Page 13 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke
Emma lay in the second unfamiliar bed she had slept in over the last several weeks and thought about where life had taken her. She had gone from spinster, to betrothed, to lugging through London with an investigator trying to find her missing brother. And what was it that kept her up this night? Was it thoughts of her brother in trouble? No, it was thoughts of her pen pal turned partner that she had spent the whole day with.
As the guilt twisted like a knife inside of her, she turned to bury her face in the pillow to muffle an audible groan. The last thing she needed right now was Mr. Herst to hear something.
She knew her emotions about the situation had not been dealt with; she was aware of that. But she had thought that the direness of the situation of her missing brother warranted the setting aside of her discomfort or other feelings in order to make sure he was found safe and well.
There, on the edge of her sleeping mind, was when and where the dam broke. Questions, thoughts, insecurities. Everything she had felt about Donovan over the course of the whole day had simply stored up and waited until her guard was down to come pouring out.
“Just trick yourself,” she whispered out loud. “You're smart, so just trick yourself into thinking it's okay.”
The feelings she had for Donovan were natural and normal, no matter what they were in the middle of. It was okay to want a man, especially a man you thought you fancied, to hold you in his arms. It's okay to imagine the warmth of his body as you fall asleep, even if you are betrothed. No one will know. No one will ever know, and that makes it okay.
No one would ever know that she wanted Donovan to hold her. To touch her. To make her feel the heat traveling up and down her body in ways she had never felt before. She wanted Donovan in a way that she never felt before, and the prodding at the mysterious thoughts and feelings became easier as she fell asleep and lost the ability to keep her guard up against herself.
Emma had gotten very good at lying to herself over the years, but this night she no longer could; regardless, she fell into a deep, comfortable, and content sleep.
Alistair laughed mockingly. “You can’t be serious. Do you not remember the last time you went into the Hissing Cat? Ronnikand his goons nearly rearranged your face to be slightly less handsome. The only reason you got out of there was I happened to be heading there to pay off my gaming debts.”
“I have to go back. Ronnik has connections to every major crime ring in town. If something happened to Miss Bradford’s brother, he would know about it,” Donovan explained, matter of factly. He wasn’t inclined to be scared off by criminals, even if his brother thought he was the truest of idiots who didn’t learn his lesson the first time around.
“But you can’t just go in there and start asking questions and making accusations. It would be one thing if you were a frequent customer looking for information, but all you do is give the man a hard time. He has no reason not to let his men beat you senseless, sans legal recourse, and with the friends he has, you’d be surprised how little of a deterrent that is,” Alistair insisted.
“So, what do you suggest I do then?” Donovan asked annoyed. His brother assumed he hadn’t considered not getting assaulted, and that bothered him.
“Not bloody go,” Alistair practically shouted.
“Not an option. Do you have any other practical suggestions?” Donovan asked.
Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not ones I like, but you are kind of forcing my hand on this one, Donovan.”
“What are you talking about?” Donovan pressed.
“If you are insisting on going, then I have to go with you. It's the only thing that will stop Ronnik from having you rearranged on sight,” Alistair said with resignation.
“Why do you care so much if I take a walloping?” Donovan asked flippantly.
“Why?! The nerve you got asking that question, brother. Get your stuff together and let's go.” The younger Connor spoke with a resolute resignation as if they were marching to war.
“We can’t just yet,” Donovan told his brother.
“And why not?” Alistair asked, his voice more than conveying his exasperation.
“We have to go and pick up Miss Bradford,” Donovan told his brother. The shock hung on Alistair’s face long after they had exited their home, and it would be a little time before Alistair would regain his composure enough to tell his brother in explicit terms how bad of an idea that was.
“Your Grace, I’m confused. Would you perhaps explain something to me?” Emma asked. The carriage ride thus far had been as slow as it was uncomfortable. Her speaking had shaken Donovan from his thoughts, but Alistair was either bored,oblivious, or both. Donovan gave his brother a discreet tap to rouse his attention.
“Oh, yes, Miss Bradford?” he said with grace and civility that Donovan did not know his brother could manage.
“Why is it that Mr. Connor is on bad terms with this Mr. Ronnik, and you are not?” Emma was clearly semi-aware of the answer from the hesitant tone that she framed the question. Donovan was surprised that she had bothered to ask at all.
“That's simple my dear,” he gestured for her to lean in close, speaking softly as if he were about to share a secret. “You see, I am a Duke. People, if I treat them with a bare minimum of consideration, will always want to be my friends.” Alistair followed this up with a rather ugly laugh.
This exchange killed any interest Emma had in the continuing conversation for the remainder of the carriage ride. Thankfully, it was only a short time more of sustained awkwardness before they reached the rather elaborate structure that was the Hissing Cat.
The Hissing Cat touted itself as the largest gaming hell in London, and while this was true, it was done so in a rather tongue and cheek matter. Ronnik had been in the warehouse trade before and converted one of his old establishments into a gaming den, so it was technically the largest gaming hell in London when measuring based on the size of the building.
Before they could make their way in, Alistair stopped them. “The good news is that no matter what you two do, I don’t think you could hurt my reputation in this place. But it's important to read the room. There are no hard established rules in these circles, not like the ton, so it's important to gauge from moment to moment. Oh, one thing though, Miss Bradford. He just goes by Ronnik. None of that “mister” stuff; he will likely take offense to it.”
“Offense to... being referred to properly?” she asked, confused.
