12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve

Louisa came down the front steps of Stonemoore, planning to head to Henry and Violet's for a visit, when she saw the duke swing himself atop a horse and gallop down the drive. So, when the coachman asked her where she wished to go, she could not help her curiosity. "Do you know where his grace is headed?"

The man looked at the duke's retreating form, bringing cautious eyes back to her. "I believe he is going for a ride."

"Yes, I can see that. But where?"

"He did not inform me."

She narrowed her eyes. "You seem to know where he might be going."

"Where can I take you, Your Grace?" Gulliver carefully changed the line of conversation.

"You may take me where his grace sneaks off to periodically."

He did not even flinch. "I cannot do that."

Gritting her teeth, she fisted her hands, keeping a close eye on her husband. "Very well. I shall have a horse saddled and go myself." Tugging her gloves for effect, she strode toward the back of the house where the stables resided.

"No, Your Grace—"

Louisa heard shuffling as Gulliver rushed after her. "I cannot take you. He does not wish anyone to follow."

"I am going whether you take me or not." She kept walking, chin raised in the air.

"You are putting me in a difficult situation. I cannot take you, but his grace would be very upset if I let you go to that part of town unaccompanied."

Louisa spun about, meeting his startled eyes. "If his grace is upset with you, I shall place the blame upon myself. As you said, I am putting you in an impossible situation. He cannot be upset with you for choosing the lesser of two troubles."

Gulliver looked back down the drive, a mischievous smile flicking over his lips before returning to his business-like indifference. "Unfortunately, his grace seems to be gone. I could not follow him if I tried."

Unbeknownst to him, Louisa had seen the duke turn at the end of the drive. "But you know where he is going," she ground out.

"I do not believe I claimed that knowledge. Now, shall I take you somewhere else?"

"No." She spun on her heel, marching toward the stables. If Gulliver would not be of help to her, she would find another way.

Entering the stables, her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness within. The earthy scent of dirt and straw mingled together, tickling her nose. "Excuse me," she said upon spotting a young man. He was currently mucking out a horse's stall. "I need a horse saddled as quickly as possible."

He leaned back, pausing only long enough to formulate his words. "Of course, Your Grace." He dipped his head, promptly setting to his task.

Louisa tapped her fingers along her arm. Every moment was one more second the duke gained a lead. Luckily, the young man was adept at his job and performed the task in good time.

Louisa mounted the soft gray mare, kicking the horse into a trot down the drive. Perhaps she would be lucky and the duke would have been distracted by some pedestrian on the way to his destination. His mysterious, but hopefully soon to be known, destination.

She turned right at the end of the drive, joining the hustle and bustle of the streets of London. She raised herself in her seat as she gazed among the pedestrians, looking for the duke's broad frame amongst the other riders. People stared, surely surprised that she rode alone, but she owned her status as duchess and held her shoulders strong. Apparently, she could do as she wished, and that was exactly what she planned to do. The duke had seemed out of sorts, and then raced off to goodness knows where. And if he was with someone else—well. That was where she drew the line. This mystery ended today.

Her eyes caught on a familiar blue tailcoat and she redirected her course to follow, allowing enough distance between them to keep her presence hidden. As she continued following, pausing when she felt they became too close, the clientele of the establishments slowly began to change. No longer were they among the elite, buying extravagant gowns and gloves and such, but more the working class. Still a respectable area, but she definitely stood out amongst them. As did the duke.

He did not hesitate, however, upon reaching a square, nondescript, brick building. After tying his mount up, he strode inside.

Now what was she to do? She could not very well traipse in after him and ask what he was about, but curiosity burned within her. Perhaps she could find a way to see inside without alerting anyone to her presence.

