Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(44)

Now … now she wanted something for herself. She wanted children. She wanted a husband she could talk to without arguing. She wanted long morning walks and evenings by gentle fires and companionship.

And damn it, she wanted a physical relationship with Raphael.

Maybe she was being selfish to want all those things. To place her desires above any other’s.

Certainly her stance couldn’t be called modest or what most people considered feminine and ladylike. And yet … she would stand by her desires and feelings and needs. Was she not as deserving as anyone else of happiness? Why should she dutifully push aside her dreams simply because it was not ladylike?

Feeling exasperated and restless, she rose from the table. Perhaps she should call for hot water and change for bed. But she really wished to wear something fresh. Raphael hadn’t seemed to mind her borrowing his shirts before. She crossed to his trunk and opened it, carefully pushing aside silk banyans, searching for a shirt.

Her fingers touched the edge of something hard.

Puzzled, she drew out a book—a sketchbook—very like the one she’d found in the ducal chambers in Dyemore Abbey.

For a moment she could only stare, her body frozen.

Then she opened it.

A minute later she flung open the door to the room and found Ubertino and Valente outside. “Where is he?”

“Your Grace.” Ubertino smiled hesitantly as he rose from his chair. “The duke said we were to guard you.”

“Good,” she replied, marching past them, “then you can take me to him.”

“I do not think he will like this,” Ubertino muttered.

She ignored him, continuing down the stairs and forcing the two men to follow her. She felt as if she might explode soon. “Where did he go?”

“We don’t know. Perhaps we can escort you back to your rooms?”

“No indeed,” she said. “He mentioned going out for air. We’ll try the inn yard.” She paused impatiently. This inn was larger than the one they’d stayed in the night before. The corridor had several doorways. “Which way is it, do you know?”

Ubertino exchanged a glance with Valente and sighed. “This way, Your Grace.”

He led her along a narrow passage and into the kitchens, bustling with activity at this time of night.

“Your pardon,” a maid gasped as she trotted by, a huge tray laden with full tankards on her shoulder.

Iris stepped aside, momentarily distracted.

She heard a shout from outside.

Her heartbeat sped up.

She picked up her skirts, hurrying to the back door. It was probably only a fight between hostlers, nothing to worry about, nothing to concern her.

Behind her, Ubertino called, “Your Grace!”

She burst out into the cool night air.

The inn yard was large and square, enclosed on three sides by the stables, with the inn on the fourth side. An ancient arched tunnel led to the side of the inn and the road. A few lanterns were hung by the stables and by the door where she stood.

As she watched, a mass tumbled from the deep shadows at one end of the stables, rolling into a pool of light and spilling apart into two men.

Raphael and a man with a knife.

Raphael uncoiled into a crouch.

Men flooded into the courtyard, fighting with fists and knives.

The masked man attacking Raphael staggered up and immediately leaped at him. But Raphael was already flowing to the side, his left hand flashing out to grab the other man’s knife arm. Raphael lunged, wrapping his right arm around his opponent in a vicious hug, knocking his legs out from under him.

They both went down.

Iris couldn’t see them in the melee. She darted to the side.

A gun exploded nearby.

She flinched.

Someone jostled her, and she turned to see a man with a kerchief over his mouth.

She opened her mouth to scream—

Valente hit the man hard in the belly, shoving him away.

“Come inside, Your Grace!” Ubertino shouted.

“No!” She pulled her arm from his grasp.

The men had parted, and she could see Raphael on top of his attacker.

He lifted the knife man’s hand and smashed it into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

A third time and the knife spun away as the knife man lost his grip.

The attacker arched up, white teeth snapping at Raphael’s face, his wig askew, and the fingers of his left hand scrabbling at Raphael’s throat.

Raphael jerked his head back. The attacker tried to wriggle from his grasp.

Raphael growled, baring his own teeth in a savage snarl, and slammed his fist into the side of the other man’s head.

Iris heard a distinct crack, and the masked man lay still.

She stared, horrified. He wasn’t …?

Ubertino took her arm and said gently, “Come away now, Your Grace.”

The fighting had died down in the yard, and she could see now that the duke’s men had prevailed against what looked like nearly a dozen attackers.

She turned on Ubertino angrily. “Why didn’t you help him? Why didn’t you save your master?”

“My duty is to protect you.” Ubertino looked at her gravely. “Had I or Valente left you, the duke would have dismissed us. Had you been hurt, he would have had us whipped.”

Iris stared at him, appalled. Then she shook her head and hurried to Raphael.