak inside where prying ears won’t overhear? I’d hate for whispers to reach Lady Alexandra about your discourteous treatment of a duchess.”
“Christ,” he muttered, stepping back and letting her slip inside. “Fine. Get in before someone sees you skulking around.”
There wasn’t a soul in London not terrified of Richard’s sister.
“My apologies for barging in unannounced,” Caroline said. “But surely you’ve heard of the recent attempts on my husband’s life?”
O’Sullivan’s stern gaze flicked over her once more, slow and assessing. “Word is you took a bullet for the duke.”
“I did.” She reached for the top clasp of her cloak, working it free. “The duke is already inside looking for Pritchard. I suspect the man has information about the culprit, and while Hastings is skilled in many areas…” She flashed a wry smile. “I believe I would fare better convincing Pritchard to share what he knows.”
The cloak dropped to her feet. She heard the sharp inhale, saw Leo’s gaze skim down over scandalous curves barely concealed by silk. Watched faint colour stain his cheeks as he averted his eyes to the ceiling.
She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile at having rendered the unflappable Leo O’Sullivan speechless.
“This.” He waved a flustered hand at her state of undress. “This was your cunning plan?”
“Come now. I make a flawless fallen woman. I’ll blend in with the ladies of the night in your club.”
O’Sullivan dragged a palm over his face. “Jesus wept. You’ll cause a bloody riot. Thorne will roast my bollocks on a spit when he hears of this, and then your savage beast of a husband will carve what remains into a souvenir.”
“You have such a flair for the dramatic, Mr O’Sullivan. I’m touched you feel so protective of my honour.”
“I don’t give a damn about honour,” he said. “But I’d like to keep my bollocks, if it’s all the same to you. Does your husband know you’re here prancing around dressed as a doxy, making demands?”
“He thinks I’m dressed as a maid. He would have forbidden me to come otherwise.”
“A sensible man,” O’Sullivan muttered. “I can’t, in good conscience, be party to the Duke of Hastings’ wife parading around a gambling hall dressed like… you.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking your permission.” She turned and peered down the dim hallway, contemplating. “Of course, I could always invite Lady Alexandra to accompany me—”
“Good God, no.” He dragged both hands through his hair before spearing her with a stern look. “You’ll stay by my side. No exceptions, understand?”
Muttering under his breath, O’Sullivan turned and strode back down the cramped staircase into the bowels of the club. Caroline hastened after him. As they navigated down into the pulsing heart of the club, raucous sounds filtered up – shouts and gritty laughter, the clink of glasses and slap of cards. The cloying stale air was choked with expensive cigars favoured by aristocrats.
