Page 79 of The Duke's Only Desire

“A gentleman caller who won’t give his name?” Papa asked, bewildered. “What on earth…?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him, then hurried out into the entry hall and collected her things from the footman who was racing down from her room. She slipped on her coat and pulled open the front door herself, too overcome to pause to put on her hat or wait for Saunders—

When the tall, broad-shouldered man on the portico turned toward her, her heart skipped.

“Your Grace.” Chase Maddox, Duke of Greysmere, nodded solemnly in greeting. The man she had sent for, per Shay’s instructions, the man she had been expecting…

Except she couldn’t deny how much it hurt to know that the wrong man was waiting at her door. Her heart desperately wanted her husband.

He gestured toward a waiting, unmarked carriage, its curtains drawn to hide its compartment from view. “Shall we go?”

“Sophie, I refuse to let you leave with this man,” Papa interjected as he approached her at the door. From the dark frown on his face, he didn’t recognize Greysmere from her wedding, and Sophie was glad of it. It was one less part of their plan she would have to find a believable excuse to hide from him.

But then, why would he recognize Chase? She barely recognized him herself. From the way Greysmere looked, no one would confuse him for a duke. Instead of being dressed in New Bond Street’s finest, he wore a coarse brown jacket, plain tan waistcoat, and trousers that would have been right at home in the possession of a common laborer. So did the plain neck cloth, dirty boots, and scruffy tweed cap, and all of it matched the old hired hackney waiting in the street and the three-day growth of beard covering his face. Why Saunders hadn’t sent him around to the service door in the rear, she would never know…except for his bearing. That proud, straight-spined, imperial bearing could never be mistaken for belonging to anyone but an aristocrat and soldier. It was the same bearing she’d always glimpsed in Shay.

“Who are you, sir?” Papa demanded, every inch as formidable as the duke. “And what business do you have with my daughter?”

“It’s all right, Papa,” Sophia assured him with a light hand on his arm. “I sent for him. He’s my…” Her mind raced to find an acceptable word. “My bodyguard for the afternoon.”

That was the god’s truth. Shay trusted Chase with his life. So would she.

Her father’s frown deepened. “Bodyguard?What on earth do you need—”

“I’ll explain later.”

With a kiss to his cheek, she slipped out the door before her father could stop her and hurried across the small portico and down the short steps to the footpath. Chase gave a polite nod to her father in deference, then turned and fell into step beside her.

When they reached the waiting hackney, she realized why he was dressed as he was. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him, including her father. Which was why he’d hired a hackney instead of bringing the Greysmere town carriage. Any spies Malcolm had in London wouldn’t know what she and Shay were up to.

He helped her inside and climbed in after her, then shut the door, and pounded his fist against the roof. The team started forward.

“Thank you for coming for me,” she told him and slipped the metal bird into her coat pocket.

“Anything for the woman who domesticated Seamus Douglass,” he drawled, amusement coloring his voice. “I hear he’s busy with flower gardens these days.” He leaned back against the torn squabs, but Sophie suspected that, despite his casual appearance, he was on alert for every movement and noise around them.

“Not nearly as domesticated as all that, I assure you.” She paused, then asked with trepidation, “And the other?”

She’d sent a letter ahead three days ago to each of Shay’s best friends in London, including Greysmere, explaining the situation and asking for their help in finding anything of use against Malcolm. Shay hadn’t wanted to involve them, yet Sophie had no such qualms. She didn’t regret including the men who were more like brothers to Shay than John had ever been.

“We’ve found some interesting information about Lord Malcolm,” he confided carefully, if vaguely as if in fear of dashing her hopes. “Crewe has been calling on his contacts, so has Dartmoor, both in Whitehall and in less fashionable areas. We’ll let you know more as soon as we’re able. But know that we’re doing the most we can to help you both.”

Her heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank you.” She gave up all pretense of hiding her growing agitation and nervouslyglanced out the window at the passing city. “Where are we going? Shay only said to contact you, that you would come for me—he didn’t say why.”

“An inn in Southwark. You’ll be told more then.”

She grimaced. “Is all this cloak and dagger really necessary? Malcolm has made threats, but I don’t think he’d stoop to harming me physically.”

“To get his hands on a dukedom and its fortune?” he muttered. “I think any man in his circumstance would stoop to doing just about anything to ensure it. Including harming you.”

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs, and she let an uncomfortable silence grow between them. There was no point in asking any more questions; she knew he wouldn’t give her any more answers. His role wasn’t to enlighten her on Shay’s plan but to protect her.

The carriage wound its way east out of Mayfair and on toward the City of London in a circuitous route that took them the long way through Westminster and along the Thames. When they passed Somerset House, Chase leaned forward and glanced out the window.

“Here will do,” Chase muttered.

Sophie tried to see past him. “Do for—”

He pounded his fist against the roof, and the jarvey pulled the horses up sharply. Chase flung open the door and dropped to the ground, then turned to help her down. He tossed a coin up to the jarvey, took her by the elbow, and hustled her away from the road toward the river.