How the Duke Was Won Read Free

protector.”
    Kyuzo’s arms crossed over the formidable chest that had convinced her mother to hire him as a guard. “Miss Beckett said you were leaving.”
    Charlene gathered the baron’s top hat, gloves, and overcoat, and thrust them into Grant’s arms.
    Kyuzo took the baron’s elbow, but Grant wrenched free. “Don’t touch me.” His brown eyes turned nearly black. “I’ll be back to collect my due.”
    â€œI’d think twice about coming back if I were you,” Kyuzo growled. “Go on with you then.” He steered the baron out the door ahead of him.
    Charlene’s spine remained rigid until she heard them descending the stairs. She staggered against the wall, her knees buckling.
    Grant would be back.
    Even with taking in washing and selling Lulu’s paintings, they hadn’t saved nearly enough to repay the loan and the exorbitant interest he’d charged.
    As her breathing returned to normal, Charlene searched her mind for a solution. She must find a way to settle their debt, close the house, protect Lulu from Grant.
    She’d find a way.
    She had to.

 
    Chapter 2
    S haking out her skirts and smoothing her hair, Charlene took the lamp and headed back downstairs. Kyuzo had resumed his post by the front door.
    â€œImpressive.” Kyuzo’s eyes crinkled up around the edges. “You used Ude Gatame .”
    Charlene smiled. “I had an impressive teacher.”
    Fifteen years ago, Kyuzo had escaped from the Dutch merchant vessel that stole him from a fishing village in Japan and forced him into unpaid servitude. He’d survived on the streets of London with only his wits and fighting prowess to earn a living.
    It was his knowledge of the traditional Japanese art of Jujitsu that had secured him the position of guard. Over the years, Charlene had helped the older man improve his English language skills and, in return, he’d taught her basic defensive techniques to safeguard herself against the unwelcome advances of the titled gentlemen who came to the Pink Feather for sport.
    Charlene drew a shuddering breath. “He’ll be back, Kyuzo. And he won’t come alone.”
    â€œI know. We’ll be ready. Don’t worry.”
    There was a knock at the door. Charlene’s breathing quickened. “Grant again?” she whispered.
    Kyuzo shook his head. “He wouldn’t knock.”
    Charlene slid the viewing panel open and peered out at the tall, imposing man and black-­cloaked woman standing on the stoop. Their clothing was expensive and their demeanor impatient. They were nobility, and unaccustomed to being kept waiting.
    â€œMay I help you?” she asked.
    The man spoke into the open panel. “We have a private matter to discuss.”
    Not a threat, Charlene decided, unlatching the door.
    â€œMiss Charlene Beckett?” the man asked.
    Charlene paused. How did they know her name? “What brings you here?”
    â€œYou,” the woman said.
    Beside her, Kyuzo’s shoulders stiffened.
    â€œI’m not available.” Charlene was so weary of clients who assumed she was one of the commodities for sale.
    The woman lowered her hood, and Charlene’s heart hammered into her throat. She recognized the stern profile and pale blue eyes. Lady Desmond. Her mother had pointed her out one day when they’d been shopping on Bond Street.
    â€œYou know who I am,” the countess said. It wasn’t a question.
    Charlene nodded.
    â€œCome here.”
    The imperious order carried Charlene toward the countess before she knew she was moving.
    Lady Desmond gripped her chin. “Dismal light in here.” She turned Charlene’s face toward the tallow candles burning in sconces along the hallway. “What say you, Jackson? Will she do?”
    â€œIt’s uncanny, your ladyship. She could be Lady Dorothea’s twin.”
    â€œPrecisely.” The countess squeezed