No Good Duke Goes Unpunished

The lady’s gaze narrowed. “We are through. I have delivered my message. And I am most definitely leaving.”

Pippa pressed back against the painting through which she’d come, as Cross took a step toward Lady Dunblade, the emotion in his words obvious. “Lavinia—” he started before she held up a hand and stopped him.

“No. You made this choice. You cannot change the past.”

“It is not the past I wish to change, dammit. It is the future.”

Lavinia turned and made for the door that led to the floor of the casino. “The future is not yours to affect.”

Pippa watched them, head turning from one to the other, as though they were in a badminton match, questions rising, desperate for facts. What had happened in their past? What was happening now to threaten their future? How were they connected?

And there, seeking her answer, she discovered the anguish in his gaze.

He loved her.

She stiffened at the last, the thought unsettling and unpleasant.

Lavinia’s hand settled on the door handle and Cross swore. “Goddammit, Lavinia. Half of London is out there. If you’re seen, you’ll be ruined.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Am I not already on that path?”

What did that mean?

His gaze narrowed. “Not if I can stop it. I shall take you home.”

Lavinia looked to Pippa. “And Lady Philippa?”

He turned to Pippa, surprise in his gaze, as though he’d forgotten she was there. She ignored the disappointment that flared at the thought. “I shall take you both home.”

Pippa shook her head. Whatever was happening here with Lady Dunblade, it did not change Pippa’s plans for the evening. Ignoring the weight in her chest at her earlier discovery—a pang that was becoming familiar—she said, “I am not interested in returning home.”

At the same time, Lavinia said, “I will not go anywhere with you.”

He reached for one of several pulls on the wall behind him, yanking it with more force than necessary. “I will not force you to stay, but I will not allow you to destroy yourself either. You will have an escort home.”

Bitterness laced the baroness’s tone. “Once more, you leave me in the hands of another.”

Cross went ashen at the words; the room was suddenly too small, and Pippa was out of place. There was something so connected about these two, in the way they faced each other, neither one willing to back down. There was a similarity in them—in the way they stood tall and refused to cow.

There was no doubt they had a past. No doubt they’d known each other for years.

No doubt there had been a time they cared for each other.

Still did, perhaps.

The thought had Pippa wishing she could crawl back into the painting and find another way out of the club. She turned to do just that, pulling once on the heavy frame, preferring that empty, locked hazard room to this.

But this time, when the painting swung open, it was to reveal a man in the passageway. The enormous brown-skinned man seemed as surprised by Pippa as she was by him. They stared at each other for a moment before she blurted, “Excuse me. I should like to get past.”

His brows furrowed and he turned a confused look on Cross, who swore wickedly and said, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Pippa looked back at him. “I shall be quite fine.”

He met her gaze, grey eyes serious. “Where do you plan to go?”

She wasn’t exactly sure. “Into the . . .” She waved into the blackness behind the large man blocking the entryway, “ . . . wall,” she finished.

He ignored her, his attention flickering to the man in the wall. “Take Lady Dunblade home. Be sure she is not seen.”

Pippa craned her head to look up at the large man—larger than any man she’d ever met. It was difficult to imagine that he was skilled at clandestine late-night female ferreting, but Mr. Cross was a legendary rake, so this was likely not the first time he’d been asked to do just that.

“I’m not going with him,” Lady Dunblade said firmly.

“You do not have a choice,” Cross said, “unless you would prefer I take you.”

Pippa found she did not like that idea, but remained quiet.

“How do I know I can trust him?”

Cross looked to the ceiling, then back to the lady. “You don’t. But it strikes me that your choices of whom to trust or mistrust are entirely arbitrary, so why not place him in the trustworthy column?”

They stared at each other, and Pippa wondered what would happen. She would not have been surprised if Lady Dunblade had thrown open the main door to Mr. Cross’s office and marched, proud and proper, out onto the floor of the casino, just to spite him.

What had he done to her?

What had she done to him?

After a long moment, Pippa could not help herself. “Lady Dunblade?”

The lady met her gaze, and Pippa wondered if she’d ever had a conversation with this woman. She didn’t think so. Right now, in this moment, she was certain that if she had, she would remember this proud, brown-eyed, flame-haired warrior. “Yes?”

“Whatever it is,” Pippa said, hesitating over the words, “it is not worth your reputation.”

There was a beat as the words carried through the room, and for a moment, Pippa thought the baroness might not react. But she did, leaning into her cane and moving across the room to allow the massive man, still elevated inside, to help her up into the dark passageway.

Once there, Lady Dunblade turned back, meeting Pippa’s gaze. “I could say the same to you,” she said. “Will you join me?”