While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(29)

And suddenly he felt like the biggest bastard. It wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He simply didn’t like her placing the blame on him so he flung it back on her. And let’s face it. Everything in him bristled around her with the need to lash out. He couldn’t stop himself. It was primal in nature. Almost the same as his urge to grab her and pin her beneath him. To unwrap the camouflage of her pinafore and see just what she hid beneath the trappings of her garments.

She at last recovered her voice. “By that logic, sir, you could also blame yourself for starting the fight that put you both in the street.”

An angry breath huffed out of him. “For the last time, I did not start that bloody fight, as you well know. You saw it begin.”

“Since when are you so concerned with the truth?” She waved to the bed, her bright eyes snapping with emotion. “According to you, I’m responsible for putting him in that bed, remember?” Her chin went up. “You made it abundantly clear that I’m culpable. If he dies, it’s on me, you . . .” Her lips worked, searching for a foul enough epithet. She arrived at, “Beast!”

Before he could form a reply, she dodged past him and fled the room.

He stood there for a full minute before releasing a foul curse and giving chase, not about to let her have the last word—and not about to let her leave here with that bit of guilt hanging over her head. Never mind that he had been the individual to plant it in her head to begin with. For some reason, the notion of her in any kind of anguish was unacceptable.





Chapter 11




He was horrible. An absolute wretch! How could he possibly even be related to the honorable Duke of Autenberry? It didn’t seem possible that they shared any bloodline at all. There wasn’t a scrap of decency to him.

She’d been battling her own demons, questioning if she had really saved the duke when she pushed him out of the carriage’s path. Her efforts had only caused him damage, after all. And then Struan Mackenzie had come along and only confirmed her suspicions.

How dare he so accurately pinpoint and give voice to her most private fears?

How dare he take no responsibility for his part in all of this?

How dare she care so blasted much what he thought?

She scarcely uttered a farewell word for the footman as she stalked out into the wintry night, wrapping herself more fully inside her cloak. Nonsensical mutterings fell from her lips as her boots bit into the walk.

She walked at a clipped pace beneath the gaslight cast from the sconces at the gates of Mayfair mansions, her anger notching higher and higher with every stride she took.

Gradually, she left Mayfair behind and her surroundings altered to darkened shop fronts closed up for the night. Her steps rang out, echoing on the air as she made her way home.

Eventually, she became aware of steps thudding behind her. Her heart quickened and she shot a quick glance over her shoulder, marking a figure in the distance following her. She quickened her pace and it seemed that the person followed suit. Mrs. Gibbons’s words drifted back to haunt her. Could it be a ruffian looking to filch her purse?

Her racing heart steadied at the sight of a small group of people walking across the street. It was comforting to see she wasn’t entirely alone out in the night. She need only shout out for help if necessary. She darted one more glance behind her.

The person behind her was much closer now and passing directly under a streetlamp. She had no difficulty identifying the familiar features of Struan Mackenzie.

That fine edge of alarm she first felt when she heard the footsteps tapered into annoyance. She should have known he would follow her. He was persistent that way. Her gaze darted across the street again. The trio of people rounded a corner, leaving both she and Struan Mackenzie alone on the shadowy, fog-shrouded streets.

She stopped and spun around, propping her fists on her hips. “Why are you following me?”

“You shouldn’t be walking out here this late alone.” His voice drew closer as he advanced.

“Leave me alone or I’ll call for the Watch,” she threatened, feeling full of dramatic flair and a bit like her sister in that moment. Especially considering she didn’t see evidence of a watchman—or anyone, for that matter. Now that the people had rounded the street it felt as though she and Struan Mackenzie were the only two people left in the world. It was rather eerie. A call for help would likely go unheeded, swallowed up in the viscous night.

Feeling slightly threatened at that realization, she turned and hastened on her way. Not that she thought he would physically harm her, but there were other ways to do damage and she was quite positive Struan Mackenzie could easily, effortlessly, damage her.

His voice followed, hard and fast. And much too close. “Look around you. Do you see any solitary ladies strolling about?” She stubbornly stared ahead and increased her pace. The sooner she reached home, the sooner she would be rid of him. “Come back to the house and we’ll take my coach. I’ll see you home.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Stubborn chit—”

She whirled around. “I’d appreciate it if you did not call me names simply because I won’t let you order me around. Such intimidation won’t work with me.”

Mackenzie slid a step closer and she managed to hold her ground. “Perhaps you require being ordered around.”