She rode to the side of the building, jumping down from her mount. Her eyes searched the wide alley, looking for a place to tie up the reins, but nothing stood out as a good choice. Boxes littered the alleyway, but she did not think the reins would allow for such a wide girth. She turned about and soon settled for a fencepost opposite the brick wall. She looped the strap around the picket, sending a prayer heavenward that the horse would not get spooked and run off without her. But now what was she to do? She studied the wall, and a small window up toward the roofline called to her. But it was much too high off the ground for her to see into without a boost.

Then her eyes trailed back to the boxes.

No. That was nonsense. She could do no such thing. Yet, even as her thoughts rebelled, her hands began taking the wooden structures, dragging and stacking them one on top of the other below the square window. She could only manage three, and hoped it would be high enough as she climbed upon the first box. She left enough of a gap around the edge to gain a foothold, gripping the next to keep her steady.

"You can do this." The box she held shifted toward her, causing her to emit a small yelp. She leaned forward, balancing her weight to keep her footing. "What a wonderful idea, Louisa. What shall we do next? Go swimming in the Thames? Try to release a tiger from the royal menagerie?" Once she felt steady, she reached up to the third box while putting her foot on the edge of the second, hoisting herself up. She grunted as her leg pushed her up the structure, and she looked down at the ground. Was it really so far away? She was only perhaps four feet in the air, but she had one box left to climb. She could not back down. Not now. Not when she knew the duke was inside and this was the place he likely slunk off to during all hours. Strengthening her resolve, she bit her lip, grabbing the last box and pulling herself up until she knelt on the very top.

But now there was a problem. There was no box above her to hold on to. She eyed the window, set back into the brick, leaving a nice little edge for her to grasp. Her legs wobbled and she let out yet another embarrassing shriek as her hands found purchase on the rough brick. She was about to scold herself again when she peered through the window.

Was she imagining things?

The room was sparsely furnished with a few chairs about the edges. But in the center there was a white square taped onto the floor, and from the ceiling hung a series of large, cylindrical bags. And there was the duke, stripped down to his shirtsleeves and pounding his fists into one.

Her mouth fell.

Pugilism. Her husband had been leaving at all hours of the day to . . . to box?

She leaned forward, her breath fogging the glass. The man within that room was not the proper, stoic, silent duke—nor was he the gentle, thoughtful man she had encountered last night. This was apparently one more side of the same man. His eyes were singularly focused, jabbing his fists in rhythmic thrusts as his feet performed some sort of dance, jumping to one side before cutting his fist up into the bag once more.

What on earth? She could not look away. Though she had not known what to expect when she followed him here, this certainly had not even been moderately close to any of her imaginations.

Why was he here? Why not hire a private tutor and simply exercise at home? The questions pelted her mind as she watched him do his little dance about the sand-filled bag.

This was not good for her growing attraction to the man, which was piqued last night and now only intensified. But now that she was assured he was not with another woman, she could say her curiosity was appeased and head to visit Violet as she had originally claimed she was going to do. At least, that's what she should do before she was discovered.

"Hello there?" a low voice called from the ground below.

She yipped, her startled state propelling her forward into the small window to flee from the voice. Why did bodies do such things? It had not been a voluntary decision to press herself against the glass, yet here she was, pushing herself away in hopes the duke was blind or possibly deaf and had not noticed an insane young woman smashing herself against the window six feet off the ground.

Pressing her hands against the brick, she sat back, but when she looked down, the duke's deep blue eyes seared her in place, shock written all over his features. Eyes wide, mouth agape, hands held into tight fists. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but was likely only five seconds.

Louisa tore her eyes away, beginning her descent down the boxes, stupidly forgetting the very reason she had been found out in the first place. Once her feet found purchase on the ground and she spun around, she found herself face to face with a scraggly man sporting unkempt hair and ill-fitting clothing, his breath reeking of alcohol.

She let out a small yelp for the fourth time that afternoon. "Excuse me, sir," she said, her head rearing back as she put a hand to her chest. But as she went to step toward her horse, the man slid in front of her, blocking her path.

