Free Mad About the Duke by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

peril.”
    â€œThat bitch isn’t there to protect you any longer,” he sneered. “I heard how she whored her way intoClifton’s bed and got herself a title. Well, I say good riddance, and now it is my turn for a bit of luck. I’ll take your sister and you won’t have anyone there to stop me.”
    He started to walk away, but Elinor wasn’t about to let him go. Not just yet.
    â€œBeware, sir. For Lucy may be gone, but she’s left Thomas-William to watch over us. To keep Tia safe. I understand he was trained by her father to be quite ruthless. You’ll find him far less forgiving than Lucy or I would be.”
    The man blanched, for it was true; he was a coward. He stalked back over to where Elinor stood. “You spiteful little bitch! I should have married you to someone who would have beaten that sharp tongue of yours out of your head. I should have—”
    Elinor stopped listening to his vitriolic speech. Instead, she glanced over his shoulder, unwilling to look at the hatred gleaming in his eyes, and instead focused on the glorious crimson fabric in the window. The sort of color that would catch a duke’s eye, hold his attention. A duke with enough power to send the likes of Lord Lewis packing.
    Permanently.
    And while that was a deliciously wicked wish, one she was sure Lucy would have applauded, this was neither the time nor the place for murder, as tempting as it was.
    Lewis, who had never exercised a moment of patience in his life, took her reverie as an insult. He caught hold of Elinor’s arm and shook her. “Don’t stick your hoity-toity nose in the air at me, miss. I got you that fancy title you prance around with, and it is grateful you should be. And now it is your sister’sturn to earn her keep, and you’ll hand her over immediately or I shall have Bow Street on you. A few nights in Newgate ought to remind you of where your obligations lay. And if that isn’t enough, then I’ll—”
    But the baron’s last threat was cut off as suddenly he rose in the air, his fingers clutching at his throat.
    â€œThen you’ll do what?” a deeply masculine voice asked as he shook Lord Lewis like a terrier might a rat.
    Elinor’s gaze flew up.
    St. Maur!
    And just as she’d suspected, he wasn’t merely a man of business, all papers and figures.
    In fact, there was nothing mere about him right now.
    Â 
    James had left his house and walked without any purpose or direction (other than to get as far as possible from his brother and sister-in-law’s afternoon antics), having left poor Richards and Winston in the foyer gaping after him, their carefully crafted schedule for the remainder of his day in utter ruins.
    But right now, his appointment at Gentleman Jim’s seemed rather redundant. He’d had enough of fisticuffs this week without paying for the pleasure of being swung at.
    Instead, he walked through the park, around the reaches of Mayfair, pursued by that single word his vexing sister-in-law had tossed at him like a gauntlet.
    More.
    The word taunted him with every tromp of his boot. More .
    Worse yet, here were Jack and Clifton, living proof that Miranda had hit him with something more thanjust a notion. They had discovered the truth behind this mysterious “more” and seized their chances (or rather the ladies who held the key) and were now living like greedy, well-sated sultans.
    More. James shook his head and paused to get his bearings. Not that he had the faintest idea where he was, until he glanced up and saw the sign on the post.
    Bond Street.
    He smiled and turned to the right. He knew exactly where he was—but his confident decision to return to Cavendish Square via this familiar route was soon hampered by a shocking realization.
    The streets were thronged with ladies shopping.
    All kinds of ladies. Matrons. Debutantes with their mothers. Well-heeled countesses and lofty marchionesses