Page 3 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
With that, the man reached up and pulled a heavy stick from the coachman’s seat. The thing was so large, and the movement so sudden, that he began to tip over backward.
Ellie hurried to grab his shoulders. “Matthews, listen to me. I have a very important mission for you.”Here. In the coach. Far from my shame.“I need you to use your—your weapon to protect Merida.”
The old man frowned. “Milady—”
“I will be safe, Matthews.”Please, God, let that be the case.“What I am doing tonight, I do for Merida and her future.” The coachman’s frown grew, and she knew he was trying to second guess her plans. “It will all be for naught if the Earl learns I am not with her tonight, or in the townhouse, or—God forbid—ruffians harass you.”
She could see him considering her words, so she nodded firmly and stepped back.
“Please, Matthews. Protect Merida.” With those words, she reached up and slid the lock on the outside of the coach door. The lass was determined enough—and acrobatic enough—to slip through one of the windows, but hopefully she would stay asleep during the time thiserrandtook.
Finally, the old man nodded grimly. “Aye, milady. I will. Just let me get back up to my post, eh? Ye hold me wooden fingers, would ye, and pass them up to me when I’m settled?”
With only a few grimaces, hopefully unseen in the dark, Ellie accomplished the task.
Once in his place, Matthews tugged on the brim of his hat. “Godspeed, milady. If I’m no’ here when ye’re through, it means we had to take off to avoid trouble, but ye stay right there and I’ll circle back as soon as I can.”
Ellie lifted her hand, already shivering from the bite of the wind. “Be safe,” she whispered, before turning to the building before her.
Inside it was warmer, but only just. The halls were barren, but clean, and it was easy enough to find the flat she was looking for.
Behind that door was the man who could save her. He didn’t even have to do much—well,verymuch—but if she was successful tonight, she could secure Merida’s futurehonorably.
Fawkes MacMillan.
Rufus’s cousin.
The closest male blood relative of the same age who wouldn’t report her betrayal to the Earl.
His blood—his seed—could be the difference between life and death.
Taking another deep breath, Ellie squared her shoulders. She slid the shawl around her elbows and took the time to undo the top buttons of her shirtwaist, revealing skin at the base of her throat.Too many? Not enough?
As an afterthought, she pulled the ridiculously large gold band from her finger and slipped it into a pocket of the skirt.
Steeling herself, she knocked.
The moments ticked by, measured by her heartbeats.
When she reached the count of fifty, she decided this was all quite anticlimactic, and she really ought to stop holding her breath.
She knocked again, this time shifting her weight from side to side.
Itisalmost midnight. Most reasonable people are asleep by this point. Perhaps you should open the door and surprise him?
No. Surprising a man in his own home—even if hewasa simple chemist in a simple flat—would be supremely unwise. Men didn’t appreciate home invaders. Even those in skirts.
After another interminable wait, she was lifting her hand to knock a third time when she heard a noise on the other side of the door.
“Who is it?” growled a voice.
She froze.
He was home. He wasthere.
And…hello? He would like to know who you are! Try answering the man.
“Who is it?” the voice asked again, much more impatiently.
