“Fuck.” Griffin shook his head. “I told Carlisle it shouldn’t be you, but he was adamant you were the man for the task. He doesn’t know you the way I do. You’re too bloody softhearted for it, and now she’s managed to cozen you into thinking she’s not the deceptive bitch she truly is.”
Sebastian didn’t think. Indeed, his brain seemed to take leave of the rest of his body, for it was almost as if the two were disconnected as his fist swung wildly, finding rigid purchase in his best friend’s jaw for the second time in as many weeks. He watched as Griffin’s head snapped back, almost from a dream. A bloody nightmare.
But Griffin had pushed him too far, and this… he would not be insulted. Wouldn’t allow his loyalty to be called into question, not by anyone and especially not by the man he considered a brother. The way he’d spoken of Daisy, disparaging her, as if she were a siren who’d bewitched him, and as if any other woman might easily take her place. It was not to be borne.
Griffin was a seasoned fighter, and he was cold as ice. Always. So the fist meeting Sebastian’s jaw a scant few seconds later was no surprise, though the burst of pain and stars marring his vision took him aback for half a second. There. He supposed they were even this time around.
“Have you no word on her?” he asked ruefully, rubbing the place where his friend’s right hook had connected with his face.
“Fucking hell,” Griffin snarled, staring at him as though he were a stranger.
“Who watches her?” Sebastian pressed, undeterred in his quest for some word of Daisy, however small and insignificant. By God, he missed her, and with a desperation that was utterly humiliating. “Surely someone, if not you. Is she safe, at least?”
Leaving her had been difficult enough, but leaving her behind knowing that her bastard of a father was within the same city, still capable of reaching her and hurting her… that was a different kind of torture. The sort of torture that none of his training could have prepared him for.
“She’s safe.” Griffin’s lip curled into a sneer. “What’s next, Bast? You’re going to secret her away to the country and start getting brats on her? Men like us aren’t meant for that life. We’re bound to put the League first.”
Sebastian met his gaze, unflinching. His friend wasn’t wrong, not about any of it, and he was being torn apart from the inside out, stretched in two opposing directions. Love versus loyalty, duty against want. “I’m putting the League first or I wouldn’t be here, damn it.”
Griffin’s expression became dazed. “This isn’t like you.”
No, it wasn’t. But he’d never been in love before. “Maybe you don’t know me,” he said evenly.
Because the truth of it was that he’d begun to realize not evenhehad known himself. The man he’d believed himself to be had been an island in a vast ocean, accountable to no one, untouchable and unbreakable. The man he thought he was would never have fallen in love with a slip of an American girl who was stronger than anyone he’d ever met. He was not himself without her, and she was the part of him that had been missing all along. With Daisy, he was whole.
“I’m beginning to think I don’t,” Griffin said, sounding weary. “But we’ve a duty to uphold and a mission to carry out.”
Yes, they bloody well did.
15th April, 1881
Your Grace,
Over a month has passed without word. I find myself fearing for your wellbeing. None of the staff knows of your whereabouts or the reason for your abrupt departure. Indeed, it is quite as if you have disappeared. If your absence is due to me, perhaps you could be kind enough to inform me so that I may make amends.
I do hope to hear from you soon. In the meantime, I hope you don’t mind my recent increase in expenditures. I’ve commissioned an entire new wardrobe and have begun making a few, much-needed alternations to our London home. I’m sure you will agree that the paintings of the former dukes were decidedlyde tropand much in need of replacement. I’ve had them sent to the attics.
Sincerely,
Daisy Trent
Daisy found herself being ushered into the salon of the Duchess of Leeds by a butler who looked as if he’d be more at home on the docks than he was in his formal attire. He possessed none of the formidable starch of Giles, and he seemed far too young for the position, tall and broad and commanding, with a head of black hair and a wicked scar running down his right cheek.
He was almost handsome, though not in the classical sense. Rather, his was a raw, brawny attractiveness that was most disarming in a servant who was meant to blend into the wallpaper unless he was required. This man would never blend into wallpaper. Damask could not possibly contain him.
The invitation from the duchess had arrived two days before, disarming Daisy, for she didn’t recall ever having much discourse with the Duchess of Leeds. And precious few invitations had been forthcoming for the American who had eloped with the duke who’d subsequently disappeared.
Daisy read the gossip sheets, even if she knew she shouldn’t. She was more than aware of her reputation and what was being said of her. It wasn’t pretty.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Trent,” the man masquerading as a butler announced.
Daisy entered the salon to an unexpected sight. The Duchess of Leeds sat on a gilded settee, surrounded by a bevy of dogs, an orange cat curled on her lap. One dog, a handsome terrier with an under-bite, rose and sauntered toward Daisy, sniffing her skirts.
Daisy didn’t think twice before lowering herself to the dog’s level, offering him her hand for a judicious sniff. He sniffed deeply for a few moments, pressing his warm nuzzle into her palm, before delivering a lick.
“Your Grace,” said the duchess, drawing Daisy’s attention back to her with a smile that only served to heighten her exotic beauty. She had rich chestnut hair, high cheekbones, and flashing green eyes. “It seems as if you’ve met with Hugo’s approval.”
“He is a dear.” Daisy removed her glove to rub Hugo’s satiny head. He rewarded her by getting onto his haunches and licking her directly across the mouth.
