Page 120 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

After her outburst, all the fight had drained out of her. She replied with a docile nod.

Piers tried not to think of how young she looked. How much like prey she seemed now with her big gentle doe eyes and vulnerable chin that was wont to wobble.

If only he could slay her dragons. He’d stand over her like a lupine sentinel, snarling at whoever might approach. He’d sear the secrets from her eyes,

Who could want to hurt someone like her? What could she possibly have done to warrant such violence?

Because, whatever had happened in that catacomb hadn’t been an accident.

And the results were supposed to have been deadly.

“I won’t be but a moment.” He wouldn’t dare be away from her that long. Not when he must keep her safe. Keep her alive.

If Ramsay had sent him an urgent message on hishoneymoon, it could only mean that he’d found information regarding the assassins from Castle Redmayne. It could mean a clue to unlocking the mystery as to who was behind all of this and bring him one step closer to ensuring the safety of his wife.

Stalking to the desk, he snatched the telegram from the clerk and unfolded it.

If he’d been any less filthy, they’d have watched his skin blanch from swarthy to white. They’d have understood why he turned on his heel and stormed back outside the hotel.

They’d have been less mystified as to why the contents of the telegram caused him to abandon his wife.

I consulted my contact in Scotland. Stop.

Falt Ruadh doesn’t always refer to red hair. Stop.

It can also denote RED MANE. Stop.

It’s you, brother. Redmayne. They’re after you. Stop.

Piers walked toward the sea, fuming. Furious.

The unbound stallion on the train, whipped into a frenzy. The gunmen at the ruins. The accident on the ship. And now the cave-in at the catacombs.

Somehow Alexandra had always been in the way. In danger. And somehow, in his hubris, he’d assumed she’d acquired an enemy along her adventurous and uniquely singular path in life.

How could he have been so blind?

He was the Terror of Torcliff. The Duke of Redmayne. His list of enemies and enmities far surpassed anything Alexandra could even dream of. At the very top were a cousin and a former lover who vastly benefited from his death, and the long inventory only rolled on from there.

She was innocent in all of this. Of course she was.

He’d been the intended victim all along.

And until he wrapped his fingers around the throats of those responsible, the safest place for his wife was as far away from him as she could get.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Alexandra set out to find her missing husband as the sparkling horizon split the late-afternoon sun in half. She’d had enough with feeling more like a mistress than a wife, waiting patiently in her bedroom until he deigned to come for her.

With Constance’s help, she’d bathed away the events of the day, expecting Redmayne to burst into her room at any moment. At first, she wasn’t certain she was entirely prepared to meet the erotic masculine promise that’d emanated from every pore of his body since the moment he’d dug his way from the rubble.

After a time, she’d begun to wonder what kept him. She’d wanted him nearby, if at least to bask in the comfort and security his fiendish presence afforded her.

He’d survived. His body was still warm and vibrant.

He was stillherhusband.Hers.The possessiveness of the pronoun felt more significant than ever.

He belonged to her. With her. And she needed him.