A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,2

potential of money.” He paused and raised his eyebrows.

Declan knew enough to say nothing.

“You’ll forgive my presumption about your current financial situation,” drawled Girdleston, “but I happen to know that you’ve spent months contesting your innocence. I also know you’ve paid lawyers and court fees, and God only knows the price of survival inside Newgate. Perhaps you will be set free, but will you be able to restore your life? Your livelihood?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care, to be honest,” said the old man, “except that your desperation fits perfectly with my need for a soldier-for-hire. And when I say ‘hire,’ Huntsman, please be aware that I can make your financial losses of the last year simply go away. Poof. Like it never happened. And then some.”

Declan stared, forcing himself to listen. The shock and hope had dulled just enough. His survival instincts began to bristle, and he started to play the game.

He asked, “This girl? Your nephew’s betrothed? You believe she’ll consent to a ‘hired minder’ tailing her around London? To contain her . . . her—what was it? ‘Spirited willfulness’?”

“Now we’ve begun to see eye to eye,” said Girdleston, chuckling. “Actually, I believe Lady Helena may accept your presence more openly if you take on some service role in the household. An alternative identity, if you will. I was thinking you might fit well in the role of personal groom to the future duchess.”

“Oh God,” Declan breathed, turning away.

“I understand that you occasionally assume false identities or undertake some subterfuge in order to do your job more effectively,” Girdleston said. “And your time in the army would have made you a proficient horseman. Given the correct livery and proper bearing, I believe you would make a convincing stable groom. And certainly this position will give you reason to follow the girl about and redirect her should she . . . lose sight of her purpose. And you will be handsomely, handsomely compensated. Enough money, Huntsman, to never have to work again, if you so choose.”

Declan considered this.

He considered a young woman who required an armed guard simply to get married.

He considered posing as a groom, wearing livery and adopting the bearing of a servant, whatever that meant.

He considered what kind of duke sent his uncle to hire an ex-convict to guard his future wife.

But most of all, he considered the payout. Girdleston had been dead accurate about Declan’s need to make considerable money, and fast. If it was only himself, Declan could live lean while he rebuilt his life. But he was not one man, alone—he had a duty to his father and sisters.

“How much?” Declan rasped. In the end, this was all that mattered.

Girdleston smiled. “Five hundred pounds, Huntsman. All payable upon delivery of this young woman into holy matrimony with my nephew, the duke.”

Declan made a choking sound and stifled it with a cough. He’d been thinking of a number in his head that would make the job worthwhile. The sum Girdleston named exceeded it by several hundred pounds. He studied the older man with new eyes. What was so important about this wedding that justified the outlay of £500?

“And if I fail?” Declan asked, perhaps the most important question of the day. “What if this woman evades me or makes trouble? What if something goes wrong? In my experience, disaster proliferates when females are involved. You wouldn’t be making the offer if she was easy.”

“Oh yes, of course,” chuckled Girdleston. “Females, troublesome creatures, there is no doubt.”

“I vowed after Knightly Snow never to take on another female client.”

“Well then, I suggest that you not think of the client,” urged Girdleston, “think of the lovely payment. If you succeed, you will be a rich man.”

“I asked about failing, not succeeding.”

“Oh, right,” sniffed Girdleston, tightening his gloves. “How very thorough. If, for some reason, you fail to retain her, if you fail to see her down the aisle, you will receive nothing. Oh, and there is a chance . . .” he looked knowingly at Declan, “. . . that the informers who originally brought these charges of abduction and murder of Miss Snow might . . . revive their story?”

And there it was.

Declan gritted his teeth. He’d expected this. Of course the freedom and the money and the job were all linked.

“How can I be accused again,” he said tightly, “if Knightly Snow has been found in France?”

“Well, there’s been a sighting, I believe,” said Girdleston. “I cannot say if they’ve actually found the chit. Or