A Duke in the Night(51)

Clara studied the duke from the corner of her eye, struck not by the coldness of that demand, but by the bleakness that accompanied it. His expression, like his tone, was both chilling and stark.

Did you know his father was in debtors’ prison?

Clara’s stomach plunged to her toes as she considered for the first time what that might have meant for the rest of the family.

“He’s not a child,” the captain barked, having regained the color he’d lost and then some. “He’s a plague on the country.” His hand twisted a little more, and the boy flinched. “And he’ll hang for his crimes like the thief he is. He might have got away from me yesterday morning. But not today. They start them small, you know, stealing food and whatnot. Best to squash them before they get big.”

Clara hid her revulsion.

“That child is not a thief, Captain Buhler. He is my employee. And I will not ask you again to release him.”

Clara shivered at the undisguised rage in August’s voice, wondering if the duke would simply snatch up a weapon and run the man through. Even the soldiers shifted uncomfortably.

“His Grace is right. You have the wrong boy,” Clara said into the silence. “This one is here every day before dawn, including yesterday. Fires don’t light themselves.” She moved then, her hand coming to rest on the head of the terrified boy, angling her body as if she was about to lead the child away. The captain took an awkward step back, his grip faltering enough for the boy to yank himself free. He skittered away, ducking behind Clara.

Buhler lunged forward but was brought up short as August stepped into his space. “Please leave, Captain, while I’ll still willing to attribute this…disorder to an unfortunate error in judgment. And take your men with you.” Very deliberately August stepped away and reached for the door, then held it open silently.

The captain looked as if he might argue before he looked at August’s face and seemingly reconsidered. He yanked on the front of his coat, smoothing the heavy wool, and turned on his heel to exit the kitchens. The soldiers who had been searching the room trailed after him, casting hard if somewhat uncertain looks in Clara and August’s direction.

August waited only long enough to assure himself that the soldiers were collecting their horses and departing the Silver Swan’s stable yard before he closed the door with a loud bang. He turned and leaned against the heavy wood, his eyes lighting on each other remaining occupant before they settled on the boy still half-hidden behind Clara.

Beside her Anne squirmed.

“Come out from there,” he ordered the boy.

The boy shuffled out from behind Clara, regarding August warily with eyes that were too big for his face. “You never said you were a duke before,” he mumbled, and Clara’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Well, in fairness, you never told me your name either.” August crossed his arms over his chest.

“Jonas.” The boy scuffed a toe against the stone floor and ducked his head.

August peered at him. “And how, exactly, did you manage to run afoul of the captain and his posse? Again?”

“We—I was hungry. An’ I came here. Like you said I could.” He stopped, staring resolutely at the floor, his thin face drawn. “Didn’t see the captain till too late.”

“Then I’m glad you came. Consider yourself hired.”

Clara hid a smile, feeling as if she might cry at the same time.

The child’s head came up. “You’re bein’ serious?”

August nodded. “If you’re going to eat my food, I think it’s fair you work for it.”

“Yessir.”

August didn’t correct him.

“Is he goin’ to come back? The captain?” Jonas asked uneasily.

“If he does, I’ll deal with him.” August’s jaw was tight, and his eyes swung toward Clara. “You didn’t need to lie.”

“Yes, I did.” Clara held his gaze. “Occasionally one is in the right place at the right time.”

August nodded his head in a jerky movement before he turned his attention back to Jonas. “Perhaps you’d like to be introduced to the rest of the staff here? Make sure you understand your duties in the kitchens? Or your duties once we manage to clean up this mess.” The duke raised a brow at Charleaux, and the man nodded in unspoken agreement. “This is Monsieur Charleaux, Jonas. You will do whatever he asks, understood? When I am not here, he speaks for me. You may go with him now.”

“Yessir.” He bounded toward Charleaux like an eager puppy. The hotelier shot Clara and Anne a worried glance before ushering the boy from the room. Clara sighed. Charleaux had no idea how worried he ought to be.

She straightened her shoulders as August’s eyes returned to her and then slid to his sister. Clara watched as he studied Anne’s stained apron, her heated cheeks, and the expression of defiance that had crept across her features.

“Will someone tell me why my sister is standing in the kitchen of my tavern, dressed like a scullery maid? Or are you really going to make me ask?”

“I work here,” Anne said flatly.

August gaped at his sister as though she had said something in a foreign language he didn’t understand. “Miss Hayward, perhaps you can try to say something that makes a modicum more sense.”