Home > The Redemption of a Rogue (The Duke's By-Blows #4)(2)

The Redemption of a Rogue (The Duke's By-Blows #4)(2)
Author: Jess Michaels

With a sigh, he opened the carriage door and got out. His driver glanced down at him with concern, but Bentley had long ago stopped expressing his uneasiness with this endeavor out loud.

“Wait here,” Oscar said.

“Yes, Mr. Fitzhugh,” Bentley said softly, his gaze darting away with something suspiciously like pity.

Oscar’s stomach clenched at the sight. No one fucking pitied him. Even when he was pitiable. He stepped forward, ready to make his way through the unlocked back door to the place. He’d been banned from the official entrance months ago. But this entrance allowed him to sneak in and blend in. Another faceless man in a sea of faceless men there to take their pleasure. Take advantage.

But before he could open the door, it flew out toward him. He stepped back, just barely missing being cracked in the face, and opened his arms to regain his balance. Which allowed the woman who had thrown the door wide and now raced from the darkened, smoky hall to collide directly into his chest.

Oscar closed his arms around her, a natural reaction to keep them both from depositing themselves on the dirty ground. The moment he did so, she began to thrash, tugging to escape him.

He was about to release her when she cried out, “No, please! Don’t! They’ll kill me! Don’t!”

He froze at those words. How many months had he come here, searching for some proof that nefarious things were happening within these walls? Dark and desperate things, like murder.

And now this slender reed of a woman all but shouted that proof in his face. The extremely beautiful and terrified face now turned up toward his. His heart stuttered at the abject terror reflected in a remarkable pair of amber eyes. Almost like a cat’s, they were so lovely.

“What is going on, miss?” he snapped out, perhaps more harshly than he intended thanks to the shock of her crashing into his chest, her wild words and her lovely eyes.

“Please!” she wailed, her voice catching now. “They’re coming! They’re right behind me. You must release me or I’ll never get away.”

He heard voices from behind the door, shouts within the walls of the building, and it kicked him from his shock. He grasped her arm and yanked her toward the carriage. She scrambled to escape as he hauled her up and slammed the door shut.

“Stop kicking me,” he growled, tugging her even closer and speaking low against her ear. “I am trying to help you.”

As he said the words, the door to the club opened and two large men burst out. Oscar leaned closer to the window, but didn’t recognize either of them. Two of Maggie’s ruffians, it seemed.

The woman froze in his arms, trembling as one of them shouted up to his driver, “Did you see a whore come out here?”

“Went that way,” Bentley said from above, and the men took off toward the docks.

Oscar smiled. He only hired the best. And Bentley would get a nice bonus in his wages this week for that lie.

“Please let me go,” the woman said, softly this time, and Oscar realized she was still in his arms, pressed with her back to his chest, her breath coming short and heavy.

He loosened his grip on her arms as he said, “Don’t run.”

She ignored him and lunged for the door. He sighed heavily and caught her wrist to pull her away from the door as gently as he could.

“Please don’t run,” he repeated. “I’ve no intention of hurting you. As I said, I want to help.”

Her struggle ceased, though from the way her body slumped, he felt it was more out of exhaustion than any kind of trust. She slid to the carriage seat across from his and he released her. She stared at him, wary, like a bird being stalked by a cat, and rubbed her wrist. He didn’t think he’d hurt her—he’d been trying very hard not to—but he wondered if she was trying to soothe herself with that touch.

“Why were those men chasing you?” he asked.

She didn’t respond, but folded her arms and looked longingly toward the door he was blocking.

He arched a brow. “Did you steal something?”

“No!” she cried out, indignant as she glared at him. “No, sir!”

“Then why were you running?” he repeated, more slowly, more firmly.

She shook her head. “Won’t you please let me out?” she asked. “The men are gone, at least for the moment. It will give me time to get a hack and go home.”

“That isn’t happening,” he said. “They could return at any moment. You’re clearly in danger, miss, and I am your best hope. Tell me what is going on.”

She bent her head, and her breath came sharp and hard in the quiet of the carriage. Oscar could see she was fighting tears. Winning that fight, though he wasn’t certain that would last long. Every graceful line of her body spoke of her deep fear. It wasn’t an act, it wasn’t a trick. In his line of work, he had long ago learned to spot those.

No, this was real.

“Please,” he said softly.

Her gaze lifted to his, and for a moment their eyes locked. He could see her reading him, analyzing if he could relieve her distress, or if he was just another part of it. Then her eyes darted back to her lap and she whispered, “They…they killed a woman. I-I saw her body.”

His gut clenched, and for a flash of a moment he thought he might cast up his accounts all over the carriage floor. But he drew a deep breath, calmed himself as he’d learned to do over the years, and opened the carriage door.

“Bentley, home,” he ordered before he closed them in again.

She jerked to the edge of her seat. “No! Sir, please. You cannot take me. You must let me out. Please!”

He leaned forward, hating that his presence was as much a fear to this distressed woman as anything else she’d been through that night. But he also knew he couldn’t let her go. Not under these conditions.

“Miss, you are in real trouble, and if I let you out of this carriage, you’ll be in even worse. Let me take you somewhere safe and we can work this out.”

“Work it out on my back, you mean?” she snapped, and through the fear he saw a spitfire nature that he would have liked but for the horrific circumstances. “You were here for a purpose, weren’t you? And now you act like some hero come to save me? You are just as dangerous as those men after me for all I know. You’re nothing but a stranger who forced me into a carriage.”

He blinked. She had a point at that.

He leaned forward and extended a hand. “Mr. Oscar Fitzhugh at your service, miss. I’m the owner of Fitzhugh’s Club. And while I agree that you have no reason yet to trust me, I do vow to you now that I won’t hurt you. I will try to save your life if you let me.”

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Imogen pushed herself into the farthest corner of the carriage and stared at the man across from her. His hand was still extended as if to greet her, but she didn’t take it. She already knew the strength of that hand, for it had wrapped around her upper arm, her wrist, and kept her from escape. Touching him again felt…dangerous.

And yet she felt a bit less fear than she had when she’d first crashed into him and he had dragged her into his carriage. Then she’d been in a pure panic, certain she had thrown herself into perhaps a worse situation than she had left.

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