Page 10 of My Dark Duke

"If your assistance comes without strings, then I am grateful," she said, and he paused.

CHAPTER FOUR

SEBASTIAN WAS NOTthe type of man who liked to loiter. He was a duke, and should the need to loiter arise, he had umpteen servants to whom he could delegate the task.

However, this particular spell of loitering also involved guarding—though some might call it spying on—Miss Mary Smith, and Sebastian found he had no wish to delegate such matters to anyone else.

The idea that he was being possessive did not even cross his mind, though many other things did as he sat in his carriage, idly perusing the paper. Most of them involved he and Miss Smith in various lovemaking positions, though occasionally, he imagined them in more sedate—almost domestic-scenes.

Darkness had fallen, though it was not yet five o'clock, and he had to squint to read the words in the dim light which shone through the window from the streetlamp outside.

The sound of revelry from the nearby inns and taverns filled the night, and as a particularly loud shout rang out, Sebastian frowned in annoyance.

What on earth had Miss Smith been thinking? Sebastian had only to glance out the window to see the docks were no place for a woman. Alongside the inns and taverns were dozens of bawdy-houses, where from the windows lightskirts called out to the men below, trying to entice them inside.

The docks—after the Seven Dials—were one of the seediest parts of London, and it was not safe for a lady to walk there alone after dark.

A few more minutes passed, during which Sebastian cast his eye over the advertisements filling the pages, vaguely wondering if anyone really believed Gowland's Lotion really cured every ailment, from pimples to scrophula—before he wracked his brains to try and recall what scrophula actually was. It sounded rather like something one might pick up in the doxyhouse next door, he thought with a smile.

From above, there came a knocking on the carriage roof, a sign from Higgins that Miss Smith had left the offices of Macdonald, Humbert, & Co. for the evening.

Sebastian folded the paper and cast it aside, before peering out through the carriage window to try and spot his prey.

Miss Smith was wearing a neat bonnet over her red tresses, and had a light shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Sebastian, who was wearing several layers, including a coat of superfine, gave a frown as he noted this—was she not cold?

"She will catch a chill," he muttered irritably to himself. Though, as he then watched her dodge a group of drunken sailors falling out of a tavern, he realised a chill was the least of her worries.

Sebastian pushed open the carriage door and stepped down onto the footpath, wrinkling his nose against the smell of saltwater and decay greeting him.

"I shall walk," he called to Higgins, whose long years of service meant he did not betray any surprise he might feel.

"Follow along at a slow pace," Sebastian instructed. "And make sure that you are not seen."

"Yes, Your Grace," the footman replied, with a nod.

Sebastian took off after Miss Smith, careful to remain at a respectable distance.

The path beneath his feet was dark with dirt, soot, and other unmentionable things. Sebastian, who did not often walk anywhere, lamented that his Hessian boots might never recover from the outing, and that Graves—his rather grave valet—might also never recover.

Miss Smith walked quickly and Sebastian had to keep a brisk pace himself, in order not to lose sight of her. She made her way along the main road, toward Limehouse, where Sebastian assumed she would follow the river along through Southwark before veering inward toward Cheapside.

Another mark against her, he thought with a scowl; her route might be quicker, but she would be safer to walk north, toward town, and then cut across.

Irritated, Sebastian continued his pursuit. If anyone were to observe him—including Miss Smith—they might think he was the villain in this piece, following a lone woman home. But Sebastian had no wish to accost Miss Smith, he merely wished to shadow her, until he was certain she was safe inside Mrs Harrod's.

It was a ridiculous, almost undignified thing for a man of his status to do, yet the urge to ensure Miss Smith was safe and well had overridden his sense of pride.

No small feat, given Sebastian had oft been accused of an overinflated sense of self.

The pursuit continued for a few minutes more, until Miss Smith had passed the Limehouse Basin and the newly established Regent's Canal Dock, where her journey was rudely interrupted.

A gang of young men, wearing the uniform rags of Arab street rats, materialised out of the shadows and encircled the unsuspecting Miss Smith.

"Wot a piece of skirt, eh lads?" the leader of the pack called, with a leer.

"If you're looking for something to steal," Sebastian heard Miss Smith reply warily, "then I am afraid you have picked the wrong lady. I have nought but an apple left over from lunch."

"If you ain't gots no money, there's somefink else we might have," the original speaker replied, and he reached out a meaty paw to grab at Miss Smith.

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