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

not about that.
    It was about making sure that Tristan didn’t find himself at the end of a hangman’s
     noose. Because if he were in London or if the duke made a big to-do over finding him in Paris . . .
    It didn’t bear thinking on.
    No, she had to avoid having the duke speak to the new head of the Sûreté, who would
     use any excuse to dismiss Tristan. She would talk to Vidocq, who was Tristan’s friend.
     He might know what this was about.
    But that meant she had to be there. The wily Vidocq would never reveal anything to
     the duke.
    “You have lost your bloody mind,” Lyons said in a low hiss.
    She squared her shoulders. “I have not. I know how men like you work. You run roughshod
     over whomever you please, simply because you can. Well, you’re not going to run roughshod
     over my brother.”
    He glowered at her. “And you won’t stop me from prosecuting him to the fullest extent of the law if I find he
     has attempted to defraud me.”
    A chill froze her blood. She ignored it. “And I won’t try, either. If he’s guilty of such a horrible thing, I’ll hand you the shackles to secure him, myself.”
    Clearly that caught him by surprise. “Is that a promise?”
    “It is,” she vowed. “But I’m not doing anything until I determine that you have the
     right culprit.”
    A muscle ticked in his jaw. “How do you propose to do that?”
    “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I only know that if I hand you the means to
     find him and you muck up his life and future in France, I will never forgive myself.
     He and Dom are my only family. I owe them better, for all the years they’ve looked
     after me.”
    That seemed to give him pause, thank goodness. He scrubbed one hand over his face,
     and she realized that he looked quite weary. If he’d been up since yesterday morning . . .
    A sudden pang of sympathy made her scowl. Why should she care if he was tired? He
     was threatening to hunt Tristan down like some common criminal, with nothing more
     to go on than that note.
    And Tristan’s inexplicable disappearance.
    She suppressed that thought. Tristan couldn’t be guilty of fraud. He could not !
    “What if I swear to treat your brother fairly?” he said.
    She eyed him with suspicion. “Men like you do not—”
    “You know nothing about men like me,” he snapped.
    “I know more than you think.” She thought of George’s determination to destroy Tristan.
     “Besides, I have connections of my own to the authorities in France. If you attempt
     to malign Tristan unfairly, I’ll have some recourse. But only if I am there when you do it.”
    The duke prowled before the desk like, well, a lion . . . all tawny hair and muscular
     brute of the forest. He was a rather frightening fellow in a temper. His words and
     manner might be cold, but a terrifying anger simmered just beneath the surface, showing
     only in the wild glint of his eye and the tautness of his jaw.
    So she didn’t wait for more of his protests. “I can be a help to you. I know not only
     where Tristan lives, but how he works, how to find him, where his haunts are.” And
     Vidocq still had friends in high places. Not to mention a few in low places who might
     be useful.
    The duke glared at her. “But you cannot travel alone with me, so I’ll lose precious
     time finding a chaperone for you.”
    Was he joking, for pity’s sake? “I don’t need a chaperone. No one cares about my reputation.
     I’m a nobody.”
    “You’re a respectable woman.”
    She snorted. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
    That brought him up short. He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “That was rude of
     me, and I apologize.”
    “No need,” she said, though the apology gratified her. She doubted he offered one
     very often. “I’ve grown used to people making such assumptions through the years.
     What people think of my mother is bound to reflect upon me.”
    That was why she was so wary of men. Even Tristan’s soldier