Page 102 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Your men aren’t coming,” he growled, yanking the knife out of Westbury’s grasp. “They’ve been detained.”

Fear flashed in Westbury’s eyes as Leo pinned him, and blood from Leo’s wound dripped onto the man’s immaculate cravat.

For a moment, Leo savored the terror on his enemy’s face, the man who had threatened Beatrice. It would be so easy to end it here, to ensure that Westbury could never threaten those he loved again.

Loved.

The word sliced through the rage clouding his mind. Not cared for. Not felt responsible for.

Loved.

Leo pressed his forearm across Westbury’s throat, just enough to restrict his breathing.

“You’ll stand trial for your crimes,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “Every one of them. And when you’re rotting in Newgate, remember it was your own arrogance that put you there.”

Footsteps pounded through the warehouse as the Bow Street Runners swarmed in, surrounding them with drawn pistols.

“Excellent timing, gentlemen,” Leo praised, rising to his feet with deliberate dignity despite the blood staining his side. He swayed slightly, the thrill ebbing to reveal the true extent of his injury.

“Your Grace!” Blackwood rushed forward, catching his arm as he stumbled. “You’re wounded?—”

“It’s nothing,” Leo lied, even as fresh blood seeped between the fingers pressed to his side. “See to Westbury.”

Blackwood signaled to his men, who hauled Westbury roughly to his feet and secured his hands behind his back. “We’ll take him directly to Bow Street. The magistrate has already been alerted.”

Westbury’s face contorted with hatred as the Runners dragged him past Leo. “This isn’t finished, Stagmore.”

“On the contrary,” Leo replied coolly, meeting his venomous gaze without flinching. “It’s been finished since the moment you threatened my wife.”

Only when Westbury had been removed from the warehouse did Leo allow himself to sag against a nearby beam, his hand coming away from his side slick with blood.

“You need a physician, Your Grace,” Blackwood said, concern creasing his weathered face.

“Later.” Leo straightened, ignoring the protest of his wounded flesh. “I have two people to reunite.”

Chapter Thirty

“Philip!” Anna’s voice broke through the silence as the door swung open.

Despite the urgent need for medical attention, Leo had fetched Philip from Adrian’s residence and brought him to the Chelsea house.

Anna stood frozen for a heartbeat, disbelief written all over her features, before she rushed forward.

Philip caught her in his arms with a strangled half laugh, half sob.

“Anna,” he breathed, burying his face in her hair. “My God, I thought I would never?—”

Her fingers clutched at his coat, desperate and trembling. “I’ve been so afraid,” she whispered. “Every day wondering if you were alive, if Westbury had found you?—”

“I’m sorry,” Philip said, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks. “I should have come to you immediately. I shouldn’t have left you alone, not for a single moment.”

Leo stepped back from the doorway, the pain in his side increasing as the rush of confrontation with Westbury began to fade. Blood had soaked through his hastily bound wound, but he ignored it, unwilling to interrupt the reunion unfolding before him.

Anna’s gaze landed on the dark stain spreading across his waistcoat. “You’re hurt,” she gasped.

Philip turned, noticing his cousin’s injury for the first time. “Leo?—”

“It’s nothing,” Leo dismissed with a wave of his hand, though the room tilted slightly as he moved. “A small price to ensure Westbury won’t threaten anyone again.”