Free The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

her imagination, spurred by her worry
     about Tristan. “I suppose you’ve purchased our tickets already.”
    “Of course. Did you bring your passport?”
    “Certainly.”
    “Give it to me. I’ll need it to book passage aboard the packet boat.”
    She handed it over and watched as he shoved it into his coat pocket. “Where’s your
     bag?”
    “Already loaded.”
    “Then I should—”
    “Miss Bonnaud!” cried a voice behind her. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
    Her heart sank into her stomach as she turned to see Mrs. Greasley, one of her neighbors,
     bustling toward her with her stoic husband in tow. Oh no. The biggest gossip in her
     street just happened to show up at an inn halfway across London? What were the odds?
    “Going on the coach, are you?” Mrs. Greasley continued as she caught sight of Lisette’s
     bag.
    Steady now, Lisette told herself. If she asks who’s accompanying you, all you need do is claim that Dom is running late. Lots of coaches left from the Golden Cross Inn, and the woman might not even be here
     to travel on one.
    “Good day, Mrs. Greasley,” she said smoothly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
    “We’re off to Brighton to visit our daughter,” Mrs. Greasley said cheerily. “I suppose
     you’re off to Brighton, too, eh?”
    Lisette froze. This couldn’t be happening. How wasshe to play Miss Cale if the Greasleys were in the coach with them all the way to
     Brighton? “I—I—”
    But Mrs. Greasley didn’t seem to require an answer, for she went on without pause:
     “I spoke to the coachman, and he said he had a gentleman and a lady booked for the
     inside seats with us, but I never dreamed it were you and your half brother.” She
     glanced about the inn. “Where is Mr. Manton, anyhow? The coach will be leaving soon,
     our driver said.”
    Panic seized her. She couldn’t be Miss Cale, and Mrs. Greasley knew that she had no
     other brothers, so she couldn’t claim that the duke was another Mr. Manton or Mr.
     Bonnaud or—
    “I’m afraid the cat has got her tongue,” Lyons said smoothly beside her. “You’ll have
     to forgive her—it’s been a busy week.” He bowed to Mrs. Greasley. “The lady is going
     with me to Brighton.”
    “You!” Astonishment mingled with outrage in Mrs. Greasley’s voice.
    “Yes. Allow me to introduce myself. Max Cale, at your service.” As Lisette’s panic
     grew to a fever pitch, he took her hand and placed it firmly in the crook of his arm.
     “I am Miss Bonnaud’s new husband.”

4

    M AXIMILIAN COULD FEEL Miss Bonnaud’s fingers digging into his arm, but he ignored them. It was her fault
     they were in this ridiculous situation. She was the one who’d dreamed up this idiotic
     plan and was now reduced to a blithering fool at the first obstacle.
    But my neighbors won’t be taking the coach to Brighton.
    Naïve female. He’d known this wouldn’t work from the beginning, but she’d jammed him
     between a rock and a hard place with her refusal to tell him where Bonnaud was, so
     he’d had no choice.
    Now it was left to him to salvage things. As always.
    “Oh my word,” the plump Mrs. Greasley breathed, then turned on Miss Bonnaud with obvious
     incredulity. “Husband? You got married ?”
    He held his breath, praying that Miss Bonnaud wouldn’t fall apart right there and
     confess all.
    After their earlier encounter, while preparing for the trip, he’d sent a servant to
     the area around Bow Street to ask about her and Bonnaud. Everything she’d toldhim so far had proved true. Bonnaud had never been seen at Manton’s Investigations,
     and her role at the place was strictly administrative.
    Judging from all reports, she was as forthright as she seemed. Which probably explained
     why the appearance of her neighbor at the coach office was throwing her into a panic.
     He braced himself for any reaction.
    But she rose to the challenge, leaning close to look up at his face with feigned adoration.
     “Yes. I’m Mrs.