Page 41 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Thirty

“ W here the hell is that bastard?” Adrian huffed under his breath.

He paced as he waited, the mist rising from the river catching on his heavy coat. The evening felt more reminiscent of autumn than winter now, and he scowled at the sky, which swallowed the moon and promised rain.

Where the hell was Briggs? If he didn’t arrive, Adrian would have to exert his influence to drag him out from where he was hiding, but if he went to all that effort, Moreton might discover what he was doing.

Instead of chasing after Isobel, he would then turn his attention to Adrian and what he was doing, and that would be decidedly unfortunate.

A scuff behind him made him turn, expecting to see Briggs emerging from the mist.

Instead, he saw someone far more unexpected.

“Isobel,” he gasped, and before he knew what he was doing, he was striding over to her, hands grasping at her shoulders.

She wore a thick cloak and a bonnet low over her brow, but he would have recognized her anywhere. The gas lamps gleamed against the beads of water against her curls, and her skin looked dewy and damp as she stared up at him.

“Good evening, husband,” she said evenly.

“What the devil are you doing here?” He looked her over again to see if she had any injuries. None that he could see. His hands felt as though they were shaking. “Go home at once! What did you bring to come here. The carriage?”

All he wanted was to draw her close and hold onto her.

“Leave. Now.”

“No.” Her little chin tilted in that adorable, stubborn gesture he found so endearing. “I came here for ye, Adrian. And I’m not leaving alone.”

“It’s dangerous .” He shook her then, that same fear creeping into his lungs.

It was one thing for him to come there alone, his sword in his cane and his thirty-one years of experience behind him. But Isobel was so young, so soft, so innocent. For all she had fire in her like a hellcat, she was too delicate for the kinds of danger they faced.

Too lovely for Moreton to ruin and destroy.

Isobel put her hands up to his, gripping his wrists and holding him tight.

“Ye can send me to the country and put guards around me. Ye can drag me back to the carriage and demand that I leave. But there is one thing ye must know, Adrian. I am not leaving ye. Not now, not here, and not whenever it suits ye.”

She glared up at him with such fierceness that he almost took a step back. “I granted ye leave to command me in the bedchamber, but nowhere else. We are a unit, Adrian. We are a team. That is what marriage ought to be.

“My parents wrote to me on the occasion of our marriage telling me to be patient with ye, and I will be, but ye must be understanding of me. I am not a convenient wife to tuck away when the fancy takes ye. I am a woman, and if ye don’t see me as yer equal, then tell me now, so I can find a way of procuring an annulment. ”

“I—”

“What do ye want, Adrian? A marriage and a wife? Or to be alone for the rest of your days?”

He stared at her, this hellcat that he had married. “I want to protect you,” he said hoarsely. “How can I do that if you walk into danger with me?”

She brought a hand into her cloak and pulled out a pistol he recognized—Joseph’s. What was the idiot thinking, giving her a loaded weapon?

“I am not helpless,” she said.

Adrian sighed.

No, she most certainly was not. Of all the women in London, she was perhaps the only one who could match him in boldness. The only one who could make him feel as though he was cast adrift on an ocean of her making.

She made him mad, and she made him burn for her the way he had never thought he would burn for another person.

“I never said you were helpless, Isobel. But when we married, the responsibility for your wellbeing fell to me, and I have been doing my best to fulfill that requirement.”

“By sending me away?”

“Yes! If Moreton can’t reach you, he can’t hurt you.”

“And what of ye?” she asked, looking at him steadily. He felt as though something had battered him in the chest. “What of the hurt ye cause me? Because it’s not physical, it doesn’t matter?”

“I—” He found himself reaching for her, and to his surprise, she allowed him to, allowed him to draw her close.

He made no attempt to reach for her weapon; he knew it was loaded, and that she could do plenty of damage if she so wished.

And he also doubted she would hesitate too much at the idea of harming him if she decided he deserved it.

“Isobel,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I never wanted to hurt you. But you must see that?—”

“I do not see anything,” she interrupted. “Only that ye do not see me as an equal. So, I ask again, Adrian. What will it be? A marriage, or a separation? Because I will not live being dismissed by the man I—” For the first time, she choked on her words. “The man I married.”

He had no choice. He knew that. Even so, a pain lingered in his chest. Even after everything, she was offering him this chance. Could he be foolish enough to throw it away in order to keep her safe?

Perhaps.

“My darling,” he said. “If I promise you I won’t send you away again, will you return to the carriage?”

“No, Adrian. I came here to protect ye, and I will do so.”

“Stubborn, infuriating woman,” he muttered, and pulled her to him for a searing kiss.

They had only just separated when a noise roused him from his attention to his wife. Immediately, his awareness returned, and he twisted, scanning the mist-laden area. The lapping of the water still sounded through the air.

He glanced at Isobel, whose head was tilted up, and whose eyes were narrowed.

“I heard it too,” she whispered in answer to his silent question. “Let’s go.”

Adrian knew it would be pointless to hope that she would return to the carriage, so he prowled across the cobbles ahead of her, one hand on his swordstick. Everything seemed silent, but when he turned a corner around a building, he saw a darkened bundle on the floor.

A body.

He knew what it must be immediately, and he held out a hand for Isobel to stop.

“Pistol out,” he commanded. “Don’t come any closer.”

To his relief, she must have also sensed the danger, because she remained where she was, looking about her nervously as he approached the bundle of dark clothes.

Tipping the body over with his foot, he peered into the familiar, craggy face of Briggs. There was a darkened patch in his chest, and blood seeped across the ground, black in the gloom.

Adrian inhaled, but all he could smell was the water from the river, and the slight salty sourness from the freshly spilled blood.

After a second’s hesitation, he bent and pressed two fingers against the man’s neck.

Nothing.

He was dead.

“Isobel.” Adrian kept his voice low.

Still, she turned, the pistol held high. He prayed she wouldn’t take fright and accidentally shoot him.

“We need to leave and call a constable,” he told her.

“A constable?”

“Probably the Runners.”

“Adrian, I?—”

“Quiet now.” He crossed to her side and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Fear rampaged in his veins—not for him, but for the danger Isobel might be in. The danger he might have put her in. If he had not come here the way he had, she would never have joined him.

Damn Joseph for giving her his location. Did the man not know better?

“Is he dead?” she whispered against his fingers.

Adrian gave a curt nod, scanning the fog for any signs of movement. Briggs had been murdered just minutes ago, which meant his assailant was probably somewhere nearby.

“Give me the gun, Isobel,” he said, holding out his hand. “And stay by my side.”

For once, she didn’t argue with him, depositing the weapon into his hand. He wrapped his fingers around the pearl-inlaid butt and exhaled.

Time to leave .

He could find a way of getting back at Moreton some other time. Someone would have some information. Briggs wasn’t the kind of man who kept his mouth shut about his successes. That wasn’t how gang leaders worked.

“When I nod, you must run back to the carriage,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ll be right behind you. Understand?”

She sent him a clear glance that told him everything he needed to know about his wife’s intelligence; she had suspected that there was someone else here, the murderer, and she understood the necessity for this.

“On the count of three. One. Two. Thr?—”

“Ah, Somerset. I had thought you might come here, but I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to bring your wife.”

At the sound of Moreton’s voice, Adrian stiffened. Adrenaline charged through him as he slowly turned to face the owner of the voice. Moreton stood casually, a gun in one hand, pointed squarely at his chest.

He stepped a little in front of Isobel, whose hands clutched at his coat.

“Moreton,” he said, far more calmly than he felt. If he had just been here alone, he wouldn’t have had to worry about Isobel. “I presume you were the one to kill Briggs.”

Moreton gave a cold, cruel smile. “Couldn’t have him blabbing his mouth off and ruining my reputation, now, could I?”

“Ye bastard!” Isobel cried. “What of that poor girl ye murdered?”

“Oh, that.” He waved a hand. “She was an inconvenience. As you are, my dear. Really, it’s wonderful that you both came here together.

Otherwise, I would have had to kill your husband here and then go after you, which as I’m sure you can understand would have been a lot more work. Too much effort, in truth.”

“I can’t believe ye,” Isobel breathed.

“It’s easy enough, my dear. Want something badly enough, and you’ll be prepared to do anything necessary to gain it. For example, what would you do to protect your wife, Somerset?”

Adrian reached a hand behind him to encourage Isobel to be quiet. The last thing he wanted was for her to pose more of a threat than he did. Moreton was unpredictable and a cold-hearted killer. Adrian couldn’t risk her encouraging him to do more harm to her.

“I think you know I’d do anything to protect her,” Adrian said calmly.

“Including die?”

“I hope it won’t come to that.”

“Oh, it will.” A smile touched Moreton’s face, and Adrian knew without a doubt what was about to happen.

It was as though the world slowed around him, giving him the time he needed to drag Isobel out of the way.

The pistol cracked, the shot firing through the air. Burning pain erupted on Adrian’s arm.

“Adrian!” Isobel gasped.

Yet when he glanced down, it was the slightest scratch. The bullet had cut across the flesh of his upper arm, burning through his clothes, but although he could already feel the blood soaking down his arm, it was unlikely to leave any lasting damage.

Moreton moved the gun again, but Adrian was already moving, his own weapon coming up. He steadied his arm, aiming just above Moreton’s shoulder. The other man’s composure broke, and he flinched away, practically dropping his weapon as he did so.

Adrian’s suspicion was confirmed: the man was a coward. Happy to strike in the darkness, happy to pay someone else to do his dirty work for him, but useless in a fight.

Luckily for Adrian, his father’s beatings had given him a tolerance for pain, and he barely noticed the wound on his arm as he flung himself at Moreton.

The two men collided, and Moreton’s hold on his pistol slipped. The gun scattered across the ground, firing again.

Adrian’s heart briefly leaped into his mouth, but there was no corresponding scream, nothing to say that the shot had hit Isobel.

“I will kill you,” Moreton snarled as Adrian brought his first into the other man’s face.

He groaned, blood dribbling from his broken nose. Rage burned in Adrian’s chest, turning his vision red.

Still…

He knew he couldn’t afford to kill this man, no matter how much he deserved it.

Isobel deserved better than to have a murderer for a husband, and the law would work in his favor this time. He would make sure of it.

Moreton slipped a hand free and slammed his fist into Adrian’s cheek. Pain flowered across his skull, but he didn’t lose his grip on Moreton even for a second.

“Stop right there,” Isobel said, her voice clear, even if Adrian knew her well enough to hear the fear behind it. “If ye don’t, Lord Moreton, I will shoot ye here, and don’t think I won’t. Ye deserve to die for what ye did to yer brother. To Pollyanna. And now to us.”

“You should listen to her,” Adrian said, letting all the midnight danger he could summon sink into his voice. “She is a wild hellcat, and more than capable of ending your miserable life.”

In his heart of hearts, he didn’t know if she would shoot Moreton, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Moreton believed it.

He saw the moment the man underneath him gave up the fight. He sank back against the cobbles, his skin turning pale.

“Damn you little Scot,” he said, the words thick from his broken nose. “I surrender.”