Free The Duke of Shadows by Meredith Duran Page A

She could not assume he would be able to come.
    "No." He yanked down his jacket and rounded on her with grim focus. "I'll not flee. That yellow milksop won't have fetched the Resident. I'll go myself."
    "All right, just let me change into my riding habit and—"
    His laughter cut her off. "Idiot. You would only slow me down." He strode to the door, paused there. "Oh, yes." He extracted a knife from his boot, pivoting to set it on the table. "If the natives come, don't dishonor me. Slit your throat quick. The wrists are too slow. Though knowing you, you'd probably enjoy being plowed by them." He hesitated, considering her. "Well, it's immaterial. If you do live, I'll come for you. Remember that. I promised your father I would watch over you, and I do keep my promises. There will be no use hiding from me."
    The door slammed behind him, making the breakfast dishes rattle.
    She stood in a daze. Bright streamers of sunlight were unfurling though the windows, shedding sparkling detail over the silver breakfast plates, and Mr. Hosegood's flask, and the hilt of the knife.
    Emma stretched out a tentative hand. The hilt was warm to the touch. She snatched the weapon to her chest and hurried into the main hall.
    The house was deserted. Servants nowhere to be seen now. Lady Metcalfe had gone to Mrs. Durham's after their morning walk; Usha had left for the market not an hour before. She was alone.
    The heavy teak doors stood open to the front porch. She ran through them, tripping once on her skirts, and caught a last glimpse of Marcus as his horse galloped through the gates.
    For all his cruelty, she had known him forever. And there he went. Not even a backward glance.
    But wasn't it a lovely day, so pleasantly warm and bright. A brainfever bird hooted in the eaves, and the verdant lawns of the Residency stretched out before her, rolling down to the high hedges that blocked the view of greater Delhi. She looked up. There was not a cloud to be seen in the brilliant blue expanse. She realized that she was having a particularly vivid dream.
    Thunder rolled through the sky.
    The distant crack of gunfire followed it.
    She retreated to the doorway, gripping the knocker as she searched the horizon.
    Silence fell again, deceptively profound. Then, all of a sudden, a wild ringing of bells. The alarm sounding at St. James's Church.
    This was no dream after all.
    And there was no one coming for her.
    That decided it. A riding habit was all very well when one planned to go sidesaddle, but war called for better balance. She clawed for the hem of her skirts, pulling them up until she found the tapes. A slash of the knife, and the cane crinolines clattered to the porch. Next the petticoats, falling to the ground. On a small, hysterical laugh, she turned to her remaining skirt. Hacking off the gown's extra material was easier said than done. By the time she finished, her face was wet with sweat, and the occasional burst of thunder had turned into a steady, pounding din. Was it her imagination, or was it becoming louder, nearer?
    Wrapping the knife in the excess fabric, she stuck it in her pocket and raced for the stables.
    * * *
    She had expected to get lost. But she hadn't foreseen that the general panic would make getting directions impossible.
    A gun exploded nearby, and her horse spooked, bucking hard. She fought to keep her seat, slapping her mount's flanks with a sharpness provoked by fear. The stupid nag had nearly trampled a child.
    Shaken, she slowed the gelding to a walk. Crowds of natives and Britons were swarming the broad, sunlit street, their wan faces lifting every time a blast sounded in the distance. Somewhere in the city, people were dying; they were afraid they would be next. But no one seemed to know in which direction to flee, and the commotion was turning ugly. Already a man had tried to wrest the reins from her. An Englishwoman clutched at her ankles and begged for news. When she shook her head, the lady scurried onward, a baby and