She needed to get out of here before the duke found her. She could lie and say she had not been the crazy woman on a stack of boxes outside the boxing establishment. The window was rather small. Perhaps he could be swayed to think it had been someone else entirely.

Yes. That was the plan. If only the man in front of her would move.

"Excuse me," she said again, enunciating her words.

He grinned, not moving. "Now, why would I do that? I can't leave a pretty face out here to fend for herself, can I?"

She got the very strong feeling he was the one she needed protection from.

Clenching her fists, she held her ground. "Move now, sir."

His hand came up, cupping her chin as he leaned closer. And then, without thought, and apparently a great imagination as to her capabilities after a two-minute view of a pugilist in action, she thrust her fist forward and into the man's face.

He pulled back, scowling for a second before his mouth curled into a sneer.

Drat .

"Nice try, sweetheart, but that felt rather like a fly pestering my cheek."

It was her gloves. Surely if she hadn't been wearing them, she would have had more impact. She went to open her mouth and give him a snarky retort, but a figure rounded the corner, walking toward her and the man at an alarming speed.

"What is going on here?" the duke bellowed, his voice echoing off the wall beside them.

"I—" What was she to say? I followed you because I have an insatiable curiosity. Louisa decided to be straightforward, but her words came out less determined and forceful than she had hoped. "I followed you."

"I see that," he said, not looking at her but at the man who had presumably tried to kiss her. "Did you just touch my wife?"

The man shrank back. "No, a'course not. I was only making sure she wasn't lost."

"I saw you cupping her chin." His dukely stoicism seemed to be holding on by a thread. Louisa could see the tense set of his shoulders, the tightening of his fists, as his cold voice washed over her.

The duke turned to look at her for confirmation, and when he did, the other man pulled a knife from his pocket.

"Robert!" Louisa shrieked.

His head snapped back to the man, and in a moment, he grabbed the front of the ruffian's threadbare jacket, lifting him off the ground and throwing him up against the wall. Robert snatched the knife from his hand, then tossed it across the alleyway. It skittered over the ground as Robert brought his other fist up to grip the man's lapels, holding him dangling in the air.

Louisa had never thought she would see the fruit of his strength in action. It was . . . unnerving. Mostly because she had a strong feeling she would replay this in her head over and over for the foreseeable future.

"Did he touch you?" Robert demanded.

"I mean, yes, I suppose he held my chin—" Her words came out in a stammer.

The duke's eyes narrowed, and Louisa feared for the man's safety, even though he had nearly accosted her. But fear was not the only emotion pouring over her skin.

"You are lucky you did not get any further than you did." Robert turned—the man in his grip flailing about—until Robert finally threw him onto the ground. The perpetrator scurried backward as a mouse would from a cat on the prowl. But Robert did not look like a cat. Unless he was a lion—powerful, lean, muscled, nimble . . .

She shook her head.

"Now leave," Robert all but growled, his hands in fists at his side.

The man did not waste time, standing to his feet and running off. And just when Louisa felt a bit of relief, panic surged through her as Robert swiveled toward her.

"What are you doing here?"

His demanding tone caused her attitude to switch in an instant from uncertainty to confidence. He was not her keeper. "Me?" She put a hand to her chest. "I only followed you ."

"You could have been assaulted. You very nearly were!" His hands went from his head to flinging out in the air, until they finally found purchase on his hips. "Had I not seen you in that window—"

"If you had told me where you were going, I would not have felt the need to follow."

This brought him up short, his chest heaving.

Louisa's eyes trailed over his arms and chest. It was a different view, unencumbered by his usual attire, his shirt unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up his arms—and not at all unpleasant. His jacket, waistcoat, and cravat were likely forgotten in his haste to figure out why a strange woman was pressed against a window.

She took a bracing breath. "I know you sneak out at night," she said, raising her chin.

His eyes narrowed as he mulled over her words.

Ha! Take that.

