The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess Deal / From Duke Till Dawn / His Sinful Touch / His Wicked Charm

Emma deserved better. Every minute that passed was another minute he wasn’t there for her when she needed him. One more minute closer to losing her completely. He wanted to punch a hole through the walls.

Money spoke louder than violence. The guards had already relieved him of any small items of value. Coins, stickpin, pocket watch.

He went to the bars and rattled them. “You there!” he shouted. “Release me, and you may have the clothes from my back. My boots are from Hoby. Eight pounds, I paid for them.”

He wrestled out of his topcoat and dangled it through the bars. “My coat! Finest tailoring. It’s worth—” He paused. What was it worth? He couldn’t have guessed. It was priceless to him. Emma had chosen it.

Nevertheless, he would sell it, and gladly. She was more precious by far.

“The waistcoat’s silk. Take my shirt, as well.” He jerked his cravat free and began to unbutton the front. “These are nacre buttons, worth a shilling each.”

He would strip down to his skin if that’s what it took, then run naked through the streets of London and make certain the Worthings’ Christmas ball was one the ton would never forget. Pride was worthless to him now.

He rattled the bars again.

His cellmate gave a phlegmy cough. “How much fer the socks?”

Ash became aware of shuffling and conversation down at the guards’ post. He went to the bars and listened. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the sound of discussion in low voices.

One of the voices was feminine.

His heart leapt. Who could it be?

Emma?

Was it too much to hope that she’d come for him, having forgiven his stupidity and worthlessness?

“It’s not yer lady,” his gin-scented companion said.

The toothless drunkard was right. It was too much to hope.

Footsteps made their way down the corridor. A great many of them.

Lady Penelope Campion rushed to the cell and grabbed hold of the bars. “First and foremost, let me set your mind at ease. The cat is fine. He’s at my house, enjoying a nice mackerel.”

“My goodness, Penny.” Alexandra Mountbatten caught up to her friend. “He’s not concerned for the cat.”

In actuality, Ash had been just a little bit worried about the cat. But the imprisonment and Emma’s imminent humiliation weighed more heavily on his mind.

Nicola joined them outside the cell. “We had a plan to engineer your escape. Alex was going to synchronize our timepieces, and I’d bake a cake with a sleeping powder and give it to the guards.”

“I was meant to bring the goat,” Penny said. “As a diversion, you know.”

Miss Mountbatten lifted her eyebrows and gave Ash a do-you-see-what-I-suffer look. “And then we decided to pool our money and opt for the sensible solution: bribery.”

“Yes, that was probably for the best,” Ash said.

The guard came down the corridor. He gave Ash a smug look as he turned the key in the lock and set him free. “Don’t think this means you’re free. There’s a hue and cry, y’know. You’ll be back afore dawn, I reckon.”

Ash could deal with that later. As long as he had the next few hours, that was all that mattered.

Before leaving, he tossed his topcoat to the drunkard. “Here. Do something about that cough.”

Once they emerged into the fresh air of the night, he thanked his three saviors. “I’m indebted to you all. You are good friends to Emma.”

“Don’t be silly, Ash,” Miss Teague said. “We’re friends to you, as well.”

Ash considered this. Her statement warmed him in ways that he didn’t have time to sort through at the moment.

Penny pressed a few coins into his hand, and Ash looked about for a hackney. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Well, first the cat appeared in my garden,” Penny explained. “Then I took him to Khan, who said you’d left—but when we went back to the mews, the horses and carriage were still there. Then a boy in black fencing garb emerged out of nowhere, searching for you.”

Trevor stepped forward. “Heard the Monster had been captured. You know I always keep my ear to the ground.”

“He’s quite the extraordinary young man,” Alexandra Mountbatten said.

“Yes,” Ash said. “So the ladies keep telling me.”

“Take these.” Trevor slung a knapsack from his shoulder to the ground and opened it, drawing forth a black cape and tall hat. “After that morning at the inn, I never had a chance to return them.”

“I don’t need them,” Ash said. “In fact, I think you should keep them. That disguise of yours is horrid. Amateurish in the worst way.”

“Really? I can have them?”

“The Monster of Mayfair title, too, if you wish.” He lifted his arm, and a hackney cab drew to a stop at the corner. “You’ve completed your apprenticeship.”

The boy placed the hat on his head. “Bloody brilliant, this is.”

“That’s another thing.” Ash pointed at Trevor as he hastened in backward steps toward the hackney. “You’re going to be a gentleman. Don’t curse like a common lout. If you must blaspheme, do so in educated fashion.” He opened the hack’s door and climbed in. “Take your oaths from Shakespeare.”

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashbury.”

As Emma stood at entrance of the Worthing House ballroom, all the guests hushed and angled for a look at her. She recognized several ladies who patronized Madame Bissette’s dressmaking shop.

From the center of them, Annabelle Worthing sent her a dagger-sharp glare.

Emma swallowed hard. Heaven help me.

No. That wasn’t necessary, she decided. It was not heaven that would help her now. She’d learned that lesson long ago.

Most times, a girl needed to rescue herself.

This evening would be one of those times.

Once, she’d walked to London alone in the bitter heart of winter. She’d refused to succumb to despair or starvation. She’d found work and made a new life for herself in Town. She would swallow every needle in Madame Bissette’s shop before she allowed Annabelle Worthing to best her.

Tonight, Emma would be her own fairy godmother, her own dashing prince. Even her own knight in shining armor—or rather, her own lady in a sparkling gown.