Page 3 of Kidnapping the Duchess
CHAPTER TWO
Izak
“The Double Ds are en route to the study. Repeat, the Double Ds are two minutes out.”
I roll my eyes at the snickering in my comms unit before Andrew’s connection cuts out. He’s good at his job, but he has the humor of a ten-year-old, consequently why he’s using a bra size as the codename for the Duke of Geneva, Edwin Copeland, and his guest, the Duke of Sasquine, Cyrus Applebaum.
Also known as the latest in a long line of men I’d like to punch in the junk out of pure jealousy.
When it comes to the duchess, I’m ten kinds of fucked up. I joined the Copelands’ security team three years ago. A year in I was transferred from grounds duty to Daria’s personal detail after successfully apprehending—and kicking the piss out of—an intruder who’d gotten past three other guards. Then, when Theo retired as head of Daria’s team because he was “too feckin’ old to babysit the Duchess of Debauchery anymore,” I got promoted to take his place. And being in charge of every aspect of her safety is precisely how I like it.
Ever since, I’ve been by her side—morning to night, six days a week. The only times I rotate out are once she’s secure in a room for the night and every Sunday. And that’s only done out of pure necessity because I’m not a fucking vampire. I need sleep and the occasional downtime if I’m to be at my best. Otherwise, I’d guard her 24/7. I’d like to say it’s because of a stellar work ethic and strong sense of loyalty, but that’s a load of bullshit.
It's because I’m crazy in love with her. Have been from the first moment I saw her.
Day one on the job I was summoned to meet the duke when Daria stormed into her father’s study wearing a wrinkled mini-dress and smudged eye makeup, demanding he stop donating to some charity because the night before she’d overheard the founder bragging how the funds support his jet-setting lifestyle. I couldn’t tear my gaze away; she was like a hungover, vengeful fury with wild, dark hair and eyes that flashed with blue lightning. She refused to leave until Edwin swore to reroute the donations from the other charity to Geneva’s Children’s Hospital that same day.
It took every ounce of my training to keep the dumbass grin off my face. Good thing, too, because she probably would’ve introduced her stiletto to my favorite part of my anatomy and had me fired. Then I never would’ve heard the fucking end of it from my brother and cousins about epically failing the Real-World Test—the ridiculous name we gave our family’s tradition of kicking the kids out of the proverbial home-nest to act as contributing members of society.
Joke’s on them. Not only did I pass the RWT, but I blew right by the one-year finish line and kept on going. Something no one else in my family has ever done.
Still, I probably should’ve gone home a while ago. I tried. Or at least I thought about trying. But whenever I pictured myself leaving Geneva, I’d make an excuse to put it off a little longer. And the blame for that can be laid firmly at the dainty feet of one Daria Copeland—the enigmatic wild-child duchess with a heart of gold. A heart she hides behind fake ulterior motives and pretended personal gain.
I don’t know why she does it, but I’m determined to figure it out one of these days. As long as my real identity stays a secret, I’m free to stick around for as long as I want. Or, in my case, for whomever I want.
As always, I’m at Daria’s side—an unnecessary precaution in her own home, but I don’t give a shit and she never orders me to stand down. Not that I’d listen. Discreetly dropping my gaze, I catalogue every detail as she sits waiting in one of the ornate high-back chairs.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t listen to Talia’s suggestions for this morning’s meet-and-greet. Her raven-dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders is the only soft thing about her appearance. Completing her look is the usual dramatic eye makeup, deadly stilettos, and one of her signature mini-dresses that reveals way more of her creamy skin than it could ever hope to cover.
Knowing Applebaum is about to get an eyeful of the duchess, and will no doubt create indecent images of her in his mind, I see red. I should be used to this by now; Edwin’s been parading men in front of her once a month for the last year, hoping she’ll start dating one of them and no doubt tame her wild ways. But watching another man fawn over Daria never gets any easier.
Taking a deep breath, I rein my shit in, then give her the heads up. “Your father and the duke will be here momentarily, your grace.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blackstone. I’m positively giddy with anticipation.” Leaning back in the chair, she crosses a long leg over the other and stares absently out at the gardens.
She appears unaffected, bored even, until I notice her repeatedly scraping at the cuticle on her thumb. It’s her only tell—a subconscious tic when her anxiety starts to rise.
I turn my head so the twins can’t hear me from where they’re talking on the sofa. “Did you take your meds this morning?”
She tucks her thumb into her fist and whispers, “No, Mr. Nosey, I forgot in all the excitement of preparing to meet my future husband.”
“Like hell he is,” I growl before I can stop myself. Her head snaps up to arch a single brow at me. She’s alluded to this before—that her dad isn’t merely hoping she’ll date one of the nobles but intends for them to wed—but the very idea is beyond preposterous. “The old ways are long gone, Duchess. Your father can’t force you to marry anyone.”
“No, of course, you’re right,” she says with a tightness that attempts to tug the corners of her mouth into a smile, and fails spectacularly.
Damn it, there’s something going on here that she hasn’t told me. Despite her hardass public persona, Daria’s a daddy’s girl who would ultimately do what Edwin wanted if she thought it was important enough to him. Even if she has to sacrifice her own happiness in the process.
Before I can analyze the situation further, the double doors to the study swing open. Duke Edwin Copeland struts in with Applebaum close on his heels. The children rise and greet their father with affectionate hugs from the girls and a manly thumping of the back between the men. Then the dog and pony show begins.
Edwin introduces the twins, then grandly presents his eldest like a prized racehorse that grates on my nerves. He gets points for not batting an eye at her choice of outfit, though. “And finally, the reason you came all this way,” Edwin says, pride glittering in his eyes, “my beautiful daughter Daria, Duchess of Geneva. Daria, I present to you, Cyrus Applebaum, the esteemed Duke of Sasquine.”
“Your grace.” The man steps forward and bends low over Daria’s hand before kissing it. My upper lip curls. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you at last.”
Tactfully pulling away, Daria bestows him with what I call her PR smile. “The pleasure’s all yours, your grace.”
Talia gasps, and Thomas tries to cover his laugh with a cough. Edwin looks ready to blow a gasket, but Daria expertly diffuses the situation by laughing and pretending it was all a joke. Applebaum doesn’t look convinced but plays along to save face.
For the next half hour, I watch with increasing difficulty as Edwin sings Applebaum’s praises and Daria picks at her thumb until a patch of raw, pink skin surrounds her nail bed. Her eyes are tight, her body cemented in the chair.