"All right." His chest heaved again. "Why did you not simply ask me where I went?"

She crossed her arms. "Would you have told me?"

His gaze remained riveted on hers. The world seemed to continue on around them, people, horses, and carriages out on the street creating the usual sounds of London—not to mention her gray mare huffing a breath nearby.

"I . . . I don't know. But had I been aware you would go to such lengths—"

"For all I knew, you were going to a mistress."

His lips formed a tight line across his face. "I would never do such a thing."

"What was I to suppose, then? That you simply wished for fresh air in the middle of the night?" She flung her hand out, attempting to accentuate her point, but instead, a searing pain shot through her fingers. Particularly, her thumb. "Ow." She hissed, pulling her hand back.

"What is the matter? Did he hurt you?" He stepped forward, taking her hand in his bare ones. Robert slipped her glove off, cradling her hand in his as he inspected it. Tape was wrapped about his palms, lightly scratching her skin as he looked over her fingers.

"No. Well, not exactly. I punched him."

His eyes shot up to hers. "You punched him?"

"Yes," she said, nodding.

"Where?"

"In the face."

"And then what happened?" He looked at her as he cradled her hand.

"He . . ."

"Yes?"

"He laughed."

Robert's chest expanded, and he bit his lip. Was he—was he trying not to laugh?

"Excuse me," she defended. "What was I supposed to do when faced with a strange and forward man in an alley?"

"Just as you did." He turned her hands over, running his thumbs along her palm. Her breath caught at the touch. "But clearly you could use some training."

"Are you offering?" She had meant it sarcastically, but the duke's mouth turned down as he nodded.

"I can do that. Especially if you plan to keep finding yourself in seedy neighborhoods."

"No, I had certainly not planned on it. Unless you have more places you sneak off to?"

"No." He sighed, gently letting go of her hand. "This is all. This is my secret." He raked a hand through his hair, a slight mist of perspiration along his hairline. "You have found me out." He paused when his eyes caught on her self-made ladder. "Did you do that?" He tipped his head behind her toward the stack of boxes.

She glanced over her shoulder for a brief moment. "I am a determined lady."

A smile crept across his lips, but his eyes held a lingering sadness that she had seen before he left that afternoon. The sun was setting, creating a soft glow in the sky, and causing a chill to nip at her arms. Louisa rubbed her hands along the bare skin, wincing again at the pain in her hand.

Robert sighed, giving his head a quick shake. "Let us get you home. I don't believe your hand is broken, but we had better have it checked."

"You don't wish to continue your . . ?" Her eyes involuntarily trailed over his arms. "Exercise?"

"Not today. I rarely come here during the day at all." He put a hand to her back, guiding her forward. Goodness, he was strong. And his hands felt . . . safe. Comforting. Gentle, even.

Best to stop those thoughts in their tracks.

"Come inside with me for a moment as I gather my things. We will find someone to see to your horse."

"And why would I not simply ride it back?"

"Because it is not safe. I shall hire a coach."

"That seems rather silly, considering we both have mounts to take us."

"It is not silly to keep my wife safe."

"Are you used to giving orders?"

He stopped, turning to face her. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." His hands went to his hips as his breathing struggled. "And to find you here with a man of ill intent has been rather upsetting. So please allow me to get you home safely."

She slowed her steps, gently kicking her slippered feet against some pebbles lying on the ground.

They slipped into the building where he set his attire to rights, mopping his brow with a small towel that he tossed into a basket on the edge of the room before donning his topper. He had been off ever since receiving the news of his brother-in-law's death. It was hard to believe it was only this morning Lord Drake had passed, what with all that had occurred since then: following the duke through town, figuring out he was a secret pugilist, almost being accosted by a shady individual, watching Robert with intent fascination as he flicked said man across the alleyway as one might a crumb from their finger . . . Just remembering it made Louisa's heart pick up speed.

What a strange day this had been.

And what a strange man her husband was.