Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(45)

He still knelt by the man who had attacked him. Raphael held the edge of his palm beneath the man’s nose.

“Is he …?” Iris asked.

“Dead.” Raphael frowned at her as he rose. “What the hell are you doing out here? Ubertino?”

Her guards had caught up with her.

“They’ve been with me the entire time,” she said hurriedly.

“That doesn’t explain why they let you wander out into an attack,” Raphael growled, eyeing poor Ubertino and Valente.

“Your Grace—” Ubertino began.

“No excuses,” Raphael snapped, looking quite frightening in the lantern light, a smudge of blood on his forehead and a terrible scowl on his face. He seemed to loom over the other men. “If my duchess had been harmed, I would have both of your heads. How can you—”

“Raphael.” Iris gingerly touched her husband’s arm. “He couldn’t stop me.”

“He bloody well could,” Raphael said without taking his eyes from his red-faced men. “If he can’t keep you safe, then I’ll assign another in his place.”

“No, don’t,” Iris exclaimed, and he finally looked at her. She took a breath to steady herself. “This is my fault. I’m not a dog, and I don’t respond well to commands. Blame me if you need to blame someone.”

He gave her a look. “You should go inside to our rooms. This is distressing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling anger ignite low in her belly. “Yes, it is, but probably not for the reason you think. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“As you wish.” He turned to the manservants. “Ubertino, take Valente and see who is hurt and if any of our men are missing. Have the men take any live brigands to the corner of the stable yard. Mind their hands and ankles are tied tightly.”

Ubertino nodded and hurried to obey Raphael’s orders.

Raphael crouched by the man who had attacked him and took off his mask and wig.

The face revealed was of a man in his early thirties with an upturned nose and thin lips, in all ways ordinary save for the fact that his hair was a bright orange.

Iris winced. The man had blood on his temple.

Raphael grunted. “Of course.”

She leaned closer. “You know him?”

“Not here,” her husband murmured.

He withdrew the dead man’s right arm from his coat sleeve and rolled the shirtsleeve up past his forearm.

There on the inner elbow was the tattoo of a dolphin.

The sign of the Lords of Chaos.

“What goes on here?” The shout came from the innkeeper, belatedly peering from his back door.

“My men and I have been assaulted in your yard by brigands.” Raphael slowly rose to his full height. “Is this the business you do? Luring rich travelers into your inn and murdering them for their money?”

The innkeeper’s face went so white it was nearly green. “N-no, Your Grace, indeed not! I can only apologize for this tragic occurrence. Please. I’ll send for a doctor immediately to tend to your men.”

“See that you do so at once.” Raphael waved aside the man’s continued stuttered apologies as he backed into the inn.

Raphael caught Iris’s elbow. “Come. I want to see the faces of the other assassins.”

He strode to the side of the inn yard where his men had already dumped five dead foes. Iris hurried to keep up. She glanced once at the dead men’s faces and then quickly looked away again. But Raphael spent some minutes gazing at each.

When he was finished he straightened and beckoned Ubertino over. “How many hurt?”

“Ivo has a cut to his cheek and Andrea a broken arm. Otherwise it is merely bruises and scrapes. There were many more of us than them.”

Raphael nodded. “Good.” He gestured to the bodies at his feet. “Have Bardo and Luigi strip the bodies and look for a tattoo of a dolphin. Do the same to the prisoners.”

He went to the four attackers who had survived the assault. Again he studied their faces, but finally he shook his head.

He pulled Iris toward the kitchen door of the inn.

“You didn’t recognize any of them?” she asked, only slightly out of breath.

“No.” Raphael glanced at Valente and gave a small jerk of his chin.

The Corsican inclined his head and stepped back into the yard.

The innkeeper opened the kitchen door and started on finding Raphael right in front of him.

“Y-Your Grace.” The innkeeper swallowed. “I’ve sent for two doctors and ordered that rooms be prepared for your men.”

“Excellent,” Raphael said. “My duchess is weary and I find myself ready to quit this sordid yard. We’ll retire now.”

“Of course, Your Grace, of course!” The poor man bowed as he held the door open, his face shining with sweat.

A minute later Raphael led Iris back into their room. The fire had been stoked, and fresh plates of food were waiting for them. Warm water was already steaming in pitchers on washstands beside the bed.

“Would Your Grace care for more refreshments?” the innkeeper asked. “Some sweetmeats for your lady?”

“No,” Raphael replied. “That will be all.” He turned to both the innkeeper and Ubertino, who had followed them up the stairs to the room. “And no one shall enter this room after this save my men. Is that clear?”