Page 20 of Devoted to the Spanish Duke
Then her gaze settled on Lisandro’s coat pocket and the key ring which was sticking out an inch. Her mouth went dry. Could she do it? Steal the key and make good on her escape? There may well be other men just outside the door, but she had to risk it.
Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Maria inched one step toward him. Then another. At the fourth step, a loose floorboard creaked, and she froze. Her gaze remained on him, watching for any sign that he might stir from sleep. He didn’t move a muscle. His slow, even breaths continued.
Thank god.
Bending, she hooked the tip of two fingers under the ring of keys and then gently pulled. The keys shifted.
I can do this.
The next tug had them almost free of his coat.
A large male hand grabbed a firm hold of her wrist. “You need to work harder at your pickpocketing skills if you are to make a living as a light-fingered thief,” he said.
Maria tried to pull away, but Lisandro held fast. Swinging his legs over the side of the sofa, he sat up. “Now I am going to release you from my hold, and you are going to take a step back. Is that clear?” he said.
She nodded.
Lisandro let go of Maria’s wrist. She did take a step back.
And then she launched herself at him. “Te odio, perro sucio!”
The first slap landed perfectly on his cheek. She followed it up with a solid punch in the middle of his face which had her hand exploding in pain. “Oh!” she cried.
He rose from the sofa, blood pouring from his nose. He quickly pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. Maria reached for it, thinking he was about to offer it so she could wrap it around her injured hand; instead, he held it to his face.
“You beat me, call me a dog, and then expect me to be a gentleman?” he said.
There was a rattle and jangle of keys at the door, and it flew open. Two men burst into the room.
“What the devil is going on?” asked the first, his accent marking him clearly as an Englishman.
The second took one look at Lisandro and quickly put a hand over his mouth. Maria frowned at the mirth which danced in his eyes. What sort of man would find any of this amusing?
She backed away as far as she could from them. This morning was the first time she had woken feeling semi-clear in her mind. That clarity of thinking, however, was a double- edged sword. It left room for fear.
Who were these other men, and what role did they play in the Duke of Tolosa’s evil scheme?
Tears pricked at Maria’s eyes as the weight of her circumstances settled heavily on her shoulders. Her kidnappers had revealed themselves—and with that came the deep worry of why they were no longer concealing their identities.
“Please. My father has money. He will pay whatever ransom you ask,” she said.
Lisandro removed the cloth from his face. The bleeding appeared to have subsided.
“Doña Maria, we are not your kidnappers. Last night, we raided the house in Queen Anne Street and rescued you,” he said.
Rescued?
She shook her head. It was an unlikely story. How could she believe him?
“Then why is it that you, my family’s enemy, is here? Don’t tell me you just happened to be in London. Don de Aguirre, I don’t believe in coincidences,” she replied.
She and Lisandro locked gazes and Maria stared him down, determined to show that she was not afraid.
The look on his face oddly appeared to be more one of concern than anger. His brow knitted tightly.
The tall man who had been first through the door dipped into a low bow, startling her. “I am Sir Stephen Moore, Doña Maria. Lisandro here is telling the truth. We killed three men last night in order to secure your release. No one here is going to hurt you.”
Her gaze drifted to the other man. He bowed his head. “I am Lord Harry Steele. My father is the Duke of Redditch. I might be many things, but a kidnapper of defenseless women is not one of them. My wife wouldn’t allow it.”
