Page 93 of Never a Duke
“You are more of an eagle, or perhaps a hawk, and there was nothing little about you. I think I know who engineered these kidnappings.”
“He or she will be far, far removed from tonight’s business.” His Grace finished with the second pistol as the coach lurched onto the cobbles that signaled they’d reached the Thames’s south bank. “Forget your many kindnesses to me in prison, Ned. Forget that you refused Jane’s efforts to get you out of there because you did not want me to die alone. Forget that you also stood the same vigil for your brother at an age when no boy should be anywhere near the gallows.”
“I have tried to forget all of it, but you insist on dredging up the past.”
“Forget it if you must, but recall this: When I was so determined to confront my enemies at the first opportunity, my tiger—a mere boy, who should have left me to my folly—had the sense to summon those who’d take my part. You roused the watch, Ned, and brought me the allies I needed to win free of a very bad situation. You were just a boy, and you already knew what I had yet to learn: If you have family, any kind of family, you are never alone. That’s what family means.”
Ned wanted to see Rosalind’s maids to safety because that would right an injustice, but he also needed for this day with all its drama and disclosures to be over. He needed to sit with Rosalind in the quiet of his own house, embroider a few irises, and settle his nerves. He’d stitch his pretty flowers and look up every two minutes, just to make sure Rosalind was still there, still real.
Still his.
“You gave me the Wentworth name,” Ned said, quietly. “Just handed it to me, when my own name was lost to me. Then you marched off, alone, blind to your own danger.…I could not lose you too.”
“You never will. Emmigrate to the Antipodes, set up your own merchants and widows bank, end up back in Newgate, and I will still be proud to call you family.”
Ned gathered Rosalind close, because he needed to hold on to her. “And would Her Grace agree with that sentiment? Woodruff is promising to make trouble for Rosalind and me.”
“Jane will put Woodruff in his place without so much as looking in his direction. Depend upon it.”
Rosalind had seen that possibility, but to hear Walden say the words was reassuring. A duchess’s silence could be more lethal to a man’s consequence than all the loaded pistols in London.
“I do not know if I want Woodruff put in his place,” Ned said, stroking Rosalind’s hair. “He is Rosalind’s father, as far as the world is concerned, and she is ever kind to dumb beasts.”
“You don’t have to know,” Walden replied, as the coach horses swung into a trot. “Rosalind will sort that out for you, just as you are sorting out a few pesky kidnappers for her. Abigail and Jane will envy us this adventure, and Elizabeth will immortalize you in one of her grand stories.”
“You sent word to Her Grace?”
“Badgers are ever so useful when I recall to follow bank policies and actually keep one handy. When does the tide turn?”
“We have less than two hours.”
Not much time to arrange a rescue that could set off a scandal the likes of which would reverberate halfway around the world, and yet, holding Rosalind, enduring Walden’s ill-timed sentimentality, and knowing that Bob was perched up top…a weary, lonely part of Ned’s soul began to hope that somehow, it might all come right.
It might all finally, finally come right.
Chapter Seventeen
Rosalind dozed, the weight of a trying day pressing on her mind and body. She heard Ned’s voice, felt his warmth beside her, and rode the steady rise and fall of his breathing as the coach swayed along.
When the coach halted, she roused herself, though it was an effort.
“You will stay with Lord Stephen,” Ned said, when he’d handed her down from the carriage. “Bob and His Grace will come with me, as will Artie.”
“Arthur will be your scout?” Rosalind asked.
“Nobody notices boys,” Arthur replied. “I’ll turn sideways and disappear.”
“Nobody notices women either,” Rosalind retorted. “I will keep my head down and have no need to disappear.”
Lord Stephen handed his horse off to a groom. “You are too pretty, my lady. Every tar new to port and every man putting out to sea will notice you.”
Rosalind had never before been accused of being too pretty. Lord Stephen was dissembling for the sake of gallantry.
“Those men will notice the ladies whose demeanor and attire signals a willingness to be friendly. I am tired, I have much on my mind, and—”
“And you have no bonnet,” Ned said gently. “I know you want to help, but his lordship is right—for once. You are too conspicuous.”
Ned had chosen the more honest words. The men were trying to keep her safe. How could they not realize she wanted to keep them safe too?
