No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(66)

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?”

The question hovered between them, and somehow Pippa knew that her answer would impact more than her activities that evening. She knew that a yes would remove her from Mr. Cross’s company forever. And a no might keep her there for far too long.

For longer than she had been planning.

She looked to him, his grey gaze locking with hers, unreadable and still so powerful—able to quicken her breath and tumble her insides. She shook her head, unable to look away. “No. I wish to stay.”

He did not move.

Lady Dunblade spoke. “I do not know why you are here, Lady Philippa, but I can tell you this—whatever this man has promised you, whatever you think to gain from your acquaintance, do not count on receiving it.” Pippa did not know how to respond. She did not have to. “Your reputation is on the line.”

“I am taking care,” Pippa said.

One of the baroness’s ginger brows rose in disbelief, and something flashed, familiar, there then gone before Pippa could place it. “See that you do.”

The baroness disappeared into the blackness of the secret passageway, the hulking man following behind. Pippa watched them go, the light from the body-man’s lantern fading around a corner before she closed the painting once more and turned back to Cross.

He was pressed to the far side of the room, back to a large bookshelf, arms folded over his chest, eyes on the floor.

He looked exhausted. His shoulders hunched, almost in defeat, and even Pippa—who never seemed to be able to properly read the emotions of those around her—understood that he had been wounded in the battle that had taken place in this room.

Unable to stop herself, she moved toward him, her skirts brushing against the massive abacus that stood to one side of the room, and the sound pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up, his grey gaze meeting hers, staying her movement.

“You should have gone with her.”

She shook her head, her words catching in her throat as she replied, “You promised to help me.”

“And if I said I wish to dissolve our agreement?”

She forced a smile she did not feel. “The desire is not mutual.”

His eyes darkened, the only part of him that moved. “It will be.”

She couldn’t resist. “Who is she?”

The question broke the spell, and he looked away, rounding the edge of his desk, placing the wide ebony surface between them and fussing with the papers on the desk. “You know who she is.”

She shook her head. “I know she is the Baroness Dunblade. Who is she to you?”

“It does not matter.”

“On the contrary, it seems to matter quite a bit.”

“It should not to you.”

It was rather unsettling how much it mattered. “And yet it does.” She paused, wishing he would tell her, knowing that her request was futile, and still unable to stop herself from asking, “Do you care for her very much?”