Page 12 of The Duke and the Darkness

He didn’t bother to knock before throwing open the door and striding inside.

Lucien Grenier, Duke of Crewe, rolled off the gondola-shaped bed where he’d been lying with a half-dressed prostitute on either side of him. He backed away from Devlin, who threw him against the wall and pinned him there with a loosely held hand at his throat.

Devlin growled out through clenched teeth, “What the hell have you been up to?”

“Two whores,” Crewe answered, holding up his hands in a sign of peace. The same old signal they’d used when they were lads-in-training with Titus whenever the fighting bouts grew too fierce. “You should try it yourself and stop attacking me.”

Devlin had no patience for Crewe’s antics tonight and demanded, “Was it you?”

Crewe scowled. “Who did what?”

“Was it you who sent that woman to Barton’s after me tonight?”

His old friend stared at him blankly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The woman,” Devlin repeated irritably. “The one who beat me at cards.”

Crewe blinked. “You got beaten at cards by a woman?” He laughed, despite the hand at his throat. “Wish I’d been there to seethat!”

Devlin pressed harder against his throat. This was no time for joking around. “Did you put her up to it?”

“No! I didn’t send any woman to Barton’s. I’ve been here all night.”

“All night?”

“Since this afternoon when I returned from Ealing, where I’ve been for the past three days.” His expression sobered, taking on an uncharacteristic haggardness. “After dealing with things there, I needed a diversion. Christ!” He gripped at Devlin’s wrist to loosen the hold on his throat. “Titus was supposed to have taught you control.”

“He did.” Devlin released him with a shove and stepped back.

Still sitting on the bed and propped up by red satin pillows meant to resemble the seat of a gondola, the two prostitutes stared at them, stunned. One of them whispered, wide-eyed, “Lucien?”

“It’s all right.” Crewe blew out a hard breath. “We’re done for the evening.” He narrowed his eyes on Devlin and rubbed his neck. “I’m no longer in the mood.”

The two women hesitated. They stared at Devlin as if they didn’t trust leaving him alone with Crewe. Truth be told, at that moment, Devlin didn’t trust himself.

“You can each keep a book,” Crewe said, bribing the two women, then gestured at the door to hurry them along.

That was when Devlin saw the short stack of books resting on the utterly ridiculous bed. He blinked. Books in a brothel? That was the most surprising sight he’d seen tonight.

Crewe cajoled, “We’ll start next time withMoll Flanders, all right?”

The two women reluctantly slipped out of bed, picked up a novel, and moved toward the door, the books held protectively in their bare arms. As they passed by the tall lamp that was made to resemble a wrought iron lantern from Piazza San Marco, Devlin got his first good look at them, and his heart stuttered. In their bare feet beneath tightly tied corsets that pushed up their full breasts, with drawers tied by pink ribbons just below their knees and wide slits in the crotch, they weren’t a day over seventeen—the same age as his youngest sister.

When the two women closed the door after themselves, Crewe turned toward the tiny table in the corner that was meant to resemble one from a canal-side café, complete with a picture of the Bridge of Sighs painted on the wall behind it. He reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting on the tray.

Devlin asked incredulously, “You’re teaching prostitutes to readMoll Flanders?”

Crewe shot him a puzzled glance as he poured the whiskey. “Why not? She turns out all right in the end.”

“Giving the girls something to shoot for, then?” Devlin asked dryly.

“Always.” Crewe held out the glass as a peace offering.

Devlin accepted it and gestured at the room around them. “Must you give them lessons in this room?” Carnival masks dangled from the tall prow of the gondola bed, obviously there for bed sport. He didn’t dare wonder how the long oar hanging on the wall was meant to be used. “Surely there’s a better place.”

“The drawing room is too noisy, and we get interrupted too often in the kitchens.” Crewe lifted his glass in a toast with mocksolemnity. “They take great pleasure in being educated wherever they may be.” He quirked a knowing grin. “And in return, I take great pleasure in them.”

Devlin didn’t laugh. He knew Crewe’s boast was a lie. Lucien never touched prostitutes, preferring instead to spend his time helping them, although apparently, he had no qualms about lying half-dressed in bed with them.