Page 9 of Kidnapping the Duchess
He nods and heads out, following the protocol we perform every time the duchess has a night out, which is regularly. I have another half a dozen men stationed in different areas in and out of the club, keeping an eye out for anything sketchy and ready to spring into action if needed. I check my watch and press the button on my comms to give my team the estimated time for departure and tell them to standby.
When I look up again, I don’t immediately see Daria. A pang of alarm hits me square in the chest until I find her toward the rear of the space. She’s leaning back against the entrance to the restroom hallway with Aron Ashby, a tech company heir, leaning into her with his face tucked into her neck.
My blood boils at seeing another man’s hands on her while I’m forced to stand here and do nothing. But this is hardly the first time. At least now I know what happens every time she brings one of these dickwads home. Not a fucking thing.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck when she turns her head away from Ashby and pushes on his chest with the strength of a newborn foal. Daria’s no weakling; I’ve watched her put men on their asses multiple times. My senses go on high alert and I notice everything wrong at once: how her movements are slow and uncoordinated, her knees look like they’re about to give out, and her brow is knitted in confusion as she repeatedly tries to push Ashby away.
Normally we try to avoid making a scene, but I don’t think twice about the dozens of camera phones around. Daria’s safety is all that matters. Leaping over the velvet rope and ignoring the shouts from the bouncers, I race across the room, barking orders to my team for backup and crowd control. “Andrew, hold your position, be ready for a fast exit.”
“Copy that.”
“Hey! Get the fuck off of her,” I growl, shoving Ashby back and catching Daria around the waist when she falters. He starts to advance, clearly pissed I interrupted his good time, but I pull my gun and level it at his head. “Don’t you move a goddamn muscle.”
The color drains from his face and he reaches for the sky like this is a cartoon stick-up. My team arrives a second later. “Take him in for questioning. He roofied the duchess, I’ll stake my job on it.”
Two of my guys apprehend Ashby while the others deal with everyone in the VIP loft, confiscating their phones to delete any pictures or videos they took that can be leaked to the media. But my full attention is on Daria. Her eyes are glassy, and her cheeks are flushed, but she’s still conscious. For now.
“You okay? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head lightly and stared up at me with moisture welling in her eyes. “Take me home?”
“Yeah, baby, don’t worry,” I say around the lump in my throat. “I got you.”
I sweep her up into my arms and head for the staircase in the back of the loft that leads to its own private exit. “Andrew, meet me at the rear of the building. Raven’s heading back to the nest.”
Once I have her settled in the back of the luxury sedan with the privacy screen between us and the front, I crack open a bottle of water and help her take a few sips. “That’s it. This should help flush your system faster. How do you feel?”
“Stupid,” she said, sounding like she was three sheets to the wind. “I can’t go out anymore. Wanna know why? ’Cause I gotta get married, tha’s why.”
I freeze. “What do you mean ‘get married’? Are you talking about Applebaum?”
She nods for five full seconds before getting her mouth to catch up. “Yep. He’s g’nna be my Beyoncé.”
I would’ve laughed at that if I wasn’t still reeling from shock. “Fiancé. Why the hell would he be your fiancé?” Daria sighed and snuggled into my side like a sleepy child—or a roofied duchess—but she couldn’t pass out until I understood what she was talking about. “Baby, come on, tell me about the deal with Applebaum.”
“Dad promised Mom, so I promised Dad.” Then she told me fragments I managed to piece together about her father’s promise to make sure she was taken care of through a good marriage with a titled noble, and how she couldn’t let him break that promise no matter how she felt “pretty meh” about Cyrus.
“He’s my best choice ’cause we’ll keep each other’s secrets,” she says, plucking absently at the button on my jacket. “And s’not like he really wants me ’cause I have the wrong parts. So all’s I have to do is give him an heir…or three…and he’ll let me be me, long as no one else knows I’m me.” Daria tilts her face to stare up at me with a well of uncertainty in her blue eyes. “Tha’s not so bad. Right?”
If I’m interpreting everything right, she’s saying that Cyrus is gay. Which means his family probably wants him to keep up appearances with a wife who can give him heirs to carry on the Applebaum legacy. Either way, it’s an absolute shit deal for her. But I know she doesn’t see any other way around it. She loved her mother fiercely, and she loves her father even more. If their biggest wish for their eldest daughter is to marry into a good family with a secure financial standing, then that’s exactly what she’ll do, regardless of her happiness.
Holding her tighter against me, I tuck her face against my chest and press a kiss to the top of her raven hair. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. I’m going to get you home and put you to bed. We can talk about it all tomorrow if you want.”
I doubt she’ll recall having this conversation or even the last hour at the club. She definitely never would’ve told me any of this—especially Applebaum’s secret—if she hadn’t been drugged.
Now that I have her safe, I allow the rage to rip through me. I failed her. Ashby slipped something into her water, and I fucking missed it. Never again. Running my fingertips up and down her arm, I wonder if I’m doing it to soothe her or myself.
Sighing, I rest my head back and think about my next steps. In the morning I’ll tell her what happened with Ashby—she needs to know what happened—but if she doesn’t remember our conversation, it’s probably best she thinks her secrets are still in the vault for now. I’ll tell her everything when the time is right.
In the meantime, I have some plans to make.
