Chapter 3

Three

C harles Kendal, Duke of Selkirk, looked down at the woman in his arms. Why the devil had she flung herself at him? He'd nearly been knocked clean off his feet. He attempted to set her aside so as to continue on his way, but she tightened her hold on his waistcoat.

"Please." She stared up at him with wide moss-green eyes. "I am in desperate need of assistance."

He studied her closer. She looked the part of a whore, but her eyes held an innocence that betrayed her appearance, and her body was trembling all over. When he met her gaze, there was no denying the fear reflecting back at him. "What the devil is going on here?"

Before she could reply, he heard yelling coming from around the corner.

"Catch her!"

"She can't have gotten far!"

"The chit is worth a fortune. Don't let her get away!"

The woman in his arms held tighter to him, burying her face in his coat. "Please, help me. Hide me."

Charles released a breath before scooping her into his arms. Lord, do not let me live to regret my actions this night. He ran toward the corner, where his carriage and driver waited for him. The fear and uncertainty in the woman's eyes drove him to keep moving as she clung to him for dear life. "I have you." He tightened his grasp in an attempt to reassure her.

He weaved through the crowd of dispersing theater-goers, dashing around and between ladies and gentleman as he made his way up the street with the woman securely cradled in his arms. Behind him, the calls of her pursuers continued. Who the devil was she and what the hell was going on?

Catching sight of a friend, he yelled, "Gulliver, we must be going."

As Charles neared his carriage, he called to his footman, "Open the carriage, no need for the step." He lunged into the conveyance with the woman still trembling in his arms.

Gulliver hoisted himself in behind them. "What the devil is going on?" he asked Charles.

Setting the woman beside him as the footman shut the door, Charles shot Gulliver a look meant to silence him.

The sounds of her pursuers drew closer, their shouts increasing in volume and level of frustration. Why were they so determined to catch her? He met her gaze. That question, along with many others, would have to wait if they were to get her away from Covent Gardens. "Where to?"

She shook her head. "Anywhere but here will do."

Irritation prickled within him. "What the devil! You must tell me where you wish to go."

Lord Gulliver called to the coachman, "Grosvenor Square, Gulliver House, and make haste."

The carriage lurched into motion, causing the woman to jerk and sway. Charles reached out to still her. With her settled, he moved to sit beside Gulliver. Crossing one leg casually over the other, he reclined against the plush velvet bench.

"Thank you." The words were no more than a choked whisper.

Studying her, Charles gave a nod. "My pleasure." She certainly was a pretty thing. Had they met under different circumstances, he might enjoy her company. Too bad he had the sinking feeling this woman would bring him far more trouble before the ordeal ended.

Perhaps he should stop the carriage and let her out. He'd done his good deed in helping her escape. There remained no reason for his continued involvement. Except that he was already neck deep and full of questions that demanded answers.

Releasing a sigh, he met her wide-eyed gaze. "Now that you are safe, I would know in what sort of caper you have involved me and Lord Gulliver?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes fluttering closed.

After several silent seconds, Charles prodded. "Why were you being chased? Are you some sort of street urchin?"

Bringing her gaze back to his, she shook her head and squared her shoulders, but remained silent.

"A cutthroat? Pickpocket? Murderess?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Heavens, no." Her moss-colored gaze clouded over, hurt replacing the fear he'd seen moments before. "I am none of those things."

"Then what?" Charles leaned forward, impatient for answers.

Gulliver pulled a flask from his coat and offered it to Charles. "Forgive my rudeness in stating the obvious, however, you appear to be a whore, and those men who were chasing you, I recognized them. They are in the employ of Madame Lavinia."

Charles took a long drink of the Scotch, then passed the flask back to Gulliver. He'd made the same observation about the woman when she'd plowed into him, though he'd not recognized her pursuers at the time. "Are you one of Lavinia's nuns?" He studied her, gazing deep into her eyes while awaiting her answer.

"No." She fidgeted with her crimson skirt, tears welling in her eyes.

He'd wager on the fact she spoke the truth. Still, why were they chasing her and why did she look the part? He peered at her. "You had better start explaining."

"My Mama turned me out. Sent me to London, to Lavinia's. I had no idea where I was going." She brushed a tear from her cheek. "I am not a woman of loose morals. As soon as I discovered where I had been sent…." She drew in a shaky breath. "I could never stay there."

Gulliver swallowed a mouthful of Scotch. "Why then did your mother send you there?"

She darted her gaze in his direction. "After my father ran off, she could no longer afford to provide for me. She dressed me up, put me in a coach, and told me to forgive her, claiming she had no other choice."

Charles's breath caught when she notched her chin, bringing her attention back to him. His heart softened toward her, for the chit had been through a terrible ordeal. "Have you no other place to go?"

"I do not."

The carriage halted in front of Gulliver's house, and he tucked his flask back into his coat. "What do you intend to do with her?" He glanced between Charles and the woman.

She turned her wide-eyed stare back to him. "My name is Julia Honeyfield."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Julia." Gulliver offered a bemused grin before looking back to Charles. "Have you a plan?"

Bloody good question. Charles rubbed his hand across his jaw. If she told the truth, and he believed she did, she was an innocent. She'd never survive the London streets. If he turned her away…. His eye twitched as he attempted to decide what course of action to take.

The hell with it. He grinned at her before answering Gulliver. "I will take her home with me."

Gulliver chuckled, handing Charles his flask. "You may need this more than I." He disembarked from the carriage.

Wasting no time, Charles ordered the carriage home, then settled back for the ride. Mother and Celia would no doubt think him daft when he arrived with Julia. Hell, he thought himself half mad. But what other choice did he have?

J ulia appraised the man. Could she truly go home with him? A stranger she knew nothing about. What if he turned out to be a monster of some sort? She could be in more danger than she was back at Madame Lavinia's. Her throat tightened, pulse quicking.

For heaven's sake, she did not even know his name. The risk of remaining with him proved too great as she had no wish to borrow more trouble.

"You have done me a good service this night. I have no wish to further complicate your life." She stilled her foot, which she'd been tapping. "If you stop the carriage, I will be on my way."

He narrowed his blue eyes on her. "And to where, pray tell, will you be on your way?"

Drat, she'd not planned on him arguing with her. She searched her mind for an answer as she started tapping her foot once more. "Surely there is somewhere for a woman to seek safe shelter. An orphanage, perhaps?" Her cheeks warmed at the absurdity of what she'd said. For heaven's sake, an orphanage. Truly? She knew perfectly well that orphanages only accepted children.

Could she have said a more bird-witted thing? Regardless, there was no reason for her to try to impress this man. What she needed was to regain some control over her life, her person.

"Unfortunately, London has no shelters for women. Not that I am aware of, leastwise."

"If it were up to me, I would start one." She pressed her lips together.

He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "Allow me to take you to my home. My mother and sister are both in residence."

To his credit, he did not chastise her for her odd answer. In fact, she saw nothing but concern in his gaze. Still, she did not want to complicate his life or find herself in more trouble. "That is not necessary, sir. I will find a way to care for myself."

"Your Grace."

"What?" Julia's heart beat faster.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Charles Kendal, Duke of Selkirk." He stared at her, confidence etched in the planes of his face.

She took in the sight of him, cast in the glow of the lamplight. Trailing her gaze from the blond curls crowning his head, past his chiseled jaw and aristocratic nose, to his wide shoulders, she attempted to find words. Alas, she had no idea what to say, having never met a duke before.

A duke. And he was offering her shelter. She couldn't possibly accept. She did not belong in his world and she perfectly well knew it. "I will be forever grateful to you for saving me earlier, Your Grace. However, I cannot allow you to risk your reputation any further by taking me to your home."

"Nonsense." He grinned. "You are in need of employment. Are you not?"

"I am." The carriage hit a rut and she braced herself on the seat.

"Perfect, because I am in need of a companion for my sister. Lady Celia is a delightful girl. I am quite certain you will get on well."

Imagine her—a woman of low birth—acting as companion to a duke's sister. She did not know the first thing about high society. She'd no doubt make a cake of herself and quite possibly his sister too. She started to shake her head, then stilled.

Your fate is now in your own hands. Mama's words slammed into her and she understood what she needed to do. "Very well. I am honored to accept employment in your household."

"I will have you assigned to a room when we arrive and have a meal sent up. On the morrow, I will introduce you to Lady Celia, as well as my mother, Margaret, the Dowager Duchess of Selkirk." He leaned back, crossing his legs, a slight smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Ignoring the insecurity and uncertainty whirling inside her, she forced what she hoped appeared to be a confident smile of her own. "Thank you, Your Grace."