Page 6 of Devil at the Gates
She tried to instill within herself a sense of confidence, but her right arm ached fiercely, and her head was pounding with a headache that made even the light of the fire sear her eyes. She had dealt with men like this, the kind who took pleasure in striking fear into a woman’s heart. But Harriet was not so easily shaken.
Lord Frostmore crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the doorjamb, preventing her from escaping. She felt his eyes rake over her, as if he wanted to rip her clothes clean off her body and ravage her.
But much to her surprise, the power of those eyes was enough to send a whisper of a dark, forbidden thrill through her as well, something she’d never felt before. George had only ever disgusted her when he looked at her like that, but with this man…something was different. The anger and disdain mixed with lust in the duke’s eyes seemed different. And there was something else in his gaze…shadowed not by evil, but rather by pain. Pain was something she recognized all too well.
The man snapped his fingers, and Devil trotted out of the room, leaving his master and Harriet alone.
“Might I ask, Miss…,” he began.
“Russell, Harriet Russell.” She blurted out her real name without thinking, but it was too late. She couldn’t take it back. She could only pray that if this man indeed knew George, then George would never have had a reason to discuss her, let alone call her by her name.
“Miss Russell, what are you doing in my house at this ungodly hour?” His lips curved upward as he said “ungodly,” as though sharing some private joke. So she’d been correct in her assumption. He was the Dark Duke, the infamous Devil of Dover.
“My carriage overturned, and my driver was injured. I sought help from the man who answered the door.” She took a small step back as the duke entered the room and shut the door behind him. She heard the sound of a key turning in the door before he faced her again. Harriet gripped her wounded arm to support it, while also attempting to look relaxed, lest she betray her wounded condition.
“So my man Grindle let you in, did he?” The duke leaned back against the locked door, eyeing her with increasing interest.
“Your Grace, I did not mean to intrude, but my driver is terribly injured, and the storm is worsening.”
Thunder rumbled as if on cosmic cue, shaking the house around them. Harriet tried to remain calm as the duke came closer. He wore buff breeches and a loose white lawn shirt that billowed open at his chest, revealing broad shoulders and a sculpted chest so breathtaking the angels would have wept. His state of relative undress had escaped her attention while she’d been so focused on his face and his dog.
Harriet took another involuntary step back, her body warning her of the danger that emanated from him. She should not be left alone with him. Daring to look around, she tried to find a bell cord to pull that might summon a servant to protect her if her strength failed her.
“Are you all alone this night, Miss Russell?” The duke was only a foot from her now, peering into her eyes.
He cupped her chin, raising her face up as he studied her. She tried to retreat, but the settee was right behind her now, her calves pressed against the base of the cushions. Lord Frostmore reached up with his other hand to undo the clasp of her cloak at her throat. The thick fabric collapsed at her feet in ebony waves of coarse wool. Harriet felt suddenly naked beneath his gaze, despite the pale-pink muslin gown she wore.
“I am alone, save for my driver,” she answered. He would know the truth in her eyes if she tried to lie, and she refused to be cowed by him. The duke’s hand at her throat dropped slowly to her chest and then to the rising flesh of her breasts. His fingertips traced a burning line over her skin before he withdrew his hand.
“You should never travel my roads alone.” Lord Frostmore released her chin and turned to face the fire, no longer looking at her.
“I am not afraid,” Harriet declared boldly.
He chuckled softly. “You will be before this night is through.” He said this to himself, as if his words were not a warning but a dark promise.
“You would not dare touch me.” Harriet’s tone remained steady, despite her rising concern. She wanted to convince herself that he would do her no harm, not with Mr. Grindle and the other servants as witnesses. The duke turned back to face her, a cruel kind of delight shining in his eyes.
“I would do more than dare, my dear. Do you not know in whose house you stand?” He returned his focus to the fire, but she knew his attention was still upon her, as though he waited for her to scream or faint dead away like some ninny of a girl.
“You are Redmond Barrington, the Duke of Frostmore.” She did not think it wise to mention his other names. The duke gave a wide smile as the firelight played with shadows on his face. Had she made a mistake in coming here? But what choice did she have? She couldn’t leave Mr. Johnson injured in the midst of a dangerous storm. She’d face this devil and do whatever she had to survive the night.
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“Tell me, do they still call me the Dark Duke?” the duke asked her, dark amusement coloring his tone. “Or have they adopted that other name, the Devil of Dover?”
Harriet inhaled sharply as he spun to face her.
“I see that they still do. Well, my dear Miss Russell, you have crossed a dangerous threshold. You have passed through the devil’s gates, as they say.” He gripped her shoulders tightly.
Harriet didn’t have time to react at first as he shoved her down onto the settee. But a moment later she recovered her wits and struck him across the face. He recovered quicker than she expected from the blow, and her shoulder throbbed as punishment for the effort. He caught her wrists and pinned them against the cushions of the seat.
She screamed loudly, more from pain and fear than anger. “Unhand me!” Harriet shouted. She wouldn’t be able to stop him, wouldn’t be able to do a bloody thing if he…
Flashes of memory, of fighting off George and his men, only made her scream louder. This man could easily do what three men had struggled to manage only hours ago. The nightmare, it seemed, wouldn’t end. Exhausted, she gasped for breath as her lungs burned.
“Go ahead, scream. No one will come. This is the house of a devil, and you’ve strayed too far from safety.” He chuckled and released her. She whimpered as pain rolled in waves through her shoulder. The duke stepped back. His eyes narrowed as she clutched her injured arm to her chest. “I couldn’t have hurt you that badly—I barely touched you,” he muttered, half to himself.
She closed her eyes, waiting for him to start on her again, to hurt her further, but when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with…concern?
