Page 58 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

Indeed, now that her initial shock had passed, she felt herself possessed of a searing anger. Not only her brother’s home, but her own academy, sanctuary for the socially inclined, was being violated by what she could only describe as the dregs of London’s underworld.

A multitude of considerations flew through her mind. Heath had gone to Angelo’s earlier to meet Dominic. Presumably they would dine afterward or stop off at the club. Her sisters-in-law, Julia and Eloise, were at this moment probably studying fashion plates at the modiste’s.

Charlotte and the other girls should be studying Latin in the east wing at this hour. Hamm, Heath’s behemoth footman, was somewhere in the house.

She gauged the distance to the bellpull. Taking apparent advantage of Emma’s unexpected arrival, young Harriet had just delivered a kick in the hollows to one of her captors. The ruffian emitted a low bellow of pain and crossed his hands over his bruised parts. His partner laughed in crude amusement until Harriet lifted her shoulder to deal him the same offense.

Freed from her inept abductors, Harriet wrenched off the soiled neckcloth and flung it to the floor. “You’re done for now, you stinkin’ sons of a sow’s turd! Help me, Lady Lyons! I’m bein’ kidnapped by a pair of louse-ridden murderers!”

The taller of the two young men threw one leg over the windowsill whilst he sized up Harriet’s defender. “This is our sister, and I reckon we got a right to bring her back. Our dad’s sick, and he wants his daughter at his side.”

“Is this true, Harriet?” Emma asked. “Are these two persons related to you?”

Harriet snorted. “They’re me halves, Luke and Rob.”

She fell briefly in the pile of broken glass on the floor, only to spring right back to her feet. “The old sod’s no more sick than I am.”

Emma glanced down at her in horror. “Your elbow is bleeding, Harriet.”

“Her hide is gonna be raw as a beefsteak if she don’t come with us,” the other man announced, grabbing Harriet by her injured arm. “Ain’t no point in pretendin’ she belongs here. We all know she’ll never be no bleedin’ silk purse.”

Emma marched over to the window. Her throat had closed, and yet somehow her voice resounded in the air, in her very ears. “The authorities do not agree. Miss Gardner stays under my supervision.”

His grimy hand slid to the leather scabbard protruding beneath his worn leather jerkin. “She’s got work to do at home.” His head lowered with the belligerence of a country bull.

“What sort of work?” Emma asked, willing Harriet to use her wits and remain calm.

“A job right here in Mayfair,” the other man answered from his wobbly perch upon the windowsill. “Decent work as a maid for a countess, no less. Can’t beat that with a stick, can you?”

Emma noted that his brother’s hand had completely disappeared inside his jerkin. “I believe I can. Perhaps I might speak with her employer and explain the situation.”

Harriet gave a bitter laugh at that. “Go on. You, Lady Lyons, walkin’ right up to ’er door to explain that her new maid is being set up by her pigs of brothers to rob her blind during a party.”

It was at this point that the criminal called Rob drew out from his jerkin an ominous-shaped knife known as a balisong, or butterfly. Emma would never have recognized such an appalling apparatus had her brother Grayson not had one mounted upon the wall in the weapons room of his country home. “Get out of my way,” Rob shouted at Emma, “or I’ll cut off yer interferin’ little nose.”

Harriet broke free and flung her scrawny frame in front of Emma while raising her fists in the direction of his face. “You so much as nick ’er and I’ll sew yer nutmegs together when you’re drunk. I swear it on our whore of a dead mum’s grave.”

“Put the knife away,” Luke muttered from the window. “We haven’t got all day. Harriet always mucks up a lay, anyways. We’ll find someone else.”

Rob nodded in seeming agreement. Then he shot his arm out without warning and ensnared Harriet by the waist. “All right now. I’m the one to give the orders.” He pressed the butterfly knife against the back of her ear as he glowered at Emma. “And you keep your pretty little piehole shut until we’re gone or I’ll slice this sow’s ear here.”

“Someone’s coming,” Luke muttered and swung both legs over the sill. “Hand her over and hurry.”

Emma started after them. It went without saying that she deplored violence of any manner, but she had grown up in a family of five physical brothers and one earthy, exuberant younger sister. More than once Emma had broken up a bout of fisticuffs, as well as rescued a sibling tied to a stool during a family torture fest, in the butler’s pantry.

Therefore, without hesitation, she hefted her personal bible of good behavior in one hand and, taking only a split second to aim, sent it hurtling at the head of Harriet’s abductor.

It hit him square in the temple, her precious manual of polite graces, all that valuable advice wasted on a primitive’s forehead. The blow rendered him momentarily senseless. He shoved Harriet down onto her hands and knees. When he straightened, he was pointing the balisong in Emma’s direction and advancing on her.

Emma spun into motion.

She threw a cushion into his face, followed by the complete leather-bound works of Shakespeare. He swore, his arms shielding his face so that he did not see Harriet tackle him from behind and shove him against the window.

As he staggered, losing his balance, Emma darted to the bellpull and tugged in panic. She had quite lost track of time, but surely two seconds did not pass before the door flew open.

“Adrian!”

With a relief that shivered down the seams of her stockings, she recognized the tall long-boned figure who stepped into the room. His hard unsettling gaze questioned her, the book on the floor, the broken window. In two strides he crossed the room and stood as if to shield her.