My Lord Hercules (2 page)

She hadn’t seen him either. A man of
his stature, she would have remembered. She lowered her head and
said with the deepest voice she could muster, “New to
Town.”

“
Indeed?” He laughed, which
didn’t do much for her confidence. “Well, since you’re new to Town,
I hardly think Gioco would be the best place for you to acquaint
yourself.”

He was certainly pompous, wasn’t he?
Who was he to say where a young buck he’d never met could go or not
go? “I appreciate your advice, sir, but I’m quite content
here.”

Again the gentleman laughed, and then
he placed one of his enormous hands on Miranda’s shoulder and
shoved her, not ungently, toward the exit. “Out with
you.”

Was he some sort of guard? No, he was
dressed much too well to be a paid gaming hell henchman.

“
See here—” Miranda dug her
feet in, refusing to move one more inch “—I can stay here if I
want, and—”

Hercules, or whatever his real name
was, leaned down and whispered near her ear, “Should anyone
discover who you really are, you’ll be done. Now turn around like a
good little girl, and I’ll see that you’re returned home
safely.”

Miranda’s breath lodged in her chest.
Did he know who she was? If so, shouldn’t she know him? Her gaze
locked with his green orbs, and butterflies flittered about her
belly. Who was he, this demigod who seemed intent on thwarting her?
And why would he make her belly flip? She didn’t have time for a
flipped belly. She had to find Tessie. She had to.

The gentleman heaved a sigh. “Either
you walk out of here using your own two feet, or I’ll toss you over
my shoulder and carry you out. Your choice, madam.”

Arrogant brute. Miranda’s belly
stopped its fluttering as she narrowed her eyes on Hercules. “You
wouldn’t dare.”

He shot her one last warning glance
before bending at the waist and hefting her over his shoulder.
Miranda squealed as her brother’s hat fell to the floor and her
dark tresses tumbled forward, covering her face and, fortunately,
her identity from the rest of the patrons of the hell. Hercules
stumbled slightly as he started for the exit.

Harry regained his balance and managed
to keep from sending himself and the tempting little bundle over
his shoulder to the ground. Falling would put a quick end to his
chivalrous deed. Had he known he would have been required to carry
a chit from Gioco’s tonight, he wouldn’t have downed that last
whiskey.

“
Put me down!” The girl
pounded on his back and squirmed in his hold.

Harry glanced over his shoulder only
to stare at her very shapely bottom, just a few inches from his
face. He almost stumbled again. Damn it all to hell! “Stop moving,”
he growled.

“
Put me down!” she demanded
again.

So that her identity would be revealed
to everyone in the vicinity? Then the beating he was currently
enduing would be for naught. Harry easily hailed a hack and hauled
opened the coach door. With haste, he deposited the girl inside the
conveyance, despite her kicking at him. Even though he knew he
should send her on her way, he had no faith she wouldn’t get
herself into more trouble along the way, though why he should worry
himself, he had no idea. So after a quick glance around up and down
Floral Street to see if they’d caught anyone’s interest, Harry
climbed inside the hack after her.

“
Where to?” he
asked.

The chit folded her arms across her
chest and glared at him. Her long dark hair spilled over her
shoulders. From the stubborn set of her jaw and the regal way she
held her head high, it was quite obvious the girl came from a
well-to-do family. In fact, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if her
father was a peer. What the devil was she doing, sneaking into a
gaming hell in the middle of the night? When he only stared at her,
the girl’s glare darkened, making it quite clear she had no
intention of telling him anything.

“
It’s a short ride to Bow
Street,” he threatened. “So either tell me where you live or I’ll
find a Runner instead.” Whatever she was up to, odds were she
wouldn’t want her father to find out.

“
If I thought they’d help
me…” she mumbled so softly, he wasn’t sure he heard her.

“
What’s that?”

She clamped her mouth closed again.
Stubborn girl.

Did she need some sort of help? “Are
you in trouble?”

She snorted. “Indeed. Some brute
tossed me over his shoulder and threw me inside a hack.”

At least she was talking. He bit back
a smile. “Well, that brute is trying to help you.”

“
I was doing just fine on my
own, thank you very much.”

Oh, she was doing beautifully. Had she
forgotten the painted whore who’d tried to grab her cock? “Gioco’s
is hardly the sort of place for a girl like you.”

“
But it’s just sort the
place for a man like you, is it?”

It happened to be his favorite hell.
Not that he had to explain himself to her. “Where shall I take you,
Miss…?”

“
You can open that door and
leave me be.”

That wasn’t going to happen. “Very
well.” Harry sighed. “I don’t know who you belong to, but I imagine
the authorities will figure it out and return you to
whomever.”

At that, her eyes rounded in
fear.

Blast and damn. He hadn’t meant to
scare her. He was trying to help, for God’s sake. “Please.” He
softened his tone. “It’s been a long night. I just want to see you
safely returned to your father.”

Her eyes dropped to the ground as
though he’d hit on something. Then she steeled her shoulders and
sat her tallest, which wasn’t all that tall, and said with more
bravado than a number of men of his acquaintance, “And why should
you care?”

She was a spitfire, and he couldn’t
help but be slightly charmed. “You’re about my sister’s age, if I
had to guess,” he explained. “And if Pippa ever found herself in a
situation like this, I would hope someone would make certain she
was returned home in one piece.” Then he shook his head and said,
“Though I can’t imagine her doing anything so
harebrained.”

The exotic beauty frowned at him, not
that Harry should have been surprised.

“
Sir?” the impatient driver
called from his box. “Where to?”

Harry leveled his most intimidating
glare on the girl, the one he’d practiced on Pippa all of her life.
However, this particular chit didn’t seem impressed at all. Well,
he couldn’t sit in the hack all night, staring at the girl. “Bow
Street,” he finally called.

“
Number four, Curzon
Street!” the brunette yelled a half-second later, her face flushed
even in the moonlight.

“
Number four, Curzon
Street,” Harry repeated for the driver. So she lived in the middle
of Mayfair, did she? Harry’d been right. She did come from a good
family. “My sister lives on Curzon Street,” he said amicably as the
hack lurched forward.

“
The one who isn’t
harebrained?” she asked tartly, as though she wasn’t pleased to
have been manipulated into giving him her direction.

Harry laughed, he couldn’t help it.
“Well, I’m not thrilled with her choice in husbands, but she’d
never dress like a dandy and sneak into a gaming hell.”

“
Unfortunately, we don’t get
to select our sisters’ betrotheds,” she grumbled.

The tone of her voice and her sudden
sour expression struck Harry as odd. Had he hit upon the reason for
the chit’s middle of the night sojourn to Gioco’s? “Is that what
you were doing? Tracking down your sister’s betrothed tonight?
Hoping to get evidence of his low character?”

An unladylike snort escaped the girl.
“Puttenham wouldn’t be caught dead some place like
that.”

Puttenham? Harry sat back against the
squabs. He knew who she was. Well, he knew who her family was, he
silently amended. Devlin Bartlett had three half-sisters, didn’t
he? Which one sat opposite him in the hack? “Your brother is
Marston.” After all, the Earl of Puttenham had recently returned to
England and announced his betrothal to one of the viscount’s
half-sisters. The little hoyden’s olive complexion made all the
sense in the world now. Her late-mother was Greek, or was she
Italian? The girl across from him certainly bore no resemblance to
Devlin Bartlett, that was for sure.

“
You know my brother?”
Miranda gulped. Blast it, she never should have mentioned
Puttenham, that humorless prig. All of London was agog over
Alessandra’s engagement to the dullard earl. Now how was she going
to escape her captor or savior or whoever Hercules thought himself
to be?

“
Harrow,” he said in way of
explanation.

Harrow? He’d known Devlin since they
were boys? A cold chill washed over Miranda at that news. All she
could do was beg. “Please don’t tell my brother about any of this.”
Devlin would murder her on the spot. The trousers, the sneaking out
in the dead of night, the fact that she’d crossed the threshold of
that gambling club.

A rakish smile lit Hercules’s face
once more. “Tell Devlin Bartlett that I’ve seen the shape of his
little sister’s legs?” A laugh escaped him. “No, I won’t condemn
myself to a dawn appointment, Miss Bartlett. What is your name, by
the way? Your first name? I should know it, if I’m to keep your
secret, shouldn’t I?”

The shape of her legs? Good heavens!
Even in the darkness, she’d wager he could see her blush. Drat it
all! Nothing had turned out like it was supposed to. No one was to
have noticed her. She shouldn’t even be having this conversation.
She should have spotted that blackguard Woodsworth, demanded to
know what he’d done with Tessie, and escaped before anyone was the
wiser. Blast Hercules for figuring her out so easily. “You said you
were keeping my secret so Marston wouldn’t put a ball in your
chest. I don’t see that I owe you my name in exchange for your
cowardice.”

Hercules’s brow rose in amusement. The
rogue was enjoying himself, drat him. “A wise man, not a coward.”
He leaned forward on his bench, bringing his handsome face within a
hairsbreadth of Miranda’s. His eyes – a lovely green, she could see
now that he was so close – twinkled in the moonlight filtering into
the hack. His whiskey-scented breath tickled her cheek. “As I see
it, Miss Bartlett, I can’t tell your brother about our meeting, but
neither can you. So you can either tell me your first name or I can
claim a kiss instead for my troubles. Marston will be none the
wiser, no matter your choice.”

Miranda’s mouth fell slightly open and
tingles raced across her skin when Hercules’s gaze lowered to her
lips. Did he truly mean to kiss her? Good heavens! Why should the
idea of kissing some strange man elicit such a reaction in
her?

“
On second thought, I’d
rather you not tell me your name.” His voice rumbled across her
lips, which made her heart thump and something pool deep in her
belly.

But she couldn’t kiss him. She didn’t
even know him. “Miranda.” Her name came out in a rush of air as she
leaned back against the squabs.

Hercules chuckled and looked rather
pleased with himself. Had he tricked her into telling him? The
fiend! “Harrison Casemore,” he said as he leaned back on his bench.
“So very nice to meet you, Miss Miranda Bartlett